i^ 


n  o\  a  «> 


THE 


OR  K  S 


OP 


EDMUND  SPENSER 


TEL 


.6 


J,   '  ) 


0 


W    ©    IE    K     S 

M  UMD    SFEH  SEE 

OB"  HIS 


KXILCOJl^MAH'    CASTJLE. 


PHILAJDEIPHIA. 
"W^ILLltJ  P.  HAZAjRU.  190  CHESTKITT  ST 


THE 


WORKS 


ov 


EDMUND    SPENSER 


WITH  OBSERVATIONS 


OK 


H^S  LIFE   AND  WRITINGS. 


A  NEW   EDITION. 

COMPLETE    IN    ONE    VOLUMK. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
WILLIS   P.  HAZARD,  190  CHESTNUT  STREET. 

1857. 


CONTENTS. 


Observations  on  the  Life  and  Writings  of  E'Imunci 
Spenser  ...  3 

THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 

A  LeUc-r  of  the  Author's  expounding  his  whole 

intention  in  the  course  of  this  worke  .         3 

Verses  to  the  Autlior  of  the  Faerie  Queene  5 

Sonnets  addressed  by  the  Author    .  •         6 

BOOK    I. 

The  Legend  of  the  Knight  of  the  Red  Crosse, 
or  of  Holinesse. 

Canto   L 

14 
18 
22 
27 
31 
36 
40 
45 
49 
55 
60 


65 

70 

74 

78 

82 

85 

90 

96 

101 

106 

113 

117 


Canto 

IL 

•                    •                     • 

Canto 

IlL  . 

Canto 

IV, 

Canto 

V.    . 

Canto 

VL 

, 

Canto 

VIL 

Canto 

VII L 

«                       •                       » 

Canto 

IX. 

Canto 

X.     . 

, 

Canto 

XI. 

Canto 

XII. 

BOOK  II. 

The 

Legend 

of  Sir  Guyon,  or  of  Ten 

Canto 

I. 

,                , 

Canto 

IL    . 

Canto 

III. 

«                 •                • 

Canto 

IV. 

Canto 

V. 

•                •                 • 

Canto 

VI. 

Canto 

VIL 

•                •                • 

Canto 

VIII. 

Canto 

IX. 

•                 •                • 

Canto 

X.     . 

Canto 

XL 

,                 •                 , 

Canto 

XIL 

BOOK  III. 

The  Legend  of  Britomartis,  or  of  C 

Canto 

1.      . 

Canto 

IL 

»                •                • 

Canto 

IIL 

Canto 

IV. 

•                •                • 

Canto 

V.    . 

Canto 

VL 

•                •                • 

(  anto 

VIL 

Ciinto 

VI  IL 

, 

Canto 

IX. 

Ciinto 

X. 

^                                ^ 

Cnnto 

XL 

Canio 

xn. 

, 

astity. 


126 
132 
136 
142 
147 
152 
157 
162 
167 
171 
177 
182 


BOOK  IV. 
The  Legend  of  Canibel  and  Tri&mond 
ship 
I. 


Canto 
Canto 
Canto 
Canto 
Canto 
Canto 
(,'anto 
Canto 
Canto 
Canto 
Canto 
Canto 


IL     . 

IIL 

IV. 

V. 

VL 

VIL 

VIII. 

IX. 

X.     . 

XL 

XIL 


BOOK  V. 

The  Legend  of  Artegall, 


Canto 

Canto  IL     . 

Canto  III. 

Canto  IV. 

Canto  V. 

Canto  VI.    . 

Can  to  VII. 

Canto  VIII. 

Canto  IX. 

Canto  X.      . 

Canto  XL 

Canto  XIL 


or  of  Friend- 


18'' 
191 

196 
201 
205 
209 
213 
217 


231 


or  of  Justice. 


241 
244 
248 
252 
2.56 
261 
•26b 
269 
273 
278 
281 
287 


BOOK   VI. 


The  Legend  of  Sir  Calidore,  or  of  Courlesie 


Canto    I. 

Cauto    II 

Canto 

Canto 

Canto 

C>.into 

Canto 

Canto 

Canto 

Canto 

Canto 

Canto 


IIL 

IV.    . 

V. 

VI.    . 

VIL 

VIIL 

IX. 

X.     . 

XL 

XIL 


Two  Cantos  of  Mutabilitie  ;  which,  both 
for  form  and  matter,  appear  to  be  parccd 
of  .some  following  Booke  of  the  Faerie 
Queene,  under  the  Legend  of  Constancie 

Canto    VI. 

Canto   VII. 

Canto    VIIL  unperfite 


292 
296 
300 
305 
308 
312 
316 
320 
325 
329 
333 
3S7 


342 
347 
358 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Colin  Clouts  Corue  Home  Againo 

Virgils  Gnat     .  .  ._        . 

The     Slieplieards    Calender:    containing 
Twelve   Aeglogues,  proportionable  to 
tlie  Twelve  Monthes 
FOWKE  IIVMNES. 

An  Hyinne  in  Honor  of  Love  . 

An  Ilymne  in  Honor  of  Beautie     . 

An  Hymne  of  Heavenly  Love. 

An  Hvmne  of  Heavenly  Beautie      . 
THREE  VISIONS. 

The  Visions  of  Petrarch 

The  Visions  of  Belhiy      .  . 

Visions  of  the  Worlds  Vanitie. 
Prosopopoia :    or,  Mother  Hubberds  Tale 
Prothalamion  :  or,  .1  Spousall  Verse 
Epithaiamion 

Poems  .  •  • 

Amoretti :  or  Sonuets 

Sonnets  collected   from  the  Original   Pub- 
lications in  which  they  appeared 
Daphnaida:  an  Elegy  upon  the   Death  of 

thenobleand  vertuous  Douglas  Howard 
Astrophel :    a    Pastoral    Elegie,   upon  the 
Dfidth  Of  the  mosi  noble  and  valorous 
knight,  Sir  Philip  Sidney     . 


35S 
361 


368 

391 
394 
397 
399 

402 
403 
405 

4or 

418 
420 
423 

424 

435 
436 


441 


The  Doleful  Lay  of  Clorinda  .                443 

The  Mourning  Muse  of  Thestylis  .  444 
A  Pastorall  Aeglogue  upon  the  Death  of  Sir 

Phillip  Sidney,  Knight,  &c.  ,                  447 

An    Elegy  '•  or,   Friends    Passion  for   his 

Astrophel  .  .  .  448 
An    Epitaph    upon    the    Right    Hon.    Sir 

Phillip  Sidney,  Knight.  .                 45J 

Another  of  the  Same                      .  .         451 

The  Teares  of  the  Muses  .                 43a 

The  Ruir.es  of  Rome                     .  .        458 

'J  he  Ruines  of  Time  .  462 
Muiopotmos ;  or,  the  Fate  of  the  Butter- 

flie            .                                 .  .        468 

BRITTAIN'S  IDA. 

Canto    I.                .  473 

Canto  II          .  .47.1 

Canto    111.             .  .                 475 

Canto   IV.     .                 c                 ,  .        476 

Canto    V.               .  .                  477 

Canto    VI.    .                 .                 .  .        478 

A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND  479 

GLOSSARY. 


OBSERVATIONS 

ON 

THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


OF 


EDMUND     SPENSER. 


EULOGY  ON   SPENSER. 

FROM  SHAKESPEARES  PASSIONATE  PILGRIM. 

"  If  Mnsick  and  sweet  Poetry  agree, 

As  they  must  needs,  the  sister  and  the  brother. 
Then  must  tlie  love  be  great  'twixt  thee  and  me. 
Because  thou  lov'st  the  one,  and  I  the  other.— 
DowLAND  to  thee  is  dear,  whose  heavenly  touch 
Upon  the  lute  doth  ravish  human  sense  ; 
Spenser,  to  me,  whose  deep  conceit  is  such 
As,  passing  all  conceit,  needs  no  defence  : 
Thou  lov'st  to  hear  the  sweet  melodious  sound 
That  PhcEbus'  lute,  the  Queen  of  Musick,  makes; 
And  I  in  deep  delight  am  chiefly  drown'd, 
When  as  himself  to  singing  he  betakes. 
One  god  is  god  of  both,  as  poets  feign, 
One  knight  loves  both,  and  both  ia  thee  remain." 


WiiiTERS  on  English  Literature  are  unanimous  in  assigning  to  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
the  title  of  the  Augustan  age;  an  application  in  every  way  just,  as,  to  her  encourage- 
ment and  example  may  be  attributed  the  revival  of  letters  in  this  country.  From  the 
death  of  Chaucer  to  the  birth  of  Spenser,  a  period  of  nearly  two  centuries,  but  few,  and 
those  not  important  names  had  been  added  to  the  records  of  our  literary  history.  The 
writings  of  Gower,  Occleve,  Lydgate,  and  Caxton,  witli  some  few  monkish  legends,  and  the 
poems  of  Surrey,  Wyatt,  and  Sackville,  may  be  enumerated  as  among  the  chief  addi- 
tions to  our  poetry  during  that  stormy  period  when  the  pubhc  mind  was  agitated  by 
the  struggles  between  the  followers  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  the  advocates  of  the 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


Reformation,  In  every  age  and  country,  religious  dissensions  have  been  unfavourable 
to  tlie  proixress  of  Literature ;  and  to  these  continued  troubles  may  be  ascribed  its 
utter  prostration  in  England  at  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Her 
accession  was  hailed  with  no  common  feeling  of  enthusiasm  by  both  the  court  and  the 
people,  who,  weary  of  the  merciless  exactions  of  lier  father  from  which  the  reign  of  the 
yoiithful  Edward  proved  but  a  transient  relief^  and  groaning  beneath  the  bigotry  and  san- 
guinary persecutions  of  her  sister,  beheld  in  their  new  (;ueen  the  harbinger  of  a  happier 
season  ;  nor  were  these  hopes  disappointed.  During  the  strict  seclusion  in  Avhich  she 
had  been  detained  by  Mary,  Elizabeth  had  acquired,  under  the  able  tuition  of  tlie 
erudite  and  elegant  minded  Ascham,  no  small  share  of  those  intellectual  acquirements 
which  are  usually  confined  to  the  sterner  sex.  Thus  nurtured,  her  inclinations  naturally 
leaned  to  the  society  of  those  who  were  conspicuous  for  either  talent  or  learning  :  from 
among  these  she  selected  her  counsellors,  and,  aided  by  their  willing  co-operation,  laid  the 
foundation  of  that  impulse  to  literature  which  has  increased  rather  than  diminished 
under  every  succeeding  sovereign.  The  forty-five  years  of  her  reign  must  be  regarded 
as  the  brightest  epoch  of  our  national  history,  and  may  challenge  the  annals  of  Europe 
to  rival  the  galaxy  of  men,  so  illustrious  in  arms  and  arts,  who  flourished  under  her 
auspices.  It  is  a  period  which,  of  all  others,  has  a  peculiar  charm  for  the  sympathies 
of  youth ;  and  though  in  after  years  reason  and  experience  may  in  some  degree  temper 
the  warmth  of  our  imaginations,  and  dispose  us  to  contemplate  the  character  of  Elizabeth 
m  a  more  just  and  less  romantic  light,  it  must  ever  retain  an  especial  place  in  our  regards, 
as  the  age  which  produced  such  men  as  Spenser,  Raleigh,  Sidney,  and  Shakspeare. 
The  life  and  writings  of  Spenser,  "  the  fascinating  poet  of  Faerie  Land,"  and  one  of  the 
fairest  ornaments  of  this  era,  the  following  observations  are  designed  to  illustrate. 

When  Sir  James  Mackintosh  was  invited  by  a  body  of  London  Booksellers  to  super- 
intend an  edition  of  the  Poets,  from  Chaucer  to  Cowley,  he  characterized  the  life  of 
Spenser  as  one  which  would  offer  no  little  difficulty,  on  account  of  the  paucity  of  mate- 
rials for  its  execution.  This  difficulty  has  certainly  not  been  removed  ;  but  though,  un- 
able to  present  the  reader  with  any  new  facts  relating  to  the  "  Prince  of  Poets  of  his 
time,  we  may,  perhaps,  while  condensing  the  existing  information,  so  guide  him  to  the 
beauties  of  our  author,  as  to  obviate  the  necessity  of  wading  through  the  more  voluminous 
labours  of  Todd  and  Warton. 

Edmund  Spenser,  styled  the  "  Sunrise,"  as  Chaucer  was  the  "  Day  Starre,"  of 
English  poetry,  was  born  in  the  year  1553,  in  East  Smithfield,— in 

"  Merry  London,  my  most  kindly  nurse, 

That  to  me  gave  this  life's  first  native  source, 
Though  from  another  j)lace  I  take  my  name, 
A  house  of  ancient  fame." 

Although  frequently  referrmg  in  his  poems  to  his  gentle  birth,  and  claiming  in  some 
of  his  dedications  consanguinity  with  the  noble  house  of  Spencer,  of  his  parentage  he  has 
left  us  no  record.  The  university  of  Cambridge  had  the  honour  of  his  education ;  and 
•hough  the  history  of  his  college  life  partakes  of  the  same  obscurity  that  envelopes  his 
origm,  it  has  been  ascertained  that  he  was  admitted  a  sizar  of  Pembroke  Hall,  May  20, 


OF   EUMUiN'D  SPf:\SER. 


J569,— that  he  took   his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Arts,  June  16,   1572-3,— and  that  of 
Master  of  Arts,  June  26,  1576. 

We  o-ather  from  their  correspondence,  that  he  here  became  intimate  with  the  learned, 
but  pedantic,  Gabriel  Harvey,  of  Christclmrch  ;  and  to  his  critical  opinions,  although 
occasionally  fantastic,  he  seems  to  h.ive  paid  great  deference*.  During  his  residence  at 
Cambridge,  he  gave  evidence  of  his  poetical  abilities,  and  was  well  known  to  his  fellow- 
students  as  avotary  of  the  Muses,  having  contributed,  although  anonymously,  several  poems 
to  tlie  "  Theatre  of  Worldlings,"  pulilished  in  1569.  But  his  hopes  of  further  advance- 
ment at  the  university  having  been  annihilated,  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel  with  the  master 
of  the  society  to  which  he  beloni^ed,  respecting  some  preferment  unjustly  conferred  upon  a 
rival,  he  withdrew  to  the  North  of  Eugknd,  where  he  lived  as  tutor  in  the  family  of  one 
of  his  relatives.  In  this  retirement  he  i)ecanie  enamoured  of  the  "  vviddowe's  daughter  of 
the  glenne,"  a  lady  of  no  common  accomiJishments,  whom  he  has  celebrated  in  his 
poems,  under  the  name  of  Rosaliuti.  In  one  of  the  notes  to  "The  Shepheards 
Calendar,"  she  is  said  to  have  been  one  "  that  for  her  rare  and  singular  gifts  of  person  and 
mind,  Spenser  need  not  h.ive  been  ashamed  to  love."  Nor  was  she  insensible  of  her 
lover's  merit;  for,  according  to  Harvey,  "  gentle  Mistresse  Rosalinde  once  reported  him 
to  have  all  the  intelligences  at  commandnient,  and  another  time  christened  him  Signor 
Pegaso." — To  this  attachment  we  aie  indebted  tor  many  of  his  sweetest  productions.  He 
seems  to  have  loved  with  the  most  fervent  ardour;  and  has  imparted  to  the  strains  in 
which  he  sang  the  praises  of  his  mistress,  a  tone  of  tender  entreaty  inexpressibly  beautiful. 
Of  this  aflair,  too  little  is  known  ;  but  the  very  mysteiy  in  which  it  is  enshrined,  has 
thrown  around  the  tradition  of  the  poet's  first  love,  all  the  "  strong  interest  of  reality, 
and  all  the  charm  of  romance  and  poetry."  But  the  passion  which  gave  birth  to  so 
many  exquisite  lyrics  was  doomed  to  be  unt  a  day-dream  ;  the  aftections  of  Rosalind 
were  transferred  to  another,  the  Menilcas  of  the  Shepheards  Calendar;  and  Spenser 
poured  forth  in  tuneful  numbers  his  complaint,  "  how  he  was  forsaken  unfaithfully; 
and  in  his  stead  another  received  disloyally." 

Having  removed  to  London  at  the  suggestion  of  Harvey,  he  there  published  the 
Shepheards  Calendar  in  1579.  This  Poem,  which  is  composed  in  a  style  of  language, 
nearly  obsolete  in  the  age  in  which  it  was  written,  is  therefore  accompanied  by  a  glosse 
or  commentary,  which  was  furnished,  together  with  an  introductory  letter  to  Harvey,  by 
E.  K.,  respecting  whose  identity  many  ingenious  -conjectures  have  been  hazarded;  but 
every  attempt  at  his  discovery  has  been  ineffectual :  that  he  was  an  intimate  and  partial 
friend  of  the  author,  is  evident. 

As  a  Pastoral,  the  value  of  the  ^hephean's  Calendar  is  considerably  diminished,  by 
being  written  in  a  quaint  and  antiquated  dialect,  and  by  the  frequent  satire  on  ecclesias- 

"  Harvey,"  says  D'Israeli,  in  those  curious  and  entertaining  volumes,  "  The  Calamities  of  Authors,"  "  is 
not  unknown  to  the  lover  of  poetry,  from  his  lonn.  ciion  with  Spenser,  who  loved  and  revered  Lira.  He 
IS  the  Hob^nol,  whose  poem  is  prefixed  to  the  Faerie  Queene,  who  introduced  Spenser  to  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  and  besides  his  intimacy  with  the  literary  characters  of  his  time,  be  was  a  Doctor  of  Laws,  aa 
erudite  scholar, 'and  distingui^hed  as  a  poet."  The  most  remarkable  feature  of  his  life  was  his  quarrel  with 
Nash,  Greene,  and  the  most '  pregnant;  Luciuaic  wits  who  ever  flourished  at  one  time,'  "  for  aa  account  of 
which,  see  the  work  quoted  above. 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  LIKE  AND  WRITINGS 


tical  matters,  certainly  incongruous  in  the  mouths  of  tlie  rustic  heroes,  who  have  been 
not  inaptly  styled  by  Campbell,  "  parsons  in  disguise."  Tlie  consequence  of  this 
obtrusion  of  Church  Polemics  into  tlie  simplicity  of  rural  affairs  has  been,  that  the 
Ecloo-ues  for  May,  July,  and  September,  are  anything  but  Pastorals,  Indep  ndent, 
however  of  these  blemishes,  the  poem  is  enriched  with  many  passages  of  tx.|Uisite 
beauty ;  and  in  the  Eclogues  for  January,  June,  October,  and  December,  the  descriptions 
of  nature  are  minute  and  luxuriant,  and  may  be  cited  as  among  the  sweetest  specimens 
of  their  class,  extant  in  our  language.  Dryden  and  Pope  have  bestowed  upon  it  tiieir 
most  emphatic  applause;  and  tlie  former  has  not  hesitated  to  place  it  in  the  same  rank 
with  the  writings  of  Theocritus  or  Virgil.  The  novelty  of  its  subject  and  its  style  ;  it 
being  the  first  poem  of  the  kind  pu])lished  in  I'ngland,  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of 
Lord  Buckhurst's  "  Induction  and  Legend  of  Henry  Duke  of  Buckingham"*  (the  allego- 
rical pictures  of  which,  in  the  opinion  of  Warton,  "  are  so  beautifully  drawn,  that  in  all 
probability  they  contributed  to  direct,  or  at  least  to  stimulate,  Spenser's  imagination"), 
excited  universal  attention;  and  such  was  its  popularity  that,  during  the  author's  life 
time,  it  passed  through  no  less  than  five  editions.  It  is  supposed  that  some  political 
passages  in  these  poems,  especially  the  alhisions  to  Abp.  Grindall,  in  the  Eclogue  for 
April,  excited  the  wrath  of  the  great  Burghley,  the  effects  of  which  had  no  inconsiderable 
influence  on  the  Poet's  after-life.  In  vain  he  distinguished  the  minister  with  the  most 
flattering  adulation  in  one  of  the  sonnets  prefixed  to  the  Faerie  Queene :  the  mighty 
Peere  remained  implacable  ;  and  it  is  doubtless  to  the  loss  of  this  noble's  "  grace"  that  he 
alludes  in  the  following  terse  and   pregnant  lines  from  Mother  Hubberds  Tale : 

"  Most  miserable  man,  whom  wicked  fate 
Hath  brouL;ht  to  court,  to  sue,  for  had-ywist. 
That  few  liatli  found,  and  many  one  hath  mist  ! 
Full  little  kiiowest  thou,  that  hast  not  tride. 
What  hell  it  is,  in  suing  long  to  bide: 
To  loose  good  dayes,  tliat  might  be  better  spent; 
To  wast  long  nights  in  pensive  discontent ; 

To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  buck  to-morrow  ;  ■ 

To  feede  on  hope,  to  pine  with  feare  and  sorrow  ; 
To  have  thy  princes  grace,  yet  waiit  her  peeres  ; 
To  Lave  thy  asking,  yet  waite  manie  yeares ; 
To  fret  thy  soule  with  crosses  and  with  cares  ; 
To  eate  thy  heart  through  comforilesse  despaires  ; 
To  fawne,  to  crowche,  to  waite,  to  ride,  to  ronne  : 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undonne. 
Unha{)pie  wight,  borne  to  desastrous  end, 
That  doth  his  life  in  so  long  tendance  sjjend  !" 

But  if  the  Shepheards  Calendar  procured  for  its  author  a  powerful  enemy,  on  the  other 
hand  it  secured  him  some  no  less  powerful  friends.  Tiie  poem,  partly  written  at  Pens- 
hurst,  was   dedicated  to    Sir  Philip  Sidney,   who,  from    this  period    to    the  close  of  his 

•  Published  in  "  The  Mirror  for  Magistrates,"  1.559 — a  collection  of  stories  by  different  authors,  on  the 
plan  of  IJoccaccio's  "  De  Casihus  Virorum  Illustrium."  Of  this  Induction  and  Legend,  Hallam.iii  his  In- 
troduction to  the  Literature  of  Europe,  says,  "  It  displays  a  feriility  of  imagination,  vividness  of  description, 
and  streno'th  of  language,  not  only  superior  to  the  productions  of  any  of  his  predecessors,  but  will  beat 
conij)arison  with  some  of  the  most  jioetical  passages  of  Spenser." 


OF  EDMUND  SPENSER. 


career,  continued  the  kind  protector  of  Spenser,  and  obtained  for  him  the  countenance 
and  support  of  his  uncle  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  By  Leicester,  Spenser  was  received 
into  his  house,  for  the  furtherance,  no  doubt,  of  some  literary  undertaking ;  probably 
to  assist  in  the  composition  of  the"  Stemmata  Dwc^/em/m,"  an  account  of  the  Earl's 
genealogy,  on  which,  in  one  of  his  letters,  the  Poet  states  himself  to  have  been  em- 
ployed in  1580.  About  July  in  the  same  year,  he  was  indebted  to  his  patron  for  an 
appointment  as  secretary  to  Arthur  Lord  Grey  de  Wilton,  then  nominated  Lord  Deputy 
of  Ireland,  which  situation  he  held  during  the  two  years  of  that  nobleman's  administra- 
tion. Lord  Grey's  measures  with  the  Irish  were  energetic  and  severe, — so  much  so,  as 
to  have  induced  his  recall  to  England  :  and  to  this  event  Spenser  alludes  in  his  Faerie 
Queene,   when  describing  Artegall    returning  from  the  succour  of  Irene,  as  leaving  his 

labours  incomplete : — 

"  But,  ere  be  could  reform  it  thoroughly, 
He  through  occasion  called  was  away 
To  Faerie  Court,  that  of  necessity 
His  course  of  iustice  he  was  forst  to  stay." 

Many  years  afterwards,  he  appeared  as  the  advocate  of  Lord  Grey  ;  and  in  his  elaborate 
"  View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,"  has  successfully  vindicated  his  measures  and  his  reputa- 
tion. In  1586,  through  the  combined  influence  of  this  nobleman,  the  Earl  of  Leicester, 
and  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Spenser  received  a  grant  of  3028  acres  of  land  in  the  county  of  Cork, 
being  a  portion  of  the  forfeited  estates  of  the  rebel  earls  of  Desmond.  This  was  tlie  last 
kindntss  which  he  received  from  his  generous  friend  and  patron  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  On  the 
2'2d  of  September  of  the  same  year,  this  accomplished  scholar, — this  gallant  knight,  — this 
'•  flowre  of  chivalrie,"  received  his  death-wound  before  the  walls  of  Zutphen,  in  Guelder- 
land,  while  nobly  fighting  the  battles  of  the  Protestant  religion.  He  lingered  till  the 
17th  October,  when  he  expired  in  the  arms  of  his  secretary  and  friend,  Mr.  William 
Temple.  By  the  tenor  of  the  grant,  our  poet  was  compelled  to  reside  on  his  newly- 
acquired  property,  and  accordingly  fixed  his  residence  at  Kilcolman  castle,  about  two 
miles  distant  from  Doneraile.  Although  now  presenting  a  very  different  aspect,  this 
spot  seems  to  have  offered  considerable  attractions  to  a  man  of  Spenser's  temperament. 
The  castle  was  situated  on  an  elevation,  on  the  north  side  of  a  fine  lake,  in  the  midst  of 
an  extensive  plain,  whose  horizon  was  terminated  by  the  distant  mountains  of  Waterford, 
Ballyhoura,  Nagle,  and  Kerry.  The  views  from  its  site  are  most  delightfid ;  and  in 
Spenser's  time,  when  the  adjacent  uplands  were  wooded,  it  must  have  been  a  most  plea- 
sant and  romantic  situation,  to  which  we  no  doubt  are  indebted  for  many  of  tliose  glowing 
descriptions  of  forest  and  pastoral  scenery,  with  which  his  writings  so  richly  abound. 
'I  he  river  Mulla  flowed  through  his  grounds.  In  this  congenial  retreat,  enlivened  by  the 
society  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  had  succeeded  Sidney  as  his  Maecenas,  Spenser 
finished  the  first  part  of  his  glorious  and  imperishable  Faerie  Queene  ;  and  having  received 
the  critical  encomium  of  the  "  Shepheard  of  the  Ocean,"  accompanied  his  patron  toEng- 
land,  where,  in  1590,  he  gave  to  the  world  the  fruits  of  his  matured  intellect.  It  was 
published  with  the  title  of"  The  Faerie  Queene;  disposed  into  Twelve  Bookes,  fashioning 
XII  Morall  Vertues"  (although  in  this  first  edition  only  three  books  were  published), 
and,  as  appears  from  a  conversation  in  hh  friend  Ludowick   BiYskett's  "  Discourse  o/ 


10  OBSERVATIONS  ON    iriK  LIKK  AND   WRITINGS 


Civil  Life,"  was  intended  "  to  represent  all  the  Morall  Virtues,  assigning  to  every  virtue  a 
Knight,  to  be  patron  and  defender  of  the  same  ;  in  wliose  actions,  feats  of  armes,  and 
chivalry,  the  operation  of  that  v^irt'ie,  whereof  he  is  the  protector,  are  to  be  expressed  ; 
and  the  vices  and  unruly  appetites  that  oppose  themselves  against  the  same,  to  be  beaten 
dowue  and  overcome." 

At  this  period  Spenser  was  introduced  by  Raleigh  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  who,  in 
February,  1590-1,  as  we  learn  from  ?  patent  discovered  in  the  chapel  of  the  Rolls,  by 
-the  indefatigable  Malone,  conferred  upon  him  a  yearly  pension  of  fifty  pounds,  which  he 
enjoyed  till  his  death.  It  has  been  asserted  by  some  of  the  poet's  biographers,  tha% 
attached  to  this  pension  was  the  office  of  laureat ;  but  it  has  been  satisfactorily  proved 
by  Malone,  that  Spenser,  although  addressed  by  that  title  by  his  contemporaries,  was  never 
officially  appointed  to  the  situation.  In  reference  to  this  office,  Gibbon  (in  the  12th  volume 
of  his  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire)  remarks,  "  From  Augustus  to  Louis,  the 
Muse  has  too  often  been  false  and  venal ;  but  I  much  doubt  whether  any  age  or  court  can 
produce  a  similar  establishment  of  a  stipendiary  poet,  who,  in  every  reign,  and  at  all 
events,  is  bound  to  furnish,  twice  a  year,  a  measure  of  praise  and  verse,  such  as  may  be 
sung  in  the  chapel,  and,  I  beheve,  in  the  presence  of  the  sovereign."  Setting  aside  the 
adulation  whicli  the  appointment  entailed,  and  which  is  now  obsolete,  we  are  not  disposed 
to  quarrel  with  the  office  ;  for,  at  the  least,  it  offers  an  encouragement  to  literary  men,  in 
the  certainty  of  an  income,  no  unwelcome  benefit  to  a  race  not  generally  possessed  of  a 
superfluity  of  this  world's  gear,  and  though  originating,  no  doubt,  in  royal  vanity,  it  has 
not  unfrequently  lightened  the  sorrows  and  sweetened  the  labours  of"  these  Foster-babes 
of  Fame."  After  the  publication  of  his  poem,  Spenser  returned  to  Ireland;  and  during 
his  absence  from  court,  encouraged  by  the  popularity  into  vvhich  his  works  were  rapidly 
advancing,  his  bookseller  collected  and  printed  his  minor  pieces,  in  a  volume,  of  which 
ti)e  following  are  the  title  and  contents: — 

"  Complaints,  containing  sundrie  small  Poemes  of  the  World's  Vanitie :  viz.  1,  Tiie 
Ruines  of  Time.  2,  The  Teares  of  the  Muses,  3,  Virgils  Gnat.  4,  Prosopopoia,  or 
Mother  Hubberds  Tale.  5,  The  Ruines  of  Rome,  by  Bellay.  6,  Muiopotmos,  or  the 
Fate  of  the  Butterflie.  7,  Visions  of  the  Worlds  Vanitie.  8,  Bellayes  Visions.  9, 
Petrarches  Visions."  These  pieces,  although  considerably  inferior  to  his  great  work,  have 
yet  participated  in  the  fame  with  whieli  it  endowed  its  author,  and,  without  reference  to 
their  intrinsic  merits,  have  been  equally  lauded  by  his  critics.  This  want  of  discrimina- 
tion may  be  attributed  to  the  dazzle  of  his  name,  which  has  induced  them,  with  a  blind 
devotion,  to  heap  upon  his  minor  poems  those  eulogiums  which  can  only  be  justly 
claimed  by  the  Faerie  Qucene.  Of  these,  "  Mother  Hubberds  Tale,"  tliough  written  in 
the  "  raw  conceit  of  youth,"  is  certainly  the  best;  it  abounds  with  satirical  hits  at  the  lead- 
ing features  of  the  times,  the  priests  and  the  court :  the  lines  devoted  to  this  latter 
su!)ject  embody  the  description  of  the  miseries  of  a  place-hunter,  already  quoted.  The 
language  is  bold  and  nervous,  and  the  narrative  in  general  unembarrassed.  Take,  for 
example,  the  following  description  of  the  ape  purloining  the  crown,  sceptre,  and  hide 
"  which  he  had  doft  for  heat,"  from  the  King  of  the  Forest.  To  this  adventure  he  is 
incited  by  the  fox  : — 


OF  EDMUND  SPENSER.  n 


"  Loath  was  the  ape  (though  praised)  to  adventer 
Yet  faintly  gan  into  his  worke  to  enter. 
Afraid  of  everie  leaf  that  stir'd  him  by. 
And  everie  stick  that  underneath  did  Iv : 
Upon  his  tiptoes  nicely  he  up  went. 
For  making  noyse,  and  still  his  ears  he  lent 
To  everie  sound  that  under  heaven  blew. 
Now  went,  now  stopt,  now  crept,  now  backward  drew, 
That  it  good  sport  had  been  him  to  have  eyde ; 
Yet  at  the  last  (so  well  he  him  applyde). 
Through  his  fine  handling,  and  Ijis  cleanly  play, 
He  all  those  royall  signes  had  stolne  away, 
And  with  the  foxes  helpe  them  borne  aside 
Into  a  secret  corner  unespide." 

In  the  above,  tlie  trepidation  and  anxiety  of  the  robber  are  admirably  drawn.  In 
"  The  Ruines  of  Time,"  in  which  he  adverts  to  the  untimely  death  of  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  are  many  noble  passages;  and  Mr.  Ellis  has  selected  one  of  the  most 
spirited,  for  insertion  in  his  valuable  Specimens.  "  Muiopotmos"  is  one  of  the  most  ele- 
gant of  all  Spenser's  minor  poems,  and  possesses  much  of  the  lavishness  of  imagery  and 
description  so  conspicuous  in  his  more  polished  works.  "  The  Teares  of  the  Muses  "  com- 
prise their  lament  for  the  decay  of  learning.  "  Daphnaida,"  an  Elegy  on  Douglas  Howard, 
daughter  of  Henry  Lord  Howard,  appeared  Jan.  1,  1591-2  ;  and  in  1595,  was  published 
"  Colin  Clouts  Come  Home  Againe,"  in  which  the  Poet  gives  an  account  of  his  visit  to 
England  and  his  introduction  to  the  queen,  with  familiar  sketches  of  his  contemporaries 
under  feigned  names.  Attached  to  "  Colin  Clout"  was  "  Astrophel,"  a  collection  of 
elegiac  poems  on  the  death  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  supposed  to  have  been  written  on 
the  immediate  occasion  of  his  death.  The  characteristics  of  this  work  are  conceit  and 
pedantry,  but  often  redeemed  by  tender  sentiments  and  noble  expressions.  The  best  of 
the  poems  is  "  The  Mourning  Muse  of  Thestylis  ;"  and  in  the  Ele"y,  "  A  Friends 
Passion  for  his  Astrophel,"  we  have  an  atoning  charm  in  the  following  graceful  portrait 
of  Sidney : — 

"  When  he  descended  downe  to  the  mount 
His  personage  seemed  most  divine  : 
A  thousand  graces  one  might  count 
Upon  his  lovely  cheerfull  eine  : 

To  heare  him  speake  and  sweetly  smile 
You  were  in  Paradise  the  while. 

"  A  sweet  attractive  kinds  of  grace, 
A  full  assurance  given  by  lookes, 
Continuall  comfort  in  a  face, 
The  lineaments  of  Gospel  bookes  ; 

I  trowe  that  countenance  cannot  lie, 

Whose  thoughts  are  legible  in  the  eie. 

"  Was  never  eie  did  see  that  face, 
Was  never  eare  did  heare  that  tong. 
Was  never  minde  did  minde  his  grace. 
That  ever  thought  the  tra\ell  longe. 

But  eies,  and  eares,  and  ev'ry  thought:, 

Were  with  his  sweete  perfections  caught.'' 


12  OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


In  this  collection  occurs  "  An  Elegy  on  Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  written  by  his  sister,  Mary 
Countess  of  Pembroke,  the  celebrated  subject  of  Jonson's  pregnant  Epitaph  : — • 

"  Underneath  this  sable  herse, 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother. 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  killed  another 
Learn'd,  and  fair,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee." 

In  the  same  year  were  published  his  "  Amoretti,"  or  Sonnets,  apparently  written  during 
his  courtship  of  a  less  faithless  fair  than  Rosalind,  whom  he  afterwards  married,  and  by 
her  left  several  children.  These  sonnets  overflow  with  chaste  sentiments  and  beautiful 
imagery,  and  are,  in  truth, 

"  Such  tales,  as  told  to  any  maid 
By  such  a  man,  in  the  green  sh  ade, 
Were  perilous  to  hear!" 

The  portrait  of  his  Elizabeth  is  luxuriant  and  characteristic  : — 

"  Fayre  is  my  love,  when  her  fayre  golden  haires 
With  the  loose  wynd  ye  waving  chance  to  marke  ; 
Fayre,  when  the  rose  in  her  red  cheekes  appeares  ; 
Or  in  her  eyes  the  fyre  of  love  does  sparke  ; 
Fayre,  when  her  brest,  lyke  a  rich  laden  barke, 
With  pretious  merchandize  she  forth  doth  lay; 
F'avre,  whentliat  cloud  of  pryde,  which  oft  doth  dark 
Her  goodly  light,  with  smiles  she  drives  away  ; 
But  fayrest  she,  when  so  she  doth  display 
The  gate  with  pearles  and  rubyes  richly  dight ; 
Throgh  which  her  words  so  wise  do  make  their  way 
To  beare  the  message  of  her  gentle  spright. 

The  rest  be  woikes  of  Nature's  wonderment; 

But  this  the  worke  of  harts  astonishment." 

In  the  tenth  Canto  of  Book  VI.  of  the  Faerie  Queene,  she  is  also  described  ;  and  the 
poet  claims  for  her  the  honours  of  a  "  Fourth  (irace  ;"  and  in  the  seventy-fourth  sonnet 
classing  her  with  his  mother,  and  the  queen,  as  "  Ye  three  Elizabeths,"  he  calls  her, 

"  The  third,  my  love,  my  lifes  last  ornament. 
By  whom  my  spirit  out  of  dust  was  raysed : 
To  speake  her  prayse  and  glory  excellent, 
Of  iill  alive  most  vi'orthy  to  be  praysed." 

But  the  "  Epithalamion,"  written  on  his  marriage  with  the  lady  of  his  love,  far 
transcends  everything  of  the  like  description.  "  It  is  a  strain  redolent  of  a  Bridegroom's 
joy  and  of  a  Poet'fj  fancy.  — It  is  an  intoxication  of  ecstacy,  ardent,  noble,  and  pure."* 
There  is  no  other  nuptial  song  of  equal  beauty  in  our  language.  Spenser  has  thrown 
his  whole  soul  into  this  glorious  lay ;  and  it  stands  confessed  the  very  essence  of  his 
imaginative  genius. 

Tlie  "Fowre  Hymneson  Love  and  Beautie,"  dedicated  to  the  Countesses  of  Cumberland 
and  Warwick,  the  dedication  to  whom  is  not  a  little  curious,  and  the  "  Prothalamion,"  in 
honour  of  the  marnages  of  Ladies  Elizabeth  and  Catherine  Somerset,  to  H.  GifFord  and 

*  Hallam. 


i 


OF  EDMUND  SPENSER.  IS 


W.  Peters,  Esqis.,  were  also  published  in  1596.  In  the  first  are  some  spirited  lines 
in  honour  of  beauty ;  and  the  latter  contains  much  poetical  imagery,  melodiously 
expressed. 

Having  thus  cursorily  enumerated  the  chief  of  what  are  generally  called  Spenser's 
Minor  Poems,  we  may  here  hazard  a  few  words  as  to  their  general  merit  in  relation  to 
"  The  Faerie  Queene."  Though  possessed  in  the  highest  degree  of  poetical  feelings  and 
imagination,  Spenser  was  evidently  of  an  indolent  turn  of  mind,  and  required  a  strong 
excitement  to  exhibit  his  intellect  in  all  its  force.  In  the  production  of  these  stray  pieces, 
these  waifs, — if  they  may  be  so  denominated,  no  such  inducement  was  offered.  Enamoured 
of  its  "  dark  conceit,"  he  seems  to  have  placed  his  whole  hopes  of  fame  on  his  Faerie 
Queene,  and  to  have  considered  the  labour  bestowed  on  any  other  production,  as  so  much 
stolen  from  his  great  work  ;  and  this  may  perhaps  account  for  the  vast  abyss  whicli  in 
general  separates  it  from  the  offspring  of  his  less  disciplined  muse.  But  thougli  tnus 
dissenting  from  the  judgment  of  those  who  assert  that  he  has  no  faults,  we  reverentially 
concur  in  the  dictum  of  Warton,  that,  "  in  reading  Spenser,  if  the  critic  is^iot  satisfied, 
yet  the  reader  is  transported."  Perhaps  the  most  vigorous  of  the  pieces  now  under 
consideration  are  the  fables  of  "  The  Oake  and  the  Brier,"  and  "  The  Kidde  and  the 
Foxe,"  in  "The  Shepheard's  Calendar,"  and  "  Mother  Hubberds  Tale,"  "  Muiopotmos,'' 
and  the  "  Epithalamion." 

During  this  period  Spenser  had  not,  notwithstanding  the  fecundity  of  his  muse,  neg- 
lected the  Faerie  Queene  ;  and  accordingly  in  1596  appeared  a  new  edition  of  the  first 
three  books,  \yith  the  addition  of  a  second  part,  containing  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth. 
These,  with  two  imperfect  cantos  of"  Mutabilitie,"  first  published  in  the  folio  of  1609,  as 
a  recovered  portion  of  the  lost  "  Legend  of  Constancie,"  comprise  all  that  now  remains  of 
"  the  XII  books  fashioning  the  XII  morall  vertues."  The  opinions  of  his  biographers  have 
been  at  variance,  as  to  whether  the  poem  was  ever  finished,  or  whether  it  was  purposely 
left  in  its  present  incomplete  state.  With  these  opinions,  the  arguments  in  support  of 
which  must  almost  all  originate  in  conjecture,  we  will  refrain  from  meddling ;  and  while 
we  admire  the  ingenious  statements  of  Sir  James  Ware,  Birch,  and  Farmer,  and  the  no 
less  sagacious  retorts  of  their  learned  adversaries,  Fenton,  Dryden,  and  Todd,  without 
staying  to  investigate  their  abstruse  theories,  we  will  proceed  to  the  far  more  pleasing 
occupation  of  considering  what  remains  of  this  immortal  work. 

There  is  no  despot  so  absolute  as  fashion  ;  and,  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth,  the  fashion, 
whether  in  literature  or  manners,  was  derived  from  Italy,  as  now  from  France  ;  and  the 
glowing  tales  of  knight-errantry  and  magic,  which  Ariosto  had  given  to  the  world,  had 
strongly  imbued  our  ancestors  with  a  taste  for  the  chivalric  and  marvellous.  To  this 
passion  we  are  certainly  indebted  for  the  structure  of  the  Faerie  Queene ;  and  though 
Spenser  has  far  outstripped  the  Italian  in  richness  of  imagery  and  fertility  ot  conception, 
the  plot  of  his  poem,  although  inferior  to  the  Orlando,  from  its  want  of  uniformity,  is 
evidently  borrowed  from  Ariosto.  In  no  other  respect,  however,  can  the  two  be  considered 
as  rivals  :  in  delineation  of  character  and  lavish  minuteness  of  description,  our  country.nan 
stcfuas  alone.  His  creations  partake  not  of  the  undisciplined  and  libertine  genius  of  Ariosto  : 
tiiough  perhaps  too  evanescent  and  shadow-like  to  retain  a  lasting  hold  on  the  attentioa, 


14  OBSERVATIONS  OX    illK  LI  IK  AND  WRITINGS 


they  possess  all  tlie  imagined  grace  of  the  inliabitants  of  another  world, — a  region  of 
enchantment,  created  by  himself,  in  which  fresh  flowers  are  ever  springing,  and  new 
beanties  are  presented  to  us  at  each  step  in  our  progress.  The  success  of  the  Faerie 
Queene  was  instantaneous.  "  It  became  at  once  the  delight  of  every  accomplished  gen- 
tleman, the  model  of  every  poet,  the  solace  of  every  scholar  ;"*  Panegyrics  were  written 
on  its  author, — it  strengthened  his  position  at  court, — it  extended  the  circle  of  his 
friends, — it  won  for  him  the  smiles  of  his  sovereign,  and  secured  him  the  applause  of  the 
good.  Its  publication  exercised  an  influence  on  our  literature  and  on  our  language, 
whose  effects  are  even  yet  experienced.  To  enumerate  its  imitators  would  be  to  recount 
the  names  of  the  most  distinguished  of  our  poets  ;  for  all  have  been  more  or  less  indebted 
to  the  inspiration  of  Spenser's  genius. 

The  plot  of  the  Faerie  Queene  is  far  more  entangled  than  is  at  first  sight  apparent ;  and 
too  many  are  disposed,  in  the  more  conspicuous  attractions  of  its  poetical  embellishment, 
to  forget  the  moral  wliich  is  conveyed  beneath  its  surface.  Besides  the  moral  allegory  whicli 
is  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  poem,  Spenser  has  embodied  in  his  story  a  second  and 
political  one.  "  Not  only  is  Gloriana  the  imaginary  concentration  of  glory  sought  by 
every  true  knight — she  is  Queen  Elizabeth  too:  not  only  does  King  Arthur  present  the 
spirit  and  essence  of  pure  chivalry — he  is  likewise  Spenser's  (unworthy)  patron,  the  Earl 
of  Leicester ;  and  many  of  the  adventures  which  describe  the  struggles  of  virtue  and 
vice,  also  shadow  forth  anecdotes  and  intrigues  of  the  English  court,  invisible  to  those, 
as  Spenser  himself  insinuates, 

"  Who  n'ote  without  a  hound  fine  footing  trace." 

This  complication  of  meanings  may  render  the  Faerie  Queene  doubly  valuable  to  the  anti- 
quary v/ho  can  explore  its  secret  sense;  but  it  must  always  be  an  objection  to  Spenser's 
plan,  with  the  common  reader,  that  the  attempt  at  too  much  ingenuity  has  marred  the 
simplicity  of  his  allegory,  and  deprived  it  in  a  great  degree  of  consistency  and  coherence,  "f 
The  prevailing  though  less  prominent  tone  of  the  poem  betrays  a  mildness  and  gen- 
tleness eminently  characteristic  of  the  author's  disposition  :  beneath  the  garb  of  his 
bewitching  allegories  we  trace  his  desire  to  inculcate  those  virtues  which  are  the  peculiar 
attributes  of  Christianity.  Spenser's  feeling  for  sacred  subjects,  is  admirably  pourtrayed  in 
those  exquisite  stanxas  which  form  the  opening  of  the  eighth  Canto  of  Book  II.  How 
naturally  does  he  burst  forth, 

"  But  O  !  th'  exceeding  grace 

Of  Higliest  God  that  loves  his  creatures  so. 
And  all  his  workes  with  mercv  duth  emhrace, 
That  hlessed  Angels  he  sends  to  and  fro. 
To  servo  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  his  wicked  foe  ! 

*  •  *  •  • 

O,  why  should  llevenly  God  to  min  have  such  re**rd ! 

But  while  he  thus  paints,  in  the  most  vivid  and  alluring  colours,  those  endearing  sympathies 
which    hallow  existence  ;   with  an    energy  sturlling  as  unexpected,  ho  appears  as  the 

•   Ilallam  f  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


1 


OF  EDMUND  SPENSER.  i5 


delineator  of  our  evil  passions,  depicting  them  in  all   the  force  of  their  hideous  reality, 
and  in  a  manner  approaching  the  sublime. 

By  those  who  have  misunderstood  him,  it  has  been  asserted  that  Spenser's  poetry  is  all 
sweetness  and  destitute  of  strength.  For  a  refutation  of  this  opinion  I  need  only 
direct  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  sublime  descriptions  of  "  Him  who  with  the  night 
durst  ride, "the  House  of  Riches,  the  Court  of  Jealousy,  the  Caves  of  Mammon  and  Despair: 
the  latter,  especially,  is  nervously  written,  and  the  choice  of  words,  as  suited  to  the  o'lject 
described,  admirable  ;  we  see  before  us  the  very  picture  of  this  gloomy  den.  The  poet 
was  perfectly  master  of  his  art,  and  possessed  that  secret  which  gives  one  of  its  greatest 
charms  to  poetry,  a  choice  of  expressioii  and  epithet  extremely  apposite  to  the  subject. 
Virgil  has  been  much  praised  for  a  similar  quality;  but  the  description  of  the  trees 
which  form  the  "  shadie  grove,"  Book  I,  canto  i,  may  bear  comparison  with  any  of  the 
finest  passages  of  the  Mantuan  bard. 

Of  the  sweetness  of  his  verse  every  one  must  be  sensible  ;  it  has  the  melody  of  falling 
waters,  apd  wins  upon  the  senses  as  imperceptibly.  Speaking  of  tliis  characteristic  ot 
our  poet's  numbers,  Campbell  has  elegantly  said,  "  lie  is  like  a  speaker  whose  tones 
continue  to  be  pleasing,  though  he  may  speak  too  long  ;  or  like  a  painter,  who  makes  us 
forget  the  defect  of  his  design,  by  the  magic  of  his  colouring.  We  always  rise  from 
perusing  him  with  melody  in  the  mind's  ear,  and  with  pictures  of  romantic  beauty 
impressed  on  the  imagination."  That  the  Faerie  Queene  has  faults,  every  one  unblindcd 
by  prejudice,  must  be  ready  to  allow;  for  though  teeming  vvith  passai^'-es  of  grandeur, 
beauty,  pathos,  and  sui)limity,yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  wanting  in  uniformity  and  compactness. 
Each  of  the  books  might  have  been  published  as  a  separate  poem,  without  injury  to  the 
remainder.  Indeed,  the  first,  esteemed  as  by  far  the  best  of  the  six,  is  a  complete  work 
in  itself;  and,  but  for  the  reappearance  of  rince  Arthur,  has  little  connection  with  the 
others.  But  even  this  character  "  appears  and  vanishes  like  a  spirit,  and  we  lose  sis^ht  of 
him  too  soon  to  consider  him  as  the  hero  of  the  poem  "*  To  account  for  the  unfinisiied 
state  of  the  Faerie  Queene,  it  is  said  that  a  servant,  entrusted  witli  his  manuscripts, 
lost  the  six  remaining  books  in  the  precipitate  retreat  from  Ireland  at  the  time  of  the 
insurrection.  'I  his  story  is  much"discountenanced  by  others,  who  suppose  that  it  was  pur- 
posely left  incomplete.  Whatever  be  the  fact,  we  are  inclined  to  consider  that,  for  the 
author's  fame, the  poem  has  not  lost  in  the  curtailment,  the  last  three  books  are  much 
inferior  to  their  predecessors  ;  and  we  may  infer  that  the  subject  had  already  grown  too 
tedious  to   the  author  to  allow  of  future  improvement. 

Spenser  has  been  not  unfrequently  compared  vvith  >hakspeare  ;  vve  should  suppose  more 
for  the  sake  of  contrast  than  from  any  similarity  that  exists  between  them.  The  one  was 
truly,  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  !  the  other  is  uniforudy  tinctured  with  the  manners 
of  his  age.  "  >hakspeare  (as  Coleridge  has  finely  written)  stands  like  the  yew-tree  in 
Lorton  Vale,  which  has  known  so  many  ages  tlvat  it  belongs  to  none."  With  Sp;  user 
how  different!  In  his  writings  we  have  the  same  fertility  of  imagination,  the  same  \  ivid 
powers   of  description,    the    same  nervous  grasp  of  his  subject  ; — but   that    subject    is 

•  Hughes. 


16  OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


ivstricted  and  unpervading' ;  and  he  lavishes  tlie  exuberance  of  his  invention  and 
fancy  in  depicting  manners  and  customs  destined  to  be  forgotten  by  succeeding 
generations,  Shakspeare  is  the  poel  of  the  passions,  while  Spenser  is  the  poet 
of  habit:  the  one  has  an  universal  command  over  our  intellect;  the  other,  but  a 
temporary  one.  Tlie  former  lakes  our  sympatliies  by  storm  ;  while  the  latter  wins  us  by 
insensible  degrees.  We  fall  prostrate  before  the  giant  genius  of  Shakspeare  ;  while  we 
become  the  willing  captives  of  Spenser.  He  is  at  once  the  most  picturesque,  the  most 
uraceful,  and  the  most  visionary  of  our  poets.  None  has  ever  treated  with  a  inoie 
masterly  or  more  delicate  handling  the  graceful  characteristics  of  woman.  He  drew  her 
beauties  and  her  virtues  in  colours  not  more  glowing  than  true,  while  her  foibles  are  so 
lightly  touched,  and  with  so  much  apparent  sympathy,  that  he  makes  even  her  failings 
lean  to  Virtue's  side. 

The  same  year  which  brought  before  the  public  the  last  three  books  of  the  Faerie 
Queene,  produced  the  only  prose  work  of  our  author:  in  1596  he  presented  to  Queen 
Elizabeth  his  "  View  of  the  State  of  Ireland."  This  masterly  performance  was  intcnde-d 
to  have  had  a  mediatory  effect  between  the  Queen  and  her  Irish  subjects,  but  from  its 
bitter  tone,  was  not  likely  to  have  a  pacificatory  influence,  and  remained  in  MS.  till  1633, 
when  it  was  published  by  Sir  James  Ware,  in  his  collection  of  the  writers  on  Ireland,  from 
a  MS.  in  the  library  of  Archbishop  Usher.  Ledwich,  the  learned  Irish  antiquary,  writes  : — 
"  Civilization  having  almost  obliterated  every  vestige  of  our  ancient  manners,  the  remem- 
brance of  them  is  only  to  be  found  in  Spenser  ;  so  that  he  may  be  considered  at  this  day 
as  an  Irish  antiquary."  In  the  opinion  of  Ware,  "  He  seems  rather  to  have  indulged  the 
fancy  and  licence  of  a  poet,  than  the  judgment  and  fidelity  requisite  for  an  historian  " 
For  this  work,  which  is  disfigured  by  prejudice,  Spenser  has  certainly  but  little  claim 
upon  Irish  veneration,  but  it  exhibits  vast  political  knowledge,  and  ascribes  many  of  the 
miseries  of  that  unhappy  country  to  their  proper  sources.* 

Besides  the  works  we  have  thus  enumerated,  we  learn  from  his  letters,  those  of  Harvey, 
and  the  notes  of  E.  K.,  that  Spenser  wrote  several,  which  are  now  lost;  the  chief  of 
these  were  a"  Translation  of  Ecclesiasticus  ;'  a'  Translation  of  Canticum  Canticorum  ;*  the 
*  Dying  Pelican;'  the  '  Hours  of  Our  Lord;'  the  '  Sacrifice  of  a  Sinner;'  the  '  Seven  Psalms;' 
'  Dreams;'  the  '  English  Poet;'  '  Legends ;'  the  *  Court  of  Cupid  ;'  the  '  Hell  of  Lovers  :' 
his  '  Purgatory  ;'  '  Se'nnight's  Slumber;'  '  Pageants;'  '  Nine  Comedies;'  '  Stemmata  Dud- 
leiana'  and  '  Epithalamion  Thamesis.*  From  this  interesting  catalogue,  it  is  evident,  that 
Spenser's  muse  was  as  prolific  as  she  was  powerful;  and  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that 
not  one  of  these  seventeen  pieces  has  ever  been  recovered.  E.  K.,  in  the  epistle  to  Harvey 
prefixed  to  the  Shcphcards  Calender,  speaking  of  the  "  Dreams,"  "  Legends,"  and 
'  Court  of  Cupid,"  says,  "  whose  commendation  to  set  out  were  verie  vaine,  the  things 
though  worthie  of  many,  yet  being  knowne  to  fewe,"  and  in  the  argument  to  the  Eclogue 

*  A  MS.  copy  wliich  belonged  to  Sir  Arthur  Chichester,  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland,  in  1605  6,  occurs  in 
one  of  Mr.  Thorpe's  Catalogues,  Price  £31  10s.  Various  other  MS.  copies  are  known,  and  exist  one  in 
the  oublic  library,  at  Cambridge,  one  among  Lord  Keeper  Egerton's  papers  at  Lambeth,  o.ie  in  Trinifv 
College,  Dublin,  and  one  in  the  Gonville  and  Cuius  College  MS. 


OF  EDMUND  SPENSER.  ir 


for  October,  on  the  subject  of  poetry,  which  he  calls  a  "  worthie  and  coromendaVie 

art :    or  rather  no  art,  but  a  divine  gift  and  heavenly  instinct  not  to  be  gotten  bv 

labour  and  learning,  but  adorned  with  both ;  and  poured   into   the  witte  by  a  certain 

enthousiasmos   and    celestiall     inspiration,    as  the    author    hereof    elsewhere    at    large 

dir>courseth  in  his  booke  called  The  English  Poete,  which  booke  being  lately  come  to  ray 

hands.    1   rainde  also   by  Gods   grace,  upon   further  advisement,  to  publish."       This 

advisement  the  worthy  commentator  never  fulfilled,  and    the    world   is   thus    deprived 

of  one   ot  the  most   interesting    treatises  on    his    art  by   him,    whom    Camden  justly 

calls    Poetarum  nostri    seculi   facile    princeps.     In    the    Nine    Comedies,*     Spenser 

would  I'.ave  appeared  before  us  in  a  new  character,  rivalling  Shakspeare  on  his  own  ground, 

wnile   in    the  Pageants    we  might   have  traced  some  of  the   first   shadowings    of  the 

curious  productions   of  "  rare   Ben."     That    our    loss    is    great,    all    must    feelingly 

confess    who    can    appreciate    the     manner     in     which     Spenser    would    have    treated 

these    various    subjects,    shrining  them   in   the   graceful  beauty  of  his  Faerie  numbers. 

In  this  cursory  review  of  his  life,  it  has  been  our  delight,  while  culling  the   flowers  of 

his    sweet    poesy,  to  contemplate  the  career  of  Spenser  still    brightened   by   success, 

unclouded   by  sorrow  and   unembittered  by   misfortune.      The  discontents   occasioned 

by  the  capriciousness  of  court  favour,  the  vexations  of — 

"  expectation  vnyne 
Of  idle  hopes,   which  still  doe  fly  away. 
Like  empty  shadows," 

were  of  brief  duration,  and  up  to   this  period   of  his  history,   the  Poet's  life  had  been 
bright  as  a  summer    holiday.     We    have   seen    his    name    by    slow    but    sure    degrees 
assume   that  proud  pre-eminence  in   our   literature  which   it   will  for  ever  retain.     We 
have  beheld  him"  shining  like    a   starre"   among  his  brilliant  contemporaries,  claiming 
alike  their  admiration  and  regard — and  we  have  lingered  over  the  details  of  his  domestic 
life  sympathising  in  the  poet's  affection  for  his  Elizabeth  in  whose  fliir  heart 
"  Theie  dwells  sweet  love,  and  constant  chastity, 
Uns])Otted  fayth,  and  comelv  womanhood. 
Regard  of  honour  and  mild  modesty  " 

and   envying  those    '*  celestial   threasuies,    and    unrevealed    pleasures,"    which   shed   a 
radiance   round    his    Bower   of   Bliss. 

"  O  Fortuna,  ut  nunquam  perpetuo  es  bona  !'' — 

In  1597  Spenser  had  been  recommended  to  the  Irish  government  by  the  queen,  to  be 
sheriff  of  Cork.  His  tenure  of  this  office  was  soon  ended.  In  October,  the  storm  which 
was  to  crush  at  once  his  prosperity  and  his  life  burst  forth  with  resistless  fury.  Tyrone 
having  gained  that  signal  victory  over  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  long  remembered  as  the  defeat 
of  Blackwater,  incited  his  confederates  to  aid  him  in  expelling  the  English  settlers  from 

•  la  the  opinion  of  Harvey  they  were  superior  to  the  Faerie  Queene.  In  one  of  his  letters  to  Spenser,  he 
says,  "  to  be  plain,  I  am  voyde  of  all  judgement,  if  your  nine  Comedies,  whereunto,  in  imitation  of  Herodotus, 
you  give  the  names  of  the  nine  muses,  (and  in  one  mans  fansie  rot  unworthily)  come  not  nearer  Ariostoes 
Corna;dies,  eyther  for  the  finenesse  of  plausible  eloqution,  or  the  rareness  of  poetical  invention,  than  that 
Eirish  Queene  doth  to  his  Orlando  Furioso." 


13  OBSERVATIONS  ON  THE  LiFH  AND   WRITINGS  OF  SPENSER. 

Ireland.  The  Miinstfi  insurgents  were  luacled  by  James  Filztliomas  Geraldiiie,  titulai 
Earl  of  Desmond,  to  wliose  faaiily  tlie  castle  and  estates  of  Kilcolman  had  be  longed. 
Spenser  and  his  family  fled.  One  of  his  children  was  left  behind,  and  perished  in  the 
ruins  of  his  dwelling-,  which  had  been  fired  by  the  rebels. 

Unnerved  by  these  calamities,  turning  from  the  scene  of  former  happiness,  he  made 
his  way  to  London,  where,  after  a  fruitless  struggle  against  poverty  and  sickness,  in  a 
lodging  house  in  King-street,  Westminster,  died  the  poet  of  the  Faerie  Queene!  He  was 
buned  in  the  abbey,  near  tlie  tomb  of  Ciiaucer,  with  a  splendid  funeral,  at  the  expense  of 
the  Earl  of  ^^sse.^.  The  pall  was  borne  by  poets  ;  and  with  a  true  poetic  feelmg,  tributary 
verses  by  the  most  illustrious  of  his  contemporaries,  with  the  pens  that  wrote  tnem,  were 
thrown  into  his  grave.  About  thirty  years  after  his  death  Anne  Countess  oi  Dorsec 
erected  a  monument  to  his  memory  in  Westminster  Abbey.  It  vvas  executed  by  Stone, 
at  a  cost  of  forty  pounds. 

In  Camden's  little  tract  entitled,  "  R,eges,  Reginse,  Nobiles,  et  alii  in  Ecclesia  Collegiata 
B.  Petri  Westmonasterii  sepulti,"  1606,  4to,  we  find  the  following  notice  of  this  monument, 
which  was  defaced  by  the  Puritans  during  the  civil  wars,  and  the  present  one  erected  or 
restored  in  1778  : — 

"  Edmundus  Spencer  Londinensis,  Anglicorum  Poetarum  nostri  seculi  facile  princeps 
quod  ejus  poemata  faventi  bus  Musis  et  victiiro  genio  conscripta  comprobant.  Obiit 
immatura  morte  anno  salutis  1598,  et  prope  Galfredum  Chauccrum  conditur  qui 
foelicissmie  poesin  Anglicis  Uteris  primus  illustravit.  In  quern  haec  scripta  sunt  Epitaphia  : — 

"  Hie  prope  Chaucerum  situs  est  Spenserius,  illi 

Proximus  ingenio,  proximus  ut  tumulo. 
Hie  prope  Cliaucerum  Spensere  poeta  poetatn 

Conderis,  et  yersii,  quam  tumulo  propior. 
Anglica  te  vivo  vixit,  plausit  que  Poesis 

Nunc  moritura  timet,  te  moriente,  mori.' 

The  inscription  on  the  restored  monument  is  thus:  "  Heare  lyes  (expecting  the  second 
commino-e  of  our  Saviour  Jesus)  the  body  of  Edmond  Spenser,  the  Prince  of  Poets  in  his 
tyme,  whose  divine  spirit  needs  noe  othirwitnesse  then  the  works  which  he  left  behinde  him. 
He  was  borne  in  London,  in  the  yeare  1553,  and  died  in  theyeare  1598." 

His  contemporaries,  by  whom  he  had  never  been  addressed  without  the  epithet  *  great,' 
or  '  learned,'  vied  with  each  other  in  Elegiac  tributes  to  his  memory ;  and  the  most 
eminent  of  our  later  poets  have  successively  confessed  their  obligations  to  him.  Milton 
acknowledged  to  Dryden  th.at  Spenser  was  his  master,  and  Dryden  has  said  of  h:rn,  "  no 
man  was  ever  born  with  a  greater  genius,  or  had  more  knowledge  to  support  it."  But 
the  enumeration  of  all  the  eulogies  which  gratitude  or  admiration  has  showered  upon  him, 
would  too  much  amplify  our  sketch,  which  has  already  extended  beyond  the  prescribed 
limit.  In  concluding  tlicse  "  Observations,"  the  writer  has  only  to  remark,  that  the 
quotations  introduced  have  been  selected  rather  to  illustrate  the  particular  subject  under 
discussion,  than  as  specimens  of  Spenser's  "  Beauties,"  a  just  appreciation  of  which  can 
only  be  acquired  by  an  attentive  study  of  his  writings. 


i 


THE 


?AERIE   QUEENE. 


DISPOSED    INTO    TWELVE    BOOKES. 


FASHIONING 


XII  MORALE  VERTUES. 


TO  THE   MOST   HIGH   MIGHTIE   AND    MAGNIFICENT 


EMPRESSE 

EENOWNED   FOE   PIETIE   VEETVE   AND    ALL   GEATIOTS    GOVEENMENT 

ELIZABETH 

BY   THE   GRACE   OF   GOD 

QVEENE  OF  ENGLAND  FRAVNCE  AND   IRELAND  AND 

OF  VIRGINIA 

DEFENDOVR  OF  THE   FAITH  &c. 

HEE    MOST    HUMBLE    SEEVAUNT 

EDMVND   SPENSER 

DOTH    IN   ALL   HUMILITIE 
DEDICATE  PRESENT  AND  CONSECRATE 

THESE   HIS  LABOVRS 

TO   LIVE   WITH   THE    ETEENITIE   OF   HEE   FAME, 


LETTER  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S, 


EXPOUNDING  HIS  WHOLE  INTENTION  IN  THE  COURSE  OF  THIS  WORKE;  WHICH,  FOR  THAI 

IT  GIVETH  GREAT  LIGHT  TO  THE  READER,  FOR  THE  BETTER 

UNDERSTANDING  IS  HEREUNTO  ANNEXED. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  NOBLE  AND  VALOROUS 


SIR   WALTER  RALEIGH,   knight, 


LO.  WAIIDEIN  OF  THE  STANNERYES  AND  HER  MAIESTIE3  LIEFTENAUNT  OF  THE  COUNTY  OF  CORKEVVAYLLt 


Sir, 
Knowint.  how  doubtfully  all  Allegories  may  be 
construed,  and  this  hooke  of  mine,  which  1  have 
entituled  The  Faery  Qiieene,  being;  a  continued 
Allegory,  or  darke  Conceit,  I  have  thought  good,  as 
well  for  avoyding  of  gealous  opinions  and  miscon- 
structions, as  also  for  your  better  light  in  reading 
thereof,  (being  so  by  you  commanded,)  to  discover 
unto  you  the  general  intention  and  meiining,  which 
in  the  whole  course  thereof  I  have  fashioned,  without 
expressing  of  any  particular  purposes,  or  by-acci- 
dents,  therein  occasioned.  The  general  end,  there- 
fore, of  all  the  booke,  is  to  fashion  a  gentleman  or 
noble  person  in  vertuous  and  gentle  discipline ; 
which  for  that  I  conceived  shoulde  be  most  plausible 
and  pleasing,  being  coloured  with  an  historical  fiction, 
the  which  the  most  part  of  men  delight  to  read, 
rather  for  variety  of  matter  then  for  profile  of  the 
ensample,  I  chose  the  Historye  of  King  Arthure,  aa 
most  fitte  for  the  excellency  of  his  person,  being 
made  famous  by  many  mens  former  workes,  and 
also  furthest  from  thedaunger  of  envy,  and  susjiilion 
of  present  time.  In  which  I  have  followed  all  the 
antique  poets  historicall  ;  first  Homere,  who  in  the 
persons  of  Agamemnon  and  Ulysses  hath  ensampled 
H  good  governour  and  a  vertuous  man,  the  one  in 
his  llias,  the  other  in  his  Odysseis  ;  then  Virgil, 
whose  like  intention  was  to  doe  in  the  person  of 
^neas  ;  after  him  Ariosto  comprised  them  both  in 
his  Orlando  ;  and  lately  Tasso  dissetered  them  again, 
and  formed  both  parts  in  two  persons,  namely,  that 
piirt  whicli  they  in  philosophy  c;dl  Eilnce,  or  Vertues 
of  a  ])iivafe  man,  coloured  inhis  Hiiinaldu  ;  the  other 


named  Politice,  in  his  Godfredo.  By  ensample  of 
which  excelFente  poets,  I  labour  to  pourtraict  in 
Arthure,  before  he  was  king,  the  image  of  a  bra 
knight,  perfected  in  the  twelve  private  Morall  Ver- 
tues, as  Aristotle  hath  devised  ;  the  which  is  the 
purpose  of  these  first  twelve  bookes  :  which  if  J 
finde  to  be  well  accepted,  I  may  be  perhaps  enco- 
raged  to  frame  the  other  part  of  Polliticke  Vertues  in 
his  person,  after  that  hee  came  to  be  king.  To  some 
1  know  this  methode  vrill  seem  displeasaunt,  which 
had  rather  have  good  discipline  delivered  plainly  in 
way  of  precepts,  or  sermoned  at  large,  as  they  use, 
then  thus  clowdily  enwrapped  in  allegorical  devises. 
]3ut  such,  me  seeme,  should  be  satisfide  with  the  use 
of  these  days,  seeing  all  things  accounted  by  their 
showes,  and  nothing  esteemed  of,  thatia  not  delight- 
full  and  pleasing  to  commune  seuce.  For  this  cause 
is  Xenophon  preferred  before  Plato,  for  that  the  one, 
in  the  exquisite  depth  of  his  iudgement,  formed  a 
communewelth,  such  as  it  should  be  ;  but  the  other, 
in  the  person  of  C\rus,  and  the  Persians,  fashioned 
a  government,  such  as  might  best  be  :  so  much  more 
pro.*itable  and  gratious  is  doctrine  by  ensample  then 
by  rule.  So  have  I  laboured  to  do  in  the  person 
of  Arthure  :  whom  I  conceive,  after  his  long  educa- 
tion by  Timon,to  whom  he  was  by  Merlin  delivered 
to  be  brought  up,  so  soone  as  he  was  borne  of  the 
Lady  Igruyne,  to  have  scene  iu  a  dream  or  vision 
the  Paery  Queene,  with  whose  excellent  beautv 
ravished,  he  awaking  resolved  to  seeke  lier  out , 
and  so  being  by  Merlin  armed,  and  by  Timoii 
throughly  instructed,  he  went  to  seeke  her  forth  i:i 
Faerye  Land.     In  that  Faery  Queene  [  meane  Glrr 


SPENSER  TO  SIR   WALTER  RALEIGH. 


in  mygenerall  intention,  but  in  my  particular  I  con- 
ceive the  most  excellent  and  glorious  person  of  our 
soveraine  the  Queene,  and  her  kinsjdom  in  F^iery 
Land.  And  yet,  in  some  places  els,  I  do  otherwise 
shadow  her.  For  considerino;  she  beareih  two 
persons,  the  one  of  a  most  royal  Queene  or  Empresse, 
the  other  of  a  most  vertiious  and  beautiful!  lady, 
this  latter  part  in  some  places  1  doe  express  in  Bel- 
phrebe, fashioning  her  nanr.e  eccor'Lnpr  to  your  owne 
excellent  conceipt  of  Cynthia:  Phoebe  and  Cynthia 
being  both  names  of  Diana.  So  in  the  person  of 
Prince  Arthure  I  sette  forth  Magnificence  in  parti- 
cular ;  which  Vertue  for  that  (according  to  Aristotle 
and  the  rest)  it  is  the  perfection  of  all  the  rest,  and 
conteiiieth  in  it  them  all,  therefore  in  the  whole 
course  I  mention  the  deeds  of  Arthure  applyable  to 
tliat  Vertue,  which  I  write  of  in  that  booke.  But  of 
the  xii.  other  Vertues,  1  make  xii.  other  knights  tha 
patrones,  for  the  more  variety  of  the  history  :  of 
which  these  three  bookes  contayn  three. 

The  first,  of  the  Knight  of  the  Redcrosse,  in 
whom  I  expresse  Ilolynes  :  the  seconds  of  Sir 
Guvon.  in  whome  1  sette  forth  Temperaunce  :  the 
third  of  Britoraartis  a  lady-knight,  in  whom  I  picture 
Chastity.  But,  because  the  beginning  of  the  whole 
worke  seemeth  abrupte  and  as  depending  upon  otlier 
antecedents,  it  needs  that  ye  know  the  occasion  of 
these  three  knights  severall  adventures.  For  the 
methode  of  a  poet  historical  is  not  such,  as  of  an 
historiographer.  For  an  historiographer  discourserh 
of  afl^avres  orderly  as  they  were  donne,  accounting  as 
well  the  times  as  the  actions  ;  but  a  poet  thrusteth 
into  the  middest,  even  where  it  most  concerneth 
him,  ;in(i  there  recoursing  to  the  thinges  forepaste, 
and  divining  of  thinges  to  come;  maketh  a  pleasing 
analysis  of  all. 

'i'he  beginning  therefore  of  my  history,  if  it  were 
to  be  told  by  an  historiographer,  should  be  the 
twelf'th  booke,  which  is  the  last ;  where  I  devise  that 
the  Faerv  Queene  kept  her  annual  feaste  xii.  days  ; 
uppon  which  xii.  severall  dayes,  the  occasions  of  the 
xii.  severall  adventures  liapned,  which,  being  under- 
taken by  xii.  severall  knights,  are  in  these  xii.  books 
severally  handled  and  discoursed.  The  first  was 
this.  Jn  the  beginning  of  the  feast,  there  presented 
himselfe  a  tall"  clownishe  young  nii.n,  who  falling 
before  the  Queene  of  Faeries  desired  a  boone  (as  the 
manner  then  was)  which  during  that  feast  she  might 
not  refuse;  which  was  that  bee  might  have  the 
atchivement  of  any  adventure,  which  during  that 
feaste  should  happen.  That  being  graunted,lie  rested 
him  on  tiie  lloore,  unfitte  tiirougli  his  rusticity  for  a 
better  place.  Soone  after  entred  a  faire  ladye  in 
mourning  weedes,  riding  on  a  white  asse,  with  a 
dwarte  behind  her  \eviwf,  a  warlike  steed,  that  bore 
tiie  arms  of  a  knigiit,  a.-,cl  Lis  sjjeare  in  the  dwarfes 
hand.  Shee,  fallmg  before  the  Queene  of  Faeries, 
complayiied  tliat  her  father  and  mother,  an  ancient 


king  and  queene,  had  bene  by  an  huge  dragon  many 
years  shut  up  in  a  brasen  castle,  who  thence  suffred 
tiiem  not  to  yssew  ;  and  therefore  besought  the 
Faerie  Queene  to  assvgne  her  some  one  of  her  knights 
to  take  on  him  that  exployt.  Presently  that 
clownish  person,  upstarting,  desired  that  adventure; 
whereat  the  Queene  much  wondering,  and  the  lady 
much  gainesaying,  ytt  he  earnestly  importuned  his 
desire.  In  the  end  the  lady  told  bim,  that  unlesse 
that  armour  which  she  brought,  would  serve  him 
(that  is,  the  armour  of  a  Christian  man  specified  by 
St.  Paul,  V.  Ephes.)  that  he  could  not  succeed  in 
that  enterprise:  which  being  forthwith  put  upon 
him  with  dew  furnitures  thereunto,  he  seemed  the 
goodliest  man  in  al  that  company,  and  v,-as  well  liked 
of  tiie  lady.  And  eftesoones  taking  on  him  knight- 
hood, and  mounting  on  that  straunge  courser,  he  went 
forth  with  her  on  that  adventure  ;  where  beginneth 
the  first  booke,  viz. 

A  gentle  knight  was  pricking  on  the  playne,  &c. 

The  second  day  there  came  in  a  palmer  bearing  an 
infant  with  bloody  hands,  whose  parents  he  com- 
playned  to  have  bene  slayn  by  an  enchauntresse 
called  Acrasia ;  and  therefore  craved  of  the  Faery 
Queene,  to  appoint  him  some  knight  to  performe 
that  adventure;  which  being  assigned  toSirGuyon, 
he  presently  went  forth  with  that  same  palmer ; 
which  is  the  beginning  of  the  second  booke,  and  the 
whole  subiect  thereof.  The  third  day  there  came 
in  a  groome,  who  complained  before  the  Faery 
Queene,  that  a  vile  enchaunter,  called  Busirane,  had 
in  hand  a  most  faire liidy,  ca'Ied  Amoretta,  whom  b? 
kept  in  most  grievous  torment,  because  she  would 
not  yield  him  the  pleasure  of  her  body.  Whereupon 
Sir  Scudamour,  the  lover  of  that  lady,  presently  to'  'ke 
on  him  that  adventure.  But  being  unable  to  jier- 
forme  it  by  reason  of  the  hard  enchautitments,  arter 
long  sorrow,  in  the  end  met  with  Britomartis,  who 
succoured  him,  and  reskewed  bis  love. 

But,  by  occasion  hereof,  many  other  adventures 
are  intermedled  ;  but  rather  as  accidents  then  inteiitl- 
ments  ;  as  the  love  of  Biitomart,  the  overthrow  of 
Marinell,  the  misery  of  Florimell,  the  vertuousnes 
of  Belphoibe,  the  lasciviousness  of  Hellenora;  and 
many  the  like. 

Thus  much.  Sir,  I  have  briefly  overronne  to  direct 
your  understanding  to  tlie  wel-head  of  the  history  ; 
that,  from  thence  gathering  the  whole  intention  of  ths 
conceit,  ye  may  as  in  a  handful  gripe  al  the  discourse, 
which  otherwise  may  happily  seem  tedious  and  con- 
fused. So,  humbly  craving  the  continuance  of  your 
honourable  favour  towards  me,  and  th'  eteniall 
establishment  of  your  happines,  1  humbly  take 
leave.  * 

Yours  most  humbly  affectionate, 

ED.  SPENSER 

23,  laniiai-y  158P. 


VERSES 


AUTHOR  OF  THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


A  VISION  UrON  THE    CONCEIPT  OF  THE  FAERY  QUEENE. 

Me  thougl-t  I  saw  the  grave  where  Laura  lay, 

Witbin  that  temple  where  the  vestall  flame 

Was  wont  to  burne  ;  and  passing  by  that  way 

To  see  thai  buried  dust  of  living  fame, 

Whose  tomb  faire  Love,  and  fairer  \'irtue  kept  _; 

All  suddeinly  I  saw  the  Faery  Queene : 

At  whose  a^jprocb  the  soule  of  Fetrarke  wept, 

And  from  thenceforth  those  Graces  were  not  seene  ; 

(For  they  this  Queene  attended  ;)  in  whose  steed 

Oblivion  laid  him  down  on  Lauras  herse  : 

Hereat  the  hardest  stones  were  seene  to  bleed, 

And  grones  cf  buried  ghostes  the  hevens  did  perse; 

Where  Homtrs  sprigbt  did  tremble  all  for  griefe, 

Ai.d  curst  th'  accesse  of  that  celestiall  theife. 

W.  R. 

ANOTHER  OF  THE  SAME. 

The  prayse  of  meaner   wits  this  Worke  like  profit 

brings,  [sings. 

As  doth  the  cuckoes  song  delisrht  when  Philumena 
If  thou  hast  formed  right  true  Vertues  face  herein, 
Vertue  herselfe  can  best  discerne    to   whom    they 

written  bic. 
If  thou  hast  Beauty  praysd,  let  her  sole  lookes  divine 
Judge  if  ought  therein  be  amis,  and  mend  it  by  her  eine. 
Jf  Chastitie  want  ought,  or  Temperaunce  her  dew. 
Behold    her   princely  mind   aright,   and    write    thy 

Queene  anew.  [sore 

Meane  while  she  shall  perceive,  how  far  her  vertues 
Above  the  reach  of  all  that  live,  or  such  as  wrote  of 

yore  : 
And  thereby  will  excuse  and  favour  thy  ^uod  will  ; 
Wliose  vertue  cannot  be  exprest  but  by  an  angels  quill 
Of  me  no  lines  are  lovd,  nor  letters  are  of  price, 
(Of  all  which  speak  our  English  tongue)  but  those  of 

thy  device. 

W    R. 

To  THE   LEARNED  SHEPHEARD. 

CoLT-YN,  I  see,  by  thy  new  taken  taske. 
Some  sacred  fury  hatf  er.richt  thy  braynes, 
I'hat  leades  thy  Muse  in  haughty  verse  to  maske, 
And  loathe  the  layes  that  longs  to  lowly  swaynes  ; 
That  hltes  thy  notes  from  shepheardes  unto  kino-e's  ; 
So  like  the  lively  larke  that  mounting  singes.      ° 


Thy  lovely  Rosalinde  seemes  now  forlorne  ; 
Acd  all  thy  gentle  flockes  forgotten  quight ; 
Thy  chaunged  hart  now  holdes  thy  pypes  in  scorne, 
Those  prety  pypes  that  did  thy  mates  delight; 
Those  trusty  mates,  that  loved  thee  so  well ; 
Whom  thou  gav'st  mirth,  as  they  gave  thee  the  bell. 

Yet,  as  thou  earst  with  thy  sweete  roundelayes, 
Didst  stirre  to  glee  ourladdes  in  homely  bowers  ; 
So  moughtst  thou  now  in  these  refyned  layes 
Delight  the  daiutie  eares  of  higher  powers. 
And  so  mought  they,  in  their  deepe  skanning  skill. 
Alow  and  grace  our  Collyns  flowing  quill. 

And  faire  befall  that  Faery  Queene  of  thine  ! 
In  whose  faire  eyes  Love  lintkt  with  Vertue  sittes 
Enfusing,  by  those  bewties  fyers  divine. 
Such  high  conceites  into  thy  humble  wittes. 
As  raised  hath  poore  pastors  oaten  reeUes 
From  rusticke  tunes,  to  chaunt  heroique  deedes. 

So  mought  thy  Redcrosse  knight  with  happy  hand 

Victorious  be  in  tliat  faire  ilands  riglit, 

(Which  thou  dost  vavle  in  type  of  Faery  Land,"* 

Elizas  blessed  field,  iliat  Albion  bight: 

That  shieldes  her  friendes,  and  warrea  her  mightiefoes, 

Yet  still  with  people,  peace,  and  plentie,  flowes. 

But,  iollv  shepheard,  though  with  pleasing  stile 

Thou  feast  the  humour  of  the  courtly  trayne  ; 

Let  not  conceipt  thy  settled  sence  beguile, 

Ne  daunted  be  through  envy  or  disdaine. 

Subiect  thy  doome  to  her  empyring  spright, 

From  whence  thy  Muse,  and  all  the  world,  takes  light 

HOBYNCLL. 

Fayre  Thamis   streame,    that  from   Ludds  stately 
Runst  paying  tribute  to  the  ocean  seas,  [towne 

Let  all  thy  nymphes  and  syrens  of  renowns 
Be  silent,  whyle  this  Bryttane  Orpheus  playes  ; 
iXere  thy  sweet  banks  there  livesthat  sacred  Crowne, 
Whose  hand  strowes  ]j:ilnie  and  never-dying  haves  : 
Let  all  at  once,  with  thy  soft  murmuring  sowne, 
Present  her  witli  this  worthy  poets  prayes  ; 
For  he  hath  taught  hye  drifts  in  r.hepherdes  weedes. 
And  deepe  conceites  now  singes  in  Faeries  deedes. 

U.S. 


SONNETS  ADDRESSED  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


Grave  Muses,  march  in  triumph  and  with  prayses  ; 
Uur     Goddesse    here    hath    given    you    leave    to 

land  ; 
And  biddes  this  rare  dispenser  of  your  graces 
Bow  downe  his  brow  unto  her  sacred  hand. 
Deserte  iindes  dew  in  that  most  princely  dooms, 
In  whose  sweete  hrest  are  all  the  Muses  bredde  ; 
So  did  that  great  Augustus  erst  in  Roome 
With  leaves  of  fame  adorne  his  poets  hedde. 
Faire  be  the  guerdon  of  your  Faery  Queene, 
£"01  ->f  the  fairest  that  the  world  hath  seene  ! 

H.  B, 


When  stout  Achilles  heard  of  Helens  rape, 

And  what  revenge  the  states  of  Greece  devis'd; 

Thinking  by  sleii^ht  the  f  itall  warres  to  scape. 

In  womans  \<feedes  himselfe  he  then  disguis'd  : 

But  this  devise  Ulysses  soone  did  spy. 

And    brought   him'  forth,  the  chaunce   of  warre  to 

try. 
When  Spenser  saw  the  fame  was  spredd  so  large 
Through  Faery  land,  of  their  renowned  Queene  ; 
Loth  that  his  Muse  should  take  so  great  a  charge. 
As  in  such  haughty  matter  to  be  seeue  ; 
To  seeme  a  sbepheard,  then  he  made  his  choice ; 
But  Sidney  heard  him  sing,  and  knew  his  voice. 

And  as  Ulysses  brought  faire  Thetis  sonne 

From  his  retyred  life  to  menage  armes  : 

So  Spenser  was,  by  Sidneys  speaches,  wonne 

To  blaze  her  fame,  not  fearing  future  harmes  : 

For  well   he   kuew,    his    muse    would  soone  be 

tyred 
In  her  high  praise,  that  all  the  world  admired. 


Yet  as  Achilles,  in  those  warlike  frayes, 

Did  win  the  palme  from  all  the  Grecian  peeres 

So  Spenser  now,  to  his  immortal  prayse. 

Hath  wonne  the  laurell  quite  from  all  his  feeres. 

What  though  his  taske  exceed  a  humaine  witt ; 

He  is  excus'd,  sith  Sidney  thought  it  fitt. 

W.  L 

Tt  looke  upon  a  worke  of  rare  devise 

The  which  a  workman  setteth  out  to  view, 

And  not  to  yield  it  the  deserved  prise 

Tbat  unto  such  a  workmanship  is  dew. 

Doth  either  prove  the  iudgement  to  be  naught, 
Or  els  doth  shew  a  mind  with  envy  fraught. 

To  labour  to  commend  a  peece  of  worke. 
Which  no  man  gots  aboat  to  discommend, 
Would  raise  a  jealous  doubt,  that  there  did  lurke 
Some  secret  doubt  whereto  the  prayse  did  tend  : 
For  when  men  know  the  goodnes  of  the  wyne, 
'Tis  needless  for  the  boast  to  have  a  sygne. 

Thus  then,  to  shew  my  iuderement  to  be  such 
As  can  discerne  of  colours  blacfce  and  white 
As  alls  to  free  my  minde  from  envies  tucb. 
That  never  gives  to  any  man  his  right ; 

I  here  pronounce  this  workmanship  is  Sucb 
As  that  no  pen  can  set  it  forth  too  much. 

And  thus  I  hang  a  garland  at  the  dore  ; 

(Not  for  to  shew  the  goodness  of  the  ware  ; 

But  such  hath  beene  the  custome  heretofore, 

And  customes  very  hardly  broken  are  ;) 

And  when  your  tast  shall  fell  you  this  is  trew. 
Then  looks  you  give  your  hoast  his  utmost  dew. 

Ignotu 


SONNETS 


ADDRESSED  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


rO  THE    RIGHT  HONOURABLE    SIR  CHRISTOPHER  HATTON, 
LORD  HIGH  CHAUNCELOR  OF  ENGLAND,  ETC. 

Those  prudent  heads,  that  with  their  counsels  wise 

Whvlome  the  jiillours  of  th'  earth  did  sustaine. 

And  taught  ambitious  Rome  to  tyrannise 

And  in  the  neck  of  ull  the  world  to  rayne ; 

Oft  from  those  grave  affaires  were  wont  abstaine. 

With  the  sweet  lady  Muses  for  to  pray  : 

So  Ennius  the  elder  Africane  ; 

So  .Maro  oft  did  Csesars  cares  allay. 

So  vou,  great  Lord,  that  with  your  counsell  sway 

The  burdein  of  this  kingdom  mightily. 

With  like  delightes  sometimes  may  eke  delay 

The  rugged  brow  of  carefull  Policy  ; 

And  totbese  ydle  rymes  lend  litle  space. 

Which  for  their  titles  sake  may  find  more  grace. 

E.  S. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  THE  LORD  BCRLllCH,  LCRC 
HIGH  1HUEASURER  OT  ENGLAND. 

To  you,  right  noblo  Lord,  whose  carefull  brest 

To  menai^e  of  most  grave  affaires  is  bent ; 

And  on  whose  mightie  shoulders  most  doth  rest 

Tlie  burdein  of  this  kingdomes  governement, 

(As  the  wide  corapasse  of  the  firraament 

On  Atlas  mightie  shoulders  is  upstayd,) 

Unfitly  I  tlit'se  ydle  rimes  present, 

The  labor  of  lost  time,  and  wit  unstayd  ; 

Vet  if  their  deeper  sence  be  inly  wayd. 

And  tlie  dim  vele,  with  which  from  commune  vew 

Their  fairer  jiarts  are  liid,  aside  be  layd, 

Perhaps  not  vaine  they  may  appeare  to  you. 

Such  as  tliev  be,  vouchsafe  tliem  to  receave, 

And  wipe  their  faults  out  of  vour  censure  grave. 

E.S 


SONNETS  ADDRESSED   BY  TflE  AUTHOR. 


10  THE    RIGHT  HONOURABLE  THE    EARLE  OF  OXENFORD, 
LORD  HIGH   CHAMBERLAYNE  OF  ENGLAND,  ETC. 

Receive,  most  noble  Lord,  in  gentle  gree, 

The  unripe  fruit  of  an  unready  "it ; 

Which,  by  thy  coutitenaunce,  doth  crave  to  be 

Defended  from  foule  envies  pciisiious  bit. 

Which  so  to  doe  may  thee  right  well  befit. 

Sith  th'  antique  glory  of  thinn  auncestry 

Under  a  shady  vele  is  therein  writ. 

And  eke  thine  owne  long  living  memory. 

Succeeding  them  in  true  nobility: 

And  also  for  the  love  which  thou  doest  beare 

To  th'  Heliconian  ynips.  and  the)  to  thee; 

They  unto  thee,  and  thou  to  them,  most  deare  : 

Deare  as  thou  art  unto  ihyseUe,  so  love 

That  loves  and  honours  thee  ;  as  doth  behove. 

E.  S. 

rO    the    RIGHT    HONOURABLE  THE  EARLE  OF   NORTHUM- 
BEKLANU. 

The  sacred  Muses  have  made  alwaies  clame 

To  be  the  nourses  of  nobility. 

And  registres  of  everlasting  fame, 

To  all  I  hat  armes  professe  and  chevalry. 

Tlien,  by  like  right,  the  noble  progeny. 

Which  them  succeed  m  fame  and  worth,  are  tyde 

T'  embrace  the  service  of  sweet  Poetry, 

By  whose  endevouis  they  are  glorifide; 

And  eke  from  ail,  of  wliorn  it  is  envide. 

To  patronize  the  auihour  of  their  praise,  [dide, 

Which  gives  them   life,  that    els  would  soone  have 

And  crownes  their  ashes  with  immortall  baies. 

To  thee  therefore,  right  noble  Lord,  1  send 

This  present  of  my  paines,  it  to  defend. 

E.S. 

TO  THE   RIGHT  HONOURABLE  THE  EARLE  OF  CUMBERLND. 

Redoubted  Lord,  in  whose  corageous  mind 
The  flowre  of  chevalry,  now  bloosming  faire, 
Doth  promise  fruite  worthy  the  noble  kind 
Which  of  their  praises  have  left  you  the  haire  ; 
To  you  this  humble  present  1  prepare, 
For  love  of  vertue  and  of  martial  praise  ; 
To  which  though  nobly  ye  inclined  are, 
(As  goodlie  well  ye  shew'd  in  late  assaies,) 
Yet  brave  ensample  of  long  passed  dales, 
In  which  trew  honor  ye  may  tashiond  see 
To  like  desire  of  honor  may  ye  raise. 
And  fill  your  mind  with  magnanimitee. 
Receive  it,  Lord,  therefore,  as  it  was  ment, 
For  honor  of  your  name  and  high  descent. 

E.  S. 

TO  THE  MOST  HONOURABLE  AND  EXCELLENT  LORD 
THE  EARLE  OF  ESSEX,  GREAT  MAISTER  OF  THE  HORSE 
TO  HER  HIGHNESSE,  AND  KNIGHT  OF  THE  NOBLE 
ORDER  OF  THE  GARTER,   EIC. 

Magnificke  Lord,  whose  vertues  excellent 

Doe  merit  a  most  famous  poets  wilt 

To  be  thy  living  praises  instrument; 

Yet  doe  not  sdeigne  to  let  thy  name  be  writt 

In  this  base  poenie,  for  thee  farr  unfitt : 

Nouj^ht  is  thy  wurth  dispiiriiged  thereby. 

But  when  my  Muse,  whose  fethers  nothing  flitt. 

Doe  yet  but  flagg,  and  lowly  learne  to  fly. 


With  bolder  wing  shall  dare  alofte  to  sty 
To  the  last  praises  of  this  Faery  Queene; 
Then  shall  it  make  most  famous  memory 
Of  thine  heroicke  parts,  such  as  they  beene  : 
Till  then,  vouclisafe  thy  noble  countenaunce 
To  their  first  labours  needed  furtheraunce. 


E.  S. 


TO   THE    RIGHT    HONOURABLE    THE    EARLE    OF    ORMONH 
ANn  OSSORY. 

Receive,  most  noble  Lord,  a  simple  taste 
Of  the  wilde  fruit   which  salvage  soyl  hath  bred  ; 
Which,  being  through  long  wars  left  almost  waste. 
With  brutish  barbarisme  is  overspredd  : 
And,  in  so  faire  a  land  as  may  be  redd, 
Not  one  Parnassu.s,  nor  one  Helicone, 
Left  for  sweeie  Muses  to  be  harboured, 
But  where  thyselfe  hast  thy  brave  mansione  : 
There  indeede  dwel  faire  Graces  many  one. 
And  gentle  Nymphes,  delights  of  learned  wits; 
And  in  thy  person,  without  paragone, 
Ail  goodly  bountie  and  irue  honour  sits. 
Such  thi'refore.  as  that  wasted  sovl  doth  yield, 
Receive,  dear  Lord,  in  worth  the  fruit  of  barren  field, 

E.  S 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  THE  LORD  CHARLES 
HOWARD,  LORD  HIGH  ADMIRAL  OF  ENGLAND,  KNIGHT 
OF  THE  NOBLE  ORDER  OF  THE  GARTER,  AND  ONE  OP 
HER   MAJESTIe's   PRIVIE  COUNSEL,   ETC. 

And  ye,  brave  Lord,  whose  goodly  personage 
And  noble  deeds,  each  other  garnishing. 
Make  you  ensample,  to  the  present  age. 
Of  th'  old  heroes,  vvhose  famous  offspring 
The  antique  poets  wont  so  much  to  sing  ; 
In  this  Siirae  pageaunt  have  a  worthy  place, 
Sith  those  huge  castles  of  Castilian  king. 
That  vainly  threatned  kingdomes  to  displace, 
Like  flying  doves  ye  did  before  you  chase  ; 
And  that  proud  peoide,  woxen  insolent 
Through  many  victories,  did  first  deface: 
Thy  praises  everlasting  monument 
Is  in  this  verse  engraven  semblably, 
That  it  may  live  to  all  posterity. 

E.  S. 


TO    THE    RIGHT    HONOURABLE    THE  LORD     OF    HUNSDO.V, 
HIGH  CHAMBERLAINE  TO  HER    MAJESTV. 

Renowmed  Lord,  ihat  for  your  worihinesse 
And  noble  deeds,  have  your  deserved  place 
High  in  the  favour  of  that  Emperusse, 
The  worlds  sole  glory  and  her  sexes  grace  ; 
Here  eke  of  right  have  you  a  worthie  place. 
Both  for  your  nearnes  to  that  Faerie  Queene, 
And  for  your  owne  high  merit  in  like  cace  : 
Of  wliicli,  ajiparaunt  proofe  was  to  be  seene. 
When  that  tumultuous  rago  and  fearfull  deene 
Of  northerne  rebels  ye  did  pacify, 
And  their  disloiall  powre  defaced  clene, 
1  he  record  of  enduring  memory. 
Live,  Lord,  for  ever  in  this  lasting  verse, 
Ihat  all  posteritie  thy  honor  may  reherse. 

E.S. 


SONNETS  ADUriKSSi: I)   KV  TIIK  AUTHOR. 


TO  THE  MOST  HENOWIIED  AND  VALIANT  I.n((D,  TlIK 
LORD  GREY  OF  WILTON,  KNIGHT  OF  THE  NOULE 
ORDER    OF    THE    GARTER,    ECT. 

Most  noble  lord,  the  pillor  of  my  life, 
And  patrone  of  my  Muses  pupill,);::e  ; 
Throuc^h  whose  large  bountie,  poured  on  me  rife, 
In  the  tirst  season  of  my  feeble  age, 
I  now  doe  live,  bound  yours  by  vassalage  ; 
(Sith  nothing  ever  may  redeeme,  nor  reave 
Out  of  your  endlesse  debt,  so  sure  a  gage  ;) 
Vouchsafe,  in  worth,  this  small  guift  to  receave, 
Which  in  your  noble  hands  for  pledge  I  leave 
Of  all  the  rest  that  I  am  tyde  t'  account : 
Rude  rymes,  the  which  a  rustick  Muse  did  weave 
In  savadge  soyle,  far  from  Parnasso  mount, 
And  roughly  wrought  in  an  unlearned  loome  : 
The  which  vouchsafe,    dear   Lord,  your  favourable 
doome.  E.  S. 

TO  THE     right  honourable    the  lord  of  BI'CKIU'RST, 

ONE  of  her  majestie's  puivie  coun&ell. 

In  vain  1  ihinke,  right  honourable  Lord, 

By  this  rude  rime  to  memorize  thy  name, 

Whose  learned  Muse  hath  writ  her  own  record 

In  golden  verse,  worthy  immortal  fame  : 

Thou  much  more  fit  (wereleasure  to  the  same) 

Thv  gracious  soverains  praises  to  compile, 

And  her  imperial!  majestie  to  frame 

In  loftie  numbers  and  lieroicke  stile. 

But,  sith  thou  maist  not  so,  give  leave  a  while 

To  baser  wit  his  power  therein  to  spend. 

Whose  grosse  defaults  thv  daintiepen  may  file, 

And  unadvised  oversights  amend. 

But  evermore  vouchsafe,  it  to  maintaine 

Against  vile  Zoilus  backbitings  vaine.  E.  S. 

TO  THE  RIGHT  IIONOVRABLE  SIR  FRANCIS  WALSINGH AM, 
KNIGHT,  PRINCIPALL  SECUITARV  TO  HER  MAJESTY, 
AND  ONE  OF  HER   HONOURABLE  PRIVY  COUNSEI.L. 

That  Mantuane  poets  incompared  spirit 

Whose  girland  now  is  set  in  highest  place 

Had  not  Meca^nas,  for  his  worthy  merit, 

Jt  first  advaunst  to  great  Augustus  grace, 

Rlight  long  perhaps  have  lien  in  silence  bace, 

Ne  bene  so  much  admir'd  of  later  age. 

This  lowly  Muse,  that  learns  like  stejjs  to  trace. 

Flies  for  like  aide  unto  your  patronage, 

(Tiiat  are  the  great  MeciPnas  of  this  age, 

As  well  to  all  that  civil  artes  professe, 

As  those  that  are  inspir'd  with  martial  rage,) 

And  craves  protection  of  her  feeblenesse  : 

Which  if  ye  yield,  perhaps  ye  may  her  rayse 

In  bigger  tunes  to  sound  your  living  prayse.  E.  S. 

TO  THE  RIGHT  NOBLE  LORD  AND  MOST  VAl.IAUNT  C.APTAINE 
SIR  JOHN  NORRIS,  KNT.  LORD  PRSIDENif  OF  MOHNSTER. 

Who  ever  gave  more  honourable  prize 

To  the  sweet  Muse  then  did  the  ]\larlia!l  crew, 

That  their  brave  deeds  she  might  immortalize 

In  her  shril  tromp,  and  sound  their  praises  dew? 

Who  then  ought  more  to  favour  her  then  you, 

Most  noble  lord  the  honor  of  this  age, 

And  precedent  of  all  that  amies  ensue? 

Whose  warlike  prowesse  and  manly  courage. 

Tempered  with  reason  and  advisement  sage, 

liaih  fildsad  lielgicke  with  victorious  sjiode  ; 

In  ('"ranre  and  Irehmd  left  a  famous  gage; 

And  lately  shakt  the  l.usitanian  soile. 

Sith  then  eac  h  where  thou  hast  dispredd  thy  fame, 

Lo'.'f  him  that  hath  eternized  vour  name         E.  S. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  NOBLE  AND  VALOROUS  KNIGHT,  SIR 
WALTER  RALEIGH,  LORD  WARDEIN  OF  THE  STAN- 
NERYES,   AND  LIEFTEN  AUNT  OF  CORNEWAILE. 

To  thee,  that  art  the  sommers  nightingale, 
Thy  soveraine  goddesses  most  deare  delight. 
Why  doe   I  send  this  rusticke  madrigale. 
That  may  thy  tunefull  eare  unseason  ijuite  ? 
Thou  onely  fit  this  argument  to  write, 
In  whose  high  thoughts  Pleasure  hath  built  her  bo«re, 
And  daintie  Love  learnd  sweetly  to  endite. 
My  rimes  I  know  unsavory  and  sowre. 
To  tast  the  streames  that,  like  a  golden  showre. 
Flow  from  thy  fruitfull  head  of  thv  loves  praise  ; 
Fitter  perhaps  to  thornier  martiall  stowre, 
Whenso  thee  list  thv  lofty  IMuse  to  raise  ' 
Yet,  till  that  thou  thy  poeme  wilt  make  luiowne. 
Let  thy  faire  Cinthias  praises  be  thus  rudely  showne. 

E.  S. 

TO     THE      RIGHT     HONOURABLE      AND       MOST      VERTU0l)3 
LADY,  THE  COUNTESSK  OF  PEMBROKE. 

Ri  MEMBRAUNCE  of  that  most  heroicke  spirit, 
The  hevens  pride,  the  glory  of  our  daies, 
Which  now  Iriumphetli  (through  immortall  merit 
Of  his  brave  vertues,)  crown'd  with  lasting  bales. 
Of  heyenlie  blis  and  evf  rlasting  praies  ; 
Who  first  my  iNIuse  did  lift  out  of  the  flore, 
'Jo  sing  his  sweet  delights  in  lowlie  laies  ; 
Bids  me,  most  noble  Ladv,  to  adore 
His  goodly  image  living-  evermore 
In  the  divine  resemblaunce  of  your  face  ; 
Which  with  your  vertues  ye  embellish  more, 
And  native  beauty  deck  with  he-avenlv  grace  ; 
For  his,  and  for  yourowne  especial  sake. 
Vouchsafe  from  him  this  token  in  good  worth  to  take 

E.S. 

TO  THE  MOST  VERTUOUS  AND  BEAUTIFULL  LADV,  TH« 
LADY  CAREW. 

Ne  may  I,  without  blot  of  endlesse  blame. 
You,  fairest  Lady,  leave  out  of  this  jjlace  ; 
But,  with  remembraunce  of  your  gracious  name, 
(Wherewith  that  courtly  garlond  most  ye  grace 
And  deck  the  world,)  adorne  these  verses  base: 
Not  that  these  {ev>-  lines  can  in  them  comprise 
Ihose  glorious  ornaments  of  hevenly  grace, 
\\' herewith  ye  triumph  over  feeble  eye? 
And  in  subdued  harts  do  tyrannyse  ; 
(For  thereunto  doth  need  a  golden  <]uill 
And  silver  leaves,  them  rightly  to  devise  ;) 
But  to  make  humble  jiresent  of  good  will : 
Which,  whenas  timely  meanesit  purchase  may, 
In  ampler  wise  itselfe  will  forth  display.  E.  S. 

TO  ALL   THE  GRATIOUS  AND  BEAUTIFULL  LADIES   IN  TH  ■? 

eounT. 
The  Chian  peincter,  when  he  was  requir'd 
Topourtraict  \'enus  in  her  perfect  hew  ; 
To  make  his  worke  more  absolute,  desir'd 
Of  all  the  fairest  maides  to  have  the  vew. 
Much  more  me  needs,  to  draw  the  semblant  trew. 
Of  Beauties  Queene,  the  worlds  sole  wonderment. 
'J"o  sharpe  my  sence  with  sundry  beauties  vew. 
And  steale  from  each  snnii'  jiart  of  ornament. 
If  all  the  world  to  secke  1  over"  ent, 
A  fiiirer  crew  yet  nowhere  could  I  see     . 
'J'hen  that  brave  court  doth  to  mine  eie  present, 
I'kat  the  world's  pride  seemes  gathered  thereto  bee 
Of  each  a  part  I  stole  by  cunning  tliefte  : 
Forj^ive  it  me,  faire  1/ames!  sith  lesse  ye  have  not 
lefte.  E.  S. 


THE    FIRST    BOOKE 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 

CONTAYNING 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  RED  CROSSE,  OR  OF  HOT.INESSE. 


Lo  !  I,  tlie  man  wbose  I\Iuse  whylome  did  maske, 

As  time  her  taught,  in  lowly  shepheards  weeds. 

Am  now  enforst,  a  farre  unfitter  taske, 

For  trumpets  Sterne  to  chaunge  mine  oaten  reeds. 

And  sing  of  knights  and  ladies  gentle  deeds  ; 

Whose  praises  having  slept  in  silence  long, 

Me,  all  to  meane,  the  sacred  JMuse  areeds 

To  blazon  broade  emongst  her  learned  throng: 

Fiercewarres  andfaithful  loves  shall  moralize  mysong. 


Help  then,  0  holy  virgin  !  chiefe  of  nyne, 

Thy  weaker  novice  to  perform  thy  will  ; 

Lay  forth  out  of  thine  everlasting  scryne 

The  Antique  rolles,  which  there  lye  hidden  still, 

Of  Faerie  knights  and  fayrest  Tanaquill, 

Whom  that  most  noble  Briton  prince  so  long 

Sought  through  the  world,  and  suffered  so  much  ill, 

That  I  must  rue  his  undeserved  wrong  : 

O.belpe  thou  myweake  wit,  and  sharpen  my  dull  long! 


And  thou,  most  dreaded  impe  of  highest  love, 

Faire  Venus  sonne.that  with  thy  cruell  dart 

At  that  good  knight  so  cunningly  didst  rove, 

That  glorious  fire  it  kindled  in  his  hart; 

Lay  now  thy  deadly  heben  bowe  apart. 

And,  with  thy  mother  mylde,  come  to  mine  ayde  ; 

Come,  both  ;  and  with  you  bring  triumphant  Mart, 

la  loves  and  gentle  iollities  arraid, 

After  his  murdrous  spoyles  and  bloudie  rage  allayd. 


And  with  them  eke,  O  goddesse  heavenly  bright, 

Mirrour  of  grace  and  majestie  divine. 

Great  Ladie  of  the  greatest  Isle,  whose  light 

Like  Phoebus  lampe  throughout  the  world  doth  shine. 

Shed  thy  faire  beames  into  my  feeble  eyne, 

And  raise  my  thoughtes,  too  humble  and  too  vile, 

To  thinke  of  that  true  glorious  type  of  thine, 

The  argument  of  mine  afflicted  stile  : 

The  which  to  heare  vouchsafe, Odearest  dread,awhile 


CANTO  I. 


The  patron  of  true  Holinesse 
Foule  Errour  doth  defeate  ; 

Hypocrisie,  him  to  entrappe, 
Doth  to  his  home  entreate. 


A  GENTLE  knight  was  pricking  on  the  plaine, 

Ycladd  in  roightie  armes  and  silver  shielde. 

Wherein  old  dints  of  deepe  woundes  did  remaine. 

The  cruel  markes  of  many'  a  bloody  fielde  ; 

Yet  armes  till  that  time  did  he  never  wield  : 

His  angry  steede  did  chide  his  foming  bitt, 

As  much  disdayning  to  the  curbe  to  yield  : 

Full  iolly  knight  he  seemd,  and  faire  did  sitt, 

Afl  cue  for  knightly  giusts  and  tierce  encounters  fitt. 


And  on  his  brest  a  bloodie  crosse  he  bore. 
The  deare  remembrance  of  his  dying  Lord, 
For  whose  sweete  sake  that  glorious  badge  hi 
And  dead,  as  living,  ever  him  ador'd 
Upon  his  shield  the  like  was  also  scor'd, 
For  soveraine  hope,  which  in  his  helpe  he  had. 
Right,  faithfull,  true  he  was  in  deede  and  word  } 
But  of  his  cheere  did  seeme  too  solemne  sad  , 
Yet  nothing  did  he  dread,  but  ever  was  ydradr 


10 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENK. 


[Book  I 


Upon  a  great  adventure  he  was  bond, 

That  greatest  Gloriana  to  liim  gave, 

(That  greatest  glorious  Queene  of  Faery  lond) 

To  winne  liim  worsLippe,  and  her  grace  to  have, 

Which  of  iill  earthly  things  he  most  did  crave. 

And  ever  as  he  rode,  his  hart  did  earne 

To  prove  his  puissance  in  battell  brave 

Upon  his  foe,  and  his  new  force  to  learne ; 

Upon  his  foe,  a  dragon  horrible  and  stearue. 


A  lovely  ladle  rode  him  faire  beside, 
Upon  a  lowly  asse  more  white  then  snow  ; 
Yet  she  much  whiter  ;  but  the  same  did  bide 
Under  a  vele,  that  wimpled  was  full  low ; 
And  over  all  a  blacke  stole  shee  did  throw. 
As  one  that  inly  mournd  ;  so  was  she  sad, 
And  heavie  sate  upon  her  palfrey  slow  ; 
Seemed  in  heart  some  hidden  care  she  had  ; 
And  by  her  in  a  line  a  milke-white  lambe  she  lad. 


So  pure  and  innocent,  as  that  same  lambe. 

She  was  in  life  and  every  vertuous  lore. 

And  b)?  descent  from  royall  lynage  came 

Of  ancient  kinges  and  queenes,  that  had  of  yore 

'i'heir  scepters  stretcht  from  east  to  westerne  shore, 

And  all  the  world  in  their  subjection  held  ; 

Till  that  infernal  feend  with  foule  uprore 

Forwasted  all  their  land,  and  them  espeld  ;       [peld. 

Whom  to  avenge,  she  had  this  knight  from  far  corn- 


Behind  her  farre  away  a  dwarfe  did  lag, 

That  lasie  seemd,  in  being  ever  last. 

Or  wearied  with  bearing  of  her  bag 

Of  needments  at  his  backe.     Thus  as  they  past, 

The  day  with  cloudes  was  suddeine  overcast. 

And  angry  love  an  hideous  storme  of  raine 

Did  poure  into  his  lemans  lap  so  f.ist, 

I'hat  everie  wight  to  shroud  it  did  constrain  ;  [fain. 

And  this  faire  couple  eke  to  shroud  themselves  were 


Enforst  to  seeke  come  covert  nigh  at  hand, 
A  shadie  grove  not  farr  away  they  spide, 
That  promist  ayde  the  tempest  to  withstand; 
Whose  loftie  trees,  yclad  with  sornraers  pride 
Did  S|)re(l  so  broad,  that  heavens  light  did  hide, 
Not  perceable  with  power  of  any  starr  ; 
Ai.d  all  within  were  |(athes  and  alleies  wide, 
With  footini;-  worne,  and  leading  inwjird  farr: 
Faire  harbour  that  them  seems  ;  so  in  they  entred  ar. 


And  foorth  they  passe,  with  pleasure  forward  led, 
loying  to  heare  the  birdes  sweete  harmony. 
Which  therein  shrouded  from  the  tempest  dred, 
Seemd  in  their  song  to  scorne  the  cruell  sky. 
iNluch  can  they  praise  the  trees  so  straight  and  by. 
The  sayling  pine;  the  cedar  proud  and  tall ; 
The  \  ine-propp  elme  ;   the  pojjiar  never  dry  ; 
The  builder  oake,  sole  king  ol  forrests  all ; 
The  aspine  good  for  staves ;  the  cypresse  funerall ; 


The  laurell,  meed  of  mightie  conquerours 

And  poets  sage  ;  the  firre  that  weepeth  still ; 

"J'he  willow,  worne  of  forlorne  paramours  ; 

The  eugh,  obedient  to  the  benders  will ; 

1'he  birch  for  shaftes  ;  the  sallow  for  the  mill  . 

The  mirrhe  sweete-bleeding  in  the  bitter  wound  ; 

The  warlike  beech  ;  the  ash  for  nothing  ill ; 

The  fruitful  olive  ;  and  the  platane  round  ; 

The  carver  holme;  the  maple,  seldom  inward  soun  • 


Led  with  delight,  they  thus  beguile  the  vray, 
Untill  the  blustring  storme  is  o-verblowne  ; 
W^hen,  weening  to  returne,  whence  they  did  strav, 
They  cannot  finde  that  path,  which  first  was  showne 
But  wander  too  and  fro  in  waies  unknowne. 
Furthest  from  end  then,  when  they  neerest  weene, 
That  makes  them  doubt  their  wits  be  not  their  owne 
So  many  paths,  so  many  turnings  seene,  [been 

That  which  of  them  to  take  in  diverse  doubt  thej 


At  last  resolving  forward  still  to  fare, 

'I'll!  that  some  end  they  finde,  or  in  or  out, 

That  ]iath  they  take,  that  beaten  seemd  most  bare, 

And  like  to  lead  the  labyrinth  about ; 

Which  when  by  tract  they  hunted  had  throughout, 

At  length  it  brought  them  to  a  hollowe  cave 

Amid  the  thickest  woods.     The  champion  stout 

Eftsoones  dismounted  from  his  courser  brave. 

And  to  the  dwarfe  awhile  his  needlesse  spere  he  gave 


"  Be  well  aware,"  quoth  then  that  ladie  milde, 
"  Least  suddaine  mischiefe  ye  too  rasli  provoke  : 
The  danger  hid,  the  place  unknowne  and  wilde, 
Breedes  dreadfuU  doubts  :  oft  fire  is  without  smoke. 
And  perill  without  show  ;  therefore  your  stroke. 
Sir  Knight,  with-hold,  till  further  tryall  made." 
"  Ah,  Ladie,"  sayd  he,  "  shame  were  to  revoke 
The  forward  footing  for  an  hidden  shade  :      [wade." 
Verlue  gives  her  selfe  light  tbrough  darknesse  for  to 


"  Yea,  but,"  quoth  she,  "  the  perill  of  tbis  place 
I  better  wot  then  you  :  Though  nowe  too  late 
To  wish  you  backe  returne  with  foule  disgrace, 
Yet  wisedome  warnes,  whilest  foot  is  in  the  gate, 
To  stay  the  steppe,  ere  forced  to  retrate. 
'ibis  is  the  Wandring  Wood,  this  Errours  Den, 
A  monster  vile,  whinn  God  and  man  does  hate  : 
Tberetbre  I  read  beware."     "  Fly,  ily,''  quoth  tlien 
I'he  fearefull  dwarfe ;  "this  is'no  place  for  living  men.' 


But,  full  of  fire  and  greed)'  hardiment, 

The  youlhfull  knight  could  not  for  ought  be  staide  , 

But  forth  unto  the  darksome  hole  he  went, 

And  looked  in:   his  glistring  armor  made 

A  litle  glooming  ligbt,  much  like  a  sliade  ; 

liy  wiiicb  he  saw  the  ugly  monster  plaine, 

llalfe  like  a  serpent  liornbly  disjihiiile. 

But  tb'  other  halfe  did  woiuans  shape  retaine. 

Most  lothsom,  filthie,  foule,  and  full  of  vile  disdaine. 


Canto  L] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


11 


And,  as  she  lay  upon  the  durtie  ground, 

Her  huge  long  tails  her  den  all  overspred, 

Yet  was  in  knots  and  many  boughtes  upwouud, 

Pointed  with  mortall  sting  :  of  her  there  bred 

A  thousand  yong  ones,  which  she  dayly  fed. 

Sucking  upon  her  poisnous  dugs;  each  one 

Of  sundrie  shapes,  yet  all  ill-favored  : 

Soone  as  that  uncouth  lignt  upon  them  shone. 

Into  her  mouth  they  crept,  and  suddain  all  were  gone. 


Their  dam  upstart  out  of  her  d^n  effraide. 
And  rushed  forth,  hurling  her  hideous  taile 
About  her  cursed  head  ;  whose  folds  dis[)laid 
Were  stretcht  now  forth  at  length  without  entraile. 
She  lookt  about,  and  seing  one  in  mayle, 
Armed  to  point,  sought  backe  to  turne  againe  ; 
For  light  she  hated  as  the  deadly  bale, 
Av  wont  in  desert  darknes  to  remaine,  [plaine. 

Where  plain  none  might  her  see,  nor  she  see  any 


Which  when  the  valiant  Elfe  perceiv'd,  he  lept 
As  Ivon  fierce  upon  the  flying  pray. 
And"  with  his  trenchand  blade  her  boldly  kept 
From  turning  backe,  an  1  forced  her  to  stay: 
Therewith  enrag'd  she  loudly  gan  to  bray. 
And  turning  fierce  her  speckled  taile  advaunst, 
'I'hreatniiig  her  angrie  sting,  him  to  dismay  ; 
Who,  nought  aghast,  his  mightie  hand  enhaunst ; 
The  stroke  down  from  her  head  unto  her  shoulder 
o-Iaunst. 


Much  daunted  with  that  dint  her  sence  was  dazd  ; 
Yet  kindling  rage  her  selfe  she  gathered  round, 
And  all  attonce  her  beastly  bodie  raizd 
^Vith  doubled  forces  high  above  the  ground  : 
Tho,  wrapping  up  her  wrelhed  sterne  arownd, 
Lept  fierce  upon  his  shield,  and  her  huge  traine 
All  suddenly  about  his  body  wound. 
That  hand  or  foot  to  stirr  lie  strove  in  vaine, 
God  helpe  the  man  so  wrapt  in  Errours  endlesse 
traine ! 


His  lady,  sad  to  see  his  sore  constraint,  [bee  ; 

Cride  out,  "  Now,   now.  Sir  Knight,  shew  what  ye 
Add  faith  unto  j  our  force,  and  be  not  faint ; 
Strangle  her,  els  she  sure  will  strangle  thee." 
That  when  he  heard,  in  great  perplexitie. 
His  gall  did  grate  for  gnefe  and  high  disdaine ; 
And,  knitting  all  his  force,  got  one  hand  free, 
W  herewith  he  grypt  her  gorge  with  so  great  paine, 
'i  hat  soone  to  loose  her  wicked  bands  did  her  con- 
straine. 


Therewith  she  spewd  out  of  her  filthie  maw 

A  floud  of  poyson  horrible  and  blacke, 

Full  of  great  lumps  of  flesh  and  gobbets  raw. 

Which  stunk  so  vildly,  that  it  forst  him  slacke 

His  grasping  hold,  and  from  her  turne  him  backe  : 

iler  vomit  full  of  bookes  and  papers  was, 

With  loathly  frog  and  toades,  which  eyes  did  lacke, 

And  creeping  sought  way  in  the  weedy  gras  : 

Her  filthie  parbreake  all  the  place  defiled  has. 


As  when  old  father  Nilus  gins  to  swell 

With  timely  pride  above  the  Aegyptian  vale. 

His  fattie  waves  doe  fertile  slime  outwell, 

And  overflow  each  plaine  and  lowly  dale  : 

But,  when  his  later  spring  gins  to  avale, 

Huge  heapes  of  mudd  he  leaves,  wherin  there  breed 

Ten  thousand  kindes  of  creatures,  partly  male 

And  partly  femall,  of  his  fruitful  seed  ;  [reed. 

Such  ugly  monstrous  shapes  elswhere  may  no  man 


The  same  so  sore  annoyed  has  the  knight. 

That,  wel-nigh  choked  with  the  deadly  stinke, 

His  forces  fade,  ne  c;m  no  lenger  fight. 

Whose  corage  when  the  feend  perceivd  to  shrinke, 

She  poured  forth  out  of  her  hellish  sinke 

Her  fruitfull  cursed  spawne  of  serpents  small, 

(Deformed  monsters,  fowle,  and  bhicke  as  inke,) 

Which  swarming  all  about  his  legs  did  crall. 

And  him  encombred  sore,  but  could  not  hurt  at  all. 


As  gentle  shepheard  in  sweete  eventide, 
When  ruddy  Phebus  gins  to  welke  in  west. 
High  on  an  hill,  his  flocke  to  vewen  wide, 
Markes  which  doe  byte  their  hasty  supper  best 
A  cloud  of  cumbrous  gnattes  doe  him  molest, 
All  striving  to  iiifixe  their  feeble  stiuges, 
That  from  their  noyance  he  no  where  can  rest; 
But  with  his  clownish  hands  their  tender  wings 
He  brusheth  oft,  and  oft  doth  mar  their  murmurings 


Thus  ill  bestedd,  and  fearefull  more  of  shame 

Then  of  the  certeine  perill  he  stood  in, 

Halfe  furious  unto  his  foe  he  came, 

Resolvd  in  minde  all  suddenly  to  win. 

Or  soone  to  lose,  before  he  once  would  lin  ; 

And  stroke  at  her  with  more  then  manly  force. 

That  from  her  body,  full  of  filthie  sin. 

He  raft  her  hateful!  heade  without  remorse:    [corse. 

A  streame  of  cole-black  blood  forth  gushed  from  her 


Her  scattred  brood,  soone  as  their  parent  dears 
They  saw  so  rudely  falling  to  the  ground, 
Groningfull  deadly  all  with  troublous  feare 
Gathred  themselves  about  her  body  round. 
Weening  their  wonted  entrance  to  have  found 
At  her  wide  mouth  ;  but,  being  there  withstood. 
They  flocked  all  about  her  bleeding  wound. 
And  sucked  up  their  dying  mothers  bloud  ;    [good. 
Making  her  death  their  life,  and  eke  her  hurt  their 

XXVI. 

That  detestable  sight  him  much  amazde, 

To  see  th'  unkindly  impes,  of  heaven  accurst, 

Devoure  their  dam  ;  on  whom  while  so  he  gazd. 

Having  all  satisfide  their  bloudy  thursi, 

Their  bellies  swolne  he  saw  with  fulnesse  burst. 

And  bowels  gushing  forth  :   well  worthy  end 

Of  such,  as  drunke  her  life,  the  which  tliem  nurst  > 

Now  needeth  him  no  lenger  labour  sj  end,  [contend. 

His  foes  have  slaine  themselves,  with  whom  heshonld 


12 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Rook 


His  lady  seeino;  all,  lliat  cliaunst,  from  farre, 

Approcht  in  liast  to  greet  his  victorie  ; 

And  saide,"  Faire  kiiii;lit,  borne  under  happie  starre, 

■\Vhc  see  your  vanquislit  foes  before  you  lye; 

Well  wortliie  be  you  of  that  armory, 

Wherein  ye  have  great  glory  woniie  this  day. 

And  proov'd  your  strength  on  a  strong  enimie  ; 

Your  first  adventure  :   many  such  I  pray. 

And  henceforth  ever  wish  that  like  succeed  it  may  !" 


Then  mounted  he  upon  his  steede  againe, 
And  with  the  lady  backward  sought  to  wend: 
That  path  he  kept,  which  beaten  was  most  plaine, 
Ne  ever  would  to  any  by-way  bend  ; 
But  still  did  follow  one  unto  the  end, 
The  which  at  last  out  of  the  wood  them  brought. 
So  forward  on  his  way  (with  God  to  frend) 
He  passed  forth,  and  new  adventure  sought: 
Lono'  way  he  travelled,  before  he  heard  of  ought. 


At  length  they  chaunst  to  meet  upon  the  way 

An  aged  sire,  in  long  blacke  weedes  yclad, 

His  feete  all  bare,  his  beard  all  lioarie  gray, 

And  by  his  belt  his  booke  he  hanging  had; 

Sober  he  seemde,  and  very  sagely  sad  ; 

And  to  the  ground  his  eyes  were  lowly  bent, 

Simple  in  shew,  and  voide  of  malice  bad  ; 

And  all  the  way  he  prayed,  as  he  went. 

And  often  knockt  his  brest,  as  one  that  did  repent. 


He  faire  the  knight  saluted,  louting  low, 

Who  faire  him  quited,  as  tliat  courteous  was; 

And  after  asked  him,  if  he  did  know 

Of  straunge  adventures,  wjiich  abroad  did  pas. 

"Ah!  my  dear  Sonne,"  quoih  he,  "  how  s<#ould,  alas  ! 

Silly  old  man,  that  lives  in  hidden  cell, 

Bidding  his  beades  all  day  for  his  trespas, 

Tydings  of  warre  and  worldly  trouble  tell  ? 

With  holy  father  sits  not  with  such  thinges  to  mell. 


"  But  if  of  daunger,  which  hereby  doth  dwell, 
And  homebredd  evil  ye  desire  to  heare, 
Of  a  straunge  man  I  cnn  you  tidings  tell. 
That  wasteth  all  this  countrie  farre  and  neare." 
"  Of  such,"  saide  he,  "  1  cliiefly  doe  inquere  ; 
And  shall  thee  well  rewarde  to  shew  the  place, 
In  which  that  wicked  wight  his  dayes  doth  weare: 
For  to  all  knighthood  it  is  foule  disgrace. 
That  such  a  cursed  creature  lives  so  long  a  space.'' 


"  Far  hence,"  quoth  he,  "  in  wastfnll  wildernesse 

His  dwelUng  is,  bv  which  no  living  wight 

May  ever  passe,  but  thorough  great  distresse." 

"  Now,"  saide  the  ladie,  "  draweth  toward  night ; 

And  well  I  wote,  that  of  your  later  fight 

Ye  all  forwearied  be  ;  for  what  so  strong. 

But,  wanting  rest,  will  also  want  of  might  ? 

Tlie  sunne,  that  measures  heaven  all  day  long. 

At  night  doth  baite  hissteedesthe  ocean  waves  emong. 


"  Tlien  with  the  sunne  take,  sir,  your  timely  rest, 
And  with  new  day  new  worke  at  once  begin  . 
Untroubled  night,  they  say,  gives  counsel!  best." 
"  Right  well.  Sir  Knight,  ye  have  advised  bin," 
Quoth  then  that  aged  man  ;  "  the  way  to  win 
Is  wisely  to  advise.     Now  day  is  spent: 
Therefore  with  me  ye  may  take  up  your  in 
For  this  same  night."  The  knight  was  well  content; 
So  with  that  godly  father  to  his  home  they  went. 


A  little  lowly  hermitage  it  was, 

Downe  in  a  dale,  hard  by  a  forest's  side, 

Far  from  resort  of  people,  that  did  pas 

In  traveill  to  and  froe :  a  little  wyde 

There  was  an  lioly  chappell  edifyde, 

Wlierein  the  hermite  dewly  wont  to  say 

His  holy  things  each  morne  and  eventyde: 

Thereby  a  christall  streame  did  gently  play. 

Which  from  a  sacred  fountaine  welled  forth  alway 


Arrived  there,  the  litle  house  they  fill, 
Ne  looke  for  entertainement,  where  none  was  ; 
Rest  is  their  feast,  and  all  thinges  at  their  will: 
The  noblest  mind  the  best  contentment  has. 
With  faire  discourse  the  evening  so  they  pas  ; 
For  that  olde  man  of  pleasing  wordes  had  store, 
And  well  could  file  his  tongue,  as  smooth  as  glas : 
He  told  of  saintes  and  popes,  and  evermore 
He  strowd  an  Ave-IMary  after  and  before. 


The  drouping  night  thus  creepeth  on  them  fast ; 

And  the  sad  humor  loading  their  eye-liddes. 

As  messenger  of  Morpheus,  on  them  cast      [biddes 

Sweet  slombring  deaw,  the  which   to   sleep   them 

Unto  their  lodgings  then  his  guestes  he  riddes: 

Where  when  all  drownd  in  deadly  sleepe  he  findes, 

He  to  his  studie  goes  ;  and  there  amiddes 

His  magick  bookes,  and  artes  of  sundrie  kindes. 

He  seeks  out  mighty  charmes  to  trouble  sleepy  minds. 


Then  choosing  out  few  words  most  horrible, 
(Let  none  them  read  !)  thereof  did  verses  frame: 
With  which,  and  other  spelles  like  terrible. 
He  bad  awake  blacke  Plutoes  griesly  dame  ; 
And  cursed  Heven  ;  and  spake  rei)rochful  shame 
Of  highest  God,  the  Lord  of  life  and  light. 
A  bold  bad  man  !   that  dar'd  to  call  by  name 
Great  Gorgon,  prince  of  darknesand  dead  night; 
At  which  Cocytus  quakes,  and  Styx  is  put  to  flight. 


And  forth  he  cald  out  of  deepe  darknes  dredd 

Legions  of  sprights,  the  which,  like  litle  flyes, 

Fluttring  about  his  ever-damned  hedd, 

Awaite  whereto  their  service  he  a])plyes. 

To  aide  his  friendes,  or  fray  his  enimies : 

Of  ihose  he  chose  out  two,  the  falsest  twoo, 

."^nd  fittest  for  to  forge  true-seeming  lyes  ; 

1  he  one  of  them  he  gave  a  message  too, 

'i'be  other  by  himselfe  staide  other  worke  to  doo. 


Cahto  I.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


13 


He,  making  speedy  way  through  spersed  ayre, 

And  through  the  world  of  waters  wide  and  deepe, 

To  INIorpheus  house  doth  hastily  repaire, 

Amid  tlie  bowels  of  the  earth  full  steepe, 

And  low,  where  dawnint;  day  doth  never  peepe. 

His  duelling  is  ;  there  Tethys  his  wet  bed 

Doth  ever  wash,  and  Cynthia  still  doth  steepe 

In  silver  deaw  his  ever-drouping  bed,  [spred, 

Whiles  sad  Night  over  him  her  mantle  black  doth 


Whose  double  gates  he  fiiideth  locked  fast  • 

The  one  faire  fram'd  of  burnisht  yvory. 

The  othi-r  all  with  silver  overcast  ; 

And  wakeful  dogges  before  them  farre  doe  lye, 

Watching  to  banish  Care  their  enimy. 

Who  oft  is  wont  to  trouble  gentle  Sleepe. 

By  them  the  sprite  doth  passe  in  quietly. 

And  unto  Morpheus  conies,  whom  dio^vned  deepe 

In  drowsie  fit  he  findes  ;  of  nothing  betakes  keepe. 


And,  more,  to  luUe  him  in  his  slumber  soft, 

A  trickling  streame  from  high  roc i;  tumbling  downs, 

And  ever-drizling  raine  upon  the  lolt, 

jMixt  with  a  murmuring  wiiide,  much  like  the  sowne 

Of  swarming  bees,  did  cast  him  in  a  swowne. 

No  other  noyse,  nor  peoples  troublous  cryes. 

As  still  are  wont  t'annoy  the  walled  towne. 

Might  there  be  heard  :  butcarelesse  Quiet  lyes 

Wrapt  in  eternall  silence  farre  from  enimyes. 


The  messenger  approching  to  him  spake ; 
But  his  waste  wordes  retournd  to  him  in  vaine  : 
So  sound  he  slept,  thut  nought  mought  him  awake. 
Then  rudely  he  him  thrust,  and  puslit  with  j)aine, 
Whereat  began  to  stretch  :  but  he  againe 
Shooke  him  so  bard,  that  forced  hirn  to  speake. 
As  one  then  in  a  dreame,  whose  dr\er  braine 
Is  tost  with  troubled  siglits  and  fancies  weake, 
He  mumbled  soft,  but  would  not  all  his  silence  brea.e. 


The  sprite  then  gan  more  boldly  him  to  wake. 

And  ihreatned  unto  him  the  dreaded  name 

Of  Hecate     whereat  he  gan  to  qu;ike. 

And,  lifting  up  his  lompish  head,  with  blame 

Halfe  aiigrie  asked  him,  for  what  he  came, 

"  Hether,"  quoth  he,  ''  me  Archimago  sent. 

He  that  the  stubborne  sprites  can  wisely  tame. 

He  bids  thee  to  him  send  for  his  intent  [sent." 

A  fit  false  Dreame,    that   can    delude   the    sleepers 


The  god  obayde;  and,  calling  forth  straight  way 
A  diverse  dreame  out  of  bis  prison  darke, 
Delivered  it  to  him,  and  downe  did  lay 
His  heaviy  head,  devoide  of  careful  carke  ; 
Whose  sencesall  were  straight  benurabd  and  starke. 
He,  backe  returning  by  the  yvorie  dure, 
Remounted  up  as  li^ht  as  chearelull  larke  ; 
And  on  his  litle  win^e.-  (he  Dreame  be  bore 
In  hast  unto  bis  lord,  where  he  him  left  ufore. 


Who  all  this  while,  with  charmes  and  bidaen  artes, 

Had  made  a  lady  of  that  other  spright. 

And  fram'd  of  liquid  ayre  her  tender  partes. 

So  lively,  and  so  like  in  all  mens  sight, 

Tliat  weaker  sence  it  could  have  ravisht  quight: 

The  makers  selfe,  for  all  his  wondrous  witt. 

Was  nigh  beguiled  with  so  goodly  sight. 

Her  all  in  white  he  clad,  and  over  it 

Cast  a  black  stole,  most  like  to  seeme  for  Una  fit 


Now  when  that  ydle  Dreame  was  to  him  brought, 

Unto  that  elfin  knight  he  bad  him  fly, 

Where  he  slept  soundly  void  of  evil  thought, 

And  with  false  shewes  abuse  his  fantasy  ; 

In  sort  as  he  him  schooled  privily. 

And  that  new  creature,  borne  without  her  dew. 

Full  of  the  makers  guile,  with  usage  sly 

He  taught  to  imitate  that  lady  trew. 

Whose  semblance  she  did  carrie  under  feigned  hew. 


Thus,  well  instructed,  to  their  worke  they  haste ; 
And,  comming  where  the  knight  in  slomber  lay. 
The  one  upon  his  bardie  head  iiim  plaste, 
And  made  him  dreame  of  loves  and  lustfuU  play  ; 
That  nigh  his  m;mly  hart  did  melt  away. 
Bathed  in  wanton  blis  and  wicked  ioy : 
Then  seemed  him  his  lady  by  him  lay, 
And  to  him  ])laynd,  how  that  false  winged  boy 
Her  chaste  hart  had  subdewd  to  learne  dame  Flea- 
suEes  toy. 


And  she  her  selfe,  of  beautie  soveraigne  queene, 

Fayre  Venus,  seemde  unto  his  bed  to  brinj 

Her,  whom  he,  waking   evermore  did  weene 

To  bee  the  chastest  flowre  that  aye  did  spring 

On  earthly  brauiich,  ihe  daughter  of  a  king. 

Now  a  loose  leman  to  vile  service  bound  : 

And  eke  the  Graces  seemed  all  to  sing, 

Hi/meii  I'u  Hitmen,  dauncing  all  around  ; 

Whylst  freshest  Flora  her  with  yvie  girlond  crownd. 


In  this  great  passion  of  unwonted  lust. 

Or  wonted  "eare  of  doing  ought  amis. 

He  starleth  up,  as  se'Mning  to  mistrust 

Some  secret,  ill,  or  hidden  foe  of  his  : 

Lo,  there  before  his  face  his  ladie  is. 

Under  blacke  stole  hyding  her  bayted  hooke  ; 

And  as  halfe  blushine  ofl'red  Lim  to  kis. 

With  gentle  blandishment  and  lovely  Jooke,     [took. 

Most  like  that  virgin  true,  which  for  her  knight  him 


All  cleane  dismayd  lo  see  so  uncouth  sight. 
And  halfe  enraged  at  her  shamelesse  guise, 
He  thought  have  slaine  her  in  his  fierce  despiglit , 
But,  hastie  heat  tempring  with  sufferance  wise, 
He  stayde  iiis  hand  ,  and  gan  himselfe  advise 
'lo  prove  ids  sense,   iind  tempt  her  faigned  truth 
Wringing  her  hands,  in  weinens  pitteous  wise, 
Tho  can  she  weepe,  to  stirre  up  gentle  ruth 
Both  for  her  noble  blood,  and  for  her  tender  youth. 


14 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boox  1 


And  sayd,  "  Ah  sir,  my  liege  lord,  and  my  love, 

Sliall  I  accuse  the  hidden  cruell  fate, 

And  mightie  causes  wrought  in  heaven  above, 

Or  the  blind  god,  that  doth  me  thus  amate, 

For  hoped  love  to  winne  me  certaine  hate? 

Yet  thus  perforce  he  bids  me  do,  or  die. 

Uie  is  niv  dew  ;  yet  rew  my  wretched  state, 

^'ou,  wiiom  my  hard  avenging  destinie 

Hath  made  iudge  of  my  life  or  death  indififerently  : 


"  Your  owne  dearesake  forst  me  at  first  to  leave 
i\ly  fathers  kingdom" — there  she  stopt  with  teares ; 
Her  swollen  hart  her  speech  seemd  to  bereave, 
\ntl  then  againe  bet;un  ;   "  My  weaker  yeares, 
Captiv'd  to  foitune  and  frayle  worldly  feares, 
Flv  to  vour  fayth  for  succour  and  sure  ayde: 
Let  me  not  die  in  languor  and  long  teares."  [may'd  ? 
"  Why,  dame,"  quoth  he,  "  what  hath  ye  thus  dis- 
What  frayes  ye,    that   were  wont  to  comfort    me 
affrayd  ?  " 


"Loveofyourselfe,"she  saide,  "and  deare  constraint. 
Lets  me  not  sleepe,  but  waste  the  wearie  night 
In  secret  anguish  and  unpittied  plaint, 
Whiles  you  in  carelesse  sleepe  are  drowned  quight." 
Her  doubtfull  words  made  that  redoubted  knight 
Suspect  her  truth  ;  yet  since  no'  untrutli  he  knew, 
Her  fawning  love  witii  foule  disd;iinefull  siiight 
He  would  not  shend  ;  but  said,  "  Deare  dame,  I  rew 
That  for  my   sake  unknowne  such  griefe  unto  yo'i 
grew  : 

LIV. 

"  Assure  your  selfe,  it  fell  not  all  to  ground  ; 

For  all  so  deare,  as  life  is  to  my  hart, 

I  deeme  your  love,  and  hold  me  to  you  bound  : 

Ne  let  vaine  fears  procure  your  needlesse  smart. 

Where  cause  is  none ;  but  to  your  rest  depart." 

Not  all  content,  yet  seemd  she  to  appease 

Her  mournefuU  plaintes,  beguiled  of  her  art, 

And  fed  with  words,  that  could  not  chose  but  pleasf  : 

So,  slyding  softly  forth,  she  turnd  as  to  her  ease. 


Long  after  lay  he  musing  at  her  mood. 

Much  griev'd  to  thinke  that  gentle  dame  so  light. 

For  whose  defence  he  was  to  shed  his  blood. 

At  last  dull  wearines  of  former  fight 

Having  yrockt  asleepe  his  irkesome  spright, 

That  troublous  Dreame  gan  freshly  tosse  his  braine 

With  bowres,  and  beds,  and  ladies  deare  delight: 

But,  when  he  saw  his  labour  all  was  vaine, 

With  that  misformed  spright  he  backe  returnd  againe. 


CANTO  II. 

The  guilefull  great  enchaunter  parts 
The  Redcrosse  knight  from  Truth : 

Into  whose  stead  faire  Falshood  steps. 
And  workes  him  woeful!  ruth. 


T5y  this  the  northerne  wagoner  had  set 

His  sevenfold  teme  behind  the  stedfast  slarre 

'I'hat  was  in  ocean  waves  yet  never  wet, 

]5ut  firme  is  fi.xt,  and  sendeth  light  from  farre 

To  all  that  in  the  wide  deepe  wandring  arre  ; 

And  chearefull  chaunticlere  with  his  note  shrill 

Had  warned  once,  that  Phoebus  fiery  cane 

In  hast  was  climbing  up  the  easterne  hill, 

Full  envious  that  Night  so  long  his  roome  did  fill : 


When  those  accursed  messengers  of  hell, 

'Jhat  feigning  Dreame,  and  that  faire-forged  spright. 

Came  to  their  wicked  maister,  and  gan  tell 

Their  bootelesse  paines,  and  ill-succeeding  night: 

Who,  all  in  ra-e  to  see  his  skilfull  might 

Deluded  so,  gan  threaten  hellish  |iaine 

And  sad  Proserpines  wrath,  tliem  to  affright. 

But,  when  he  saw  his  threatning  was  but  vaine, 

He  cast  about,  and  sestrcht  bis  baleful  bokes  againe. 


Eftsoones  he  tooke  that  miscreated  Faire, 
And  that  false  other  spright,  on  whom  be  spred 
A  seeming  body  of  the  subtile  aire. 
Like  a  young  squire,  in  loves  and  lustyhed 
His  wanton  dales  that  ever  loosely  led, 
Without  regard  of  armes  and  dreaded  fight; 
Those  two  he  tooke,  and  in  a  secrete  bed. 
Covered  with  darkenes  and  misdeeming  eight, 
Them  both  together  laid,  to  ioy  in  value  delight. 


Forthwith  he  runnes  with  feigned-faithfull  hast 
Unto  his  guest,  who,  after  troublous  sights 
And  dreames,  gan  now  to  take  more  sound  repast ; 
Whom  suddeidy  he  wakes  with  fearful  frights, 
As  one  aghast  with  feends  or  damned  sprights. 
And  to  him  calls  ;  "  Rise,  rise,  unhaj)pv  swaine, 
'I  hat  herewex  old  in  sleepe,  whiles  wicked  wights 
Have  knit  themselves  in  Venus  shameful  chaine  : 
Corae.seewhereyour  false  lady  doih  her  honor  staiue.' 


Canto  II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


IS 


All  in  a  maze  be  suddenly  up  start 

With  sword  in  hand,  and  with  the  old  man  wentj 

Wlio  soone  him  brought  into  a  secret  part, 

Where  that  false  couple  were  full  closely  ment 

In  wanton  lust  and  leud  embracement : 

Which  when  be  saw,  he  burnt  with  gealous  fire  ; 

The  eie  of  reason  was  with  rage  yblent ; 

And  would  have  slaine  them  in  Lis  furious  ire. 

But  hardly  was  restreined  of  that  aged  sire. 


Retourning  to  his  bed  in  torment  great, 

\iid  bitter  anguish  of  his  guilty  sight. 

He  could  not  rest  ;  but  did  his  stout  heart  eat, 

And  wast  his  inward  gall  with  deepe  despight, 

Vrkesome  of  life,  and  too  long  lingring  night. 

At  last  faire  Hesperus  in  highest  skie  [I'ght ; 

Hnd  spent  his  lampe,  and   brought  forth  dawning 

I'hen  up  he  rose,  and  clad  him  hastily;  [fly. 

The  dwarfe  him  brought  his  steed :  so  both  away  do 


Now  when  the  rosy-fingered  Morning  faire. 

Weary  of  aged  Tithones  saffron  bed. 

Had  spread  her  purple  robe  through  deawy  aire ; 

And  the  high  hils  Titan  discovered  ; 

'I'he  royall  virgin  shooke  olf  drousvhed  : 

And,  rising  forth  out  of  her  haser  bowre, 

Lookt  for  her  knight,  who  far  away  was  fled. 

And  for  her  dwarfe,  that  wont  to  waite  each  howre : — 

Then  gau  she  wail  andweepe  to  see  that  woeful  stowre. 


But  now  seemde  best  the  person  to  put  on 

Of  that  good  knigiit,  his  late  beguiled  guest  .-^ 

In  mighty  armes  he  was  yclad  anon, 

And  silver  shield  ;■  upon  his  coward  brest 

A  bloody  crosse,  and  on  his  craven  crest 

A  bounch  of  heares  discolourd  diversly. 

Full  ioUy  knight  he  seemde,  and  wel  addrest ; 

And,  when  he  sale  uppon  his  courser  free,       [to  be 

Saint  George  himselfe  ye  would  have  deemed  him 


But  he,  the  knight,  whose  semblaunt  he  did  beare, 
The  true  Saint  George,  was  wandied  far  away. 
Still  flying  from  his  thoughts  and  gealous  feare  : 
\\'\]\  was  his  guide,  and  griefe  led  him  astray. 
At  last  him  chaunst  to  meete  upon  the  way 
A  faithlesse  Sarazin,  all  armde  to  point, 
In  whose  great  shield  was  writ  with  letters  gay 
Suns  Joy  ;  full  large  of  limbe  and  every  ioint 
He  was,  and  cared  not  for  God  or  man  a  point. 


Hee  had  a  faire  companion  of  his  way, 

A  goodly  lady  clad  in  scarlot  red, 

Purfled  witli  gold  and  pearle  of  rich  assay; 

And  like  a  Persian  mitre  on  her  hed 

Shee  wore,  with  crowns  and  owches  garnished, 

The  which  her  lavish  lovers  to  her  gave  : 

Her  wanton  palfrey  all  was  overspred 

With  tinsell  trappings,  woven  like  a  wave, 

\\  hose  bridle  rung  with  golden  bels  and  bosses  brave. 


And  after  him  she  rode  with  so  much  speeoe. 
As  her  slowe  beast  could  make  ;  but  all  in  vaine  ; 
For  him  so  far  had  borne  his  light-foot  steede, 
Pricked  with  wrath  and  fiery  fierce  disdaine, 
'i'hat  him  to  follow  was  but  fruitlesse  paine  : 
Yet  she  her  weary  limbes  would  never  rest ; 
But  every  hil  and  dale,  each  wood  and  plaine, 
Did  search,  sore  grieved  in  her  gentle  brest. 
He  so  ungently  left  her,  whom  she  loved  best. 


But  subtill  Archimago,  when  his  guests 

He  saw  divided  into  double  parts. 

And  L'na  wandring  in  woods  and  forrests, 

(Th'  end  of  his  drift,)  he  praised  his  divelish  arts. 

That  had  such  might  over  true  meaning  harts  : 

Vet  rests  not  so,  but  other  meanes  doth  make. 

How  he  may  worke  unto  her  further  smarts  : 

For  her  he  hated  as  the  Ljssing  snake. 

And  in  her  many  troubles  did  most  j^leasure  take. 


He  then  devisde  himselfe  how  to  disguise ; 

For  by  his  mighty  science  he  could  take 

As  many  formes  and  shapes  in  seeming  wise, 

As  ever  Proteus  to  himselfe  could  make : 

Sometime  a  fowle,  sometime  a  fish  in  lake. 

Now  like  a  foxe,  now  like  a  dragon  fell ; 

That  of  himselfe  he  ofte  for  feare  would  quake. 

And  oft  would  flie  away.     O  who  can  tell      [spell ! 

The  hidden  powre  of  herbes,  and  might  of  aagick 


With  faire  disport,  and  courting  dalliaunce, 

She  intertainde  her  lover  all  the  way  : 

But,  when  she  saw  the  knight  his  speare  advaunce 

Shee  soone  left  ofi  her  mirth  and  wanton  play, 

And  bad  her  knight  addresse  him  to  the  iray  ; 

His  toe  was  nigh  at  hand.   He,  prickte  with  pride, 

And  hope  to  winne  his  ladies  hearte  that  day, 

Forth  spurred  last ;   adowne  his  coursers  side 

The  red  bloud  trickling  staind  the  way,  as  he  did  ride, 


The  knight  of  the  Redcrosse,  when  him  he  spide 

Spurring  so  bote  with  rage  dispiteous, 

Gan  fairely  couch  his  sjjtare,  and  towards  ride  : 

Soone  meete  they  both,  both  fell  and  furious. 

That,  daunted  with  their  forces  hideous, 

Their  steeds  doe  stagger,  and  amazed  stand  ; 

And  eke  themselves,  too  rudely  rigorous, 

Astonied  with  the  stroke  of  their  owne  hand, 

Doe  backe  rebutte,  and  each  to  other  yealdeth  land. 


As  when  two  rams,  stird  with  ambitious  pride. 

Fight  for  the  rule  of  the  rich-fleeced  flocke. 

Their  horned  fronts  so  fierce  on  either  side 

Uoe  meete,  that,  with  the  terror  of  the  shocks 

Astonied,  both  stand  sencelesse  as  a  blocke, 

Forgetfull  of  the  hanging  victory: 

So  stood  these  twaine,  unmoved  :is  :•.  rocke, 

Both  staring  fierce,  and  holding  idi-lv 

'J'he  broken  relitjues  of  their  former  cruelty. 


10 


THE  FAERIE  QUERNE. 


[B 


Tlie  Sarazin,  sore  daunted  witli  the  buffe, 
Snatclieth  his  sworti,  and  fiercely  to  him  flies  ; 
Who  well  it  wards,  and  quyteth  cuft"  with  cuff: 
Each  others  equall  piiissaunce  envies, 
And  through  their  iron  sides  with  cruell  spies 
Does  seeke  to  perce  ;  repining-  courage  yields 
No  foote  to  foe  :  the  flashing  fier  flies, 
As  from  a  forge,  out  of  their  burning  shields  ; 
And  streams  of  purple  bloud  new  die  the  verdant 
fields. 


•'  Curse  on  that  crosse,"  quoth  then  the  Sarazin, 

That  keeps  thy  body  from  the  bitter  fitt ; 

Dead  long  ygoe,  I  wote,  thou  haddest  bin. 

Had  not  that  charme  from  thee  forwarned  itt  : 

But  yet  I  warne  thee  now  assured  sitt, 

And  hide  thy  head."     Therewith  upon  bis  crest 

With  rigor  so  outrageous  he  smitt. 

That  a  large  share  it  hewd  out  of  the  rest,        [blest. 

And  glauncing  down  his  shield  from  blame  him  fairly 


Who,  thereat  wondrous  wroth,  the  sleeping  spark 
Of  native  vertue  gan  eftsoones  revive  ; 
And,  at  his  haughty  helmet  making  mark, 
So  hugely  stroke,  that  it  the  Steele  did  rive, 
And  cleft  his  head  :    he,  tumbling  downe  alive. 
With  bloudy  mouth  his  mother  earth  did  kis. 
Greeting  his  grave  :   his  grudging  ghost  did  strive 
With  the  fraile  flesh  ;  at  last  it  flitted  is, 
Whither  the  soules  doe  fly  of  men,  that  live  amis. 


"  He,  in  the  first  flowre  of  my  freshest  age. 

Betrothed  me  unto  the  ouely  haire 

Of  a  most  mighty  king,  most  rich  and  sage  J 

Was  never  prince  so  faithfull  and  so  fairs, 

Was  never  prince  so  meeke  and  debouaire  .' 

But,  ere  mv  hoped  day  of  spousall  shone, 

My  dearest  lord  fell  from  high  honors  staire 

Into  the  hands  of  hys  accursed  fone, 

And  cruelly  was  slaine;  that  shall  I  ever  moBe  ! 


"  His  blessed  body,  spoild  of  lively  breath. 
Was  afterward,  I  know  not  how,  convaid, 
And  fro  me  hid  ;  of  whose  most  innocent  death 
When  tidings  came  to  mee,  unhappy  maid, 
O,  how  great  sorrow  my  sad  soule  assaid ! 
Then  forth  I  went  his  woefull  corse  to  find, 
And  many  yeares  throughout  the  world  I  straid, 
A  virgin  widow  ;  whose  deepe-wounded  mind 
With  love  long  time  did  languish,  as  the  striken  bind. 


"  At  last  it  chaunced  this  proud  Sarazin 

To  raeete  me  wandring  ;  who  perforce  me  led 

With  him  away;  but  yet  could  never  win 

The  fort,  that  ladies  hold  in  soveraigne  dread. 

There  lies  he  now  with  foule  dishonor  dead, 

Who,  whihs  he  livde,  was  called  proud  Sansfoy, 

The  eldest  of  three  brethren  ;  all  three  bred 

Of  one  bad  sire,  whose  3'oungest  is  Sansioy  ;     [loy. 

And  twixt  them  both  was  born  the  bloudy  bold  Sans- 


The  lady,  when  she  saw  her  champion  fall. 

Like  the  old  mines  of  a  broken  towre, 

Staid  not  to  waile  his  woefull  funerall ; 

But  from  him  fled  away  with  all  her  powre  : 

Who  after  her  as  hastily  gan  scowre. 

Bidding  the  dwarfe  with  him  to  bring  away 

The  Sarazins  shield,  sigue  of  the  concjueroure  : 

Her  soone  he  overtooke,  and  bad  to  stay  ; 

For  present  cause  was  none  of  dread  her  to  dismay. 


Shee  turning  backe,  with  ruefull  countenaunce, 
Cride,  "  Mercy,  mercy,  sir,  vouchsafe  to  show 
On  silly  dame,  subiect  to  hard  mischaunce. 
And  to  your  mighty  will."     Her  humblesse  low 
In  so  ritch  weedes,  and  seeming  glorious  show, 
Did  much  emmove  his  stout  lieroicke  heart; 
And  said,  "  Deare  dame,  your  suddein  overthrow 
Much  rueth  me  ;  but  now  put  feare  ajjart,       [part." 
Andtel,  both  who  ye  be,  and  who  that  tooke  your 


Melting  in  teares,  then  gan  shee  thus  lament ; 

"  The  wretched  woman,  whom  unhappy  howre 

I'atli  now  made  thrall  to  your  commandement, 

Before  that  angry  heavens  list  to  lowre. 

And  fortune  false  betraide  me  to  your  powre. 

Was,  (O  what  now  availeth  that  I  wasl^ 

Borne  the  sole  daughter  of  an  empcrour  ; 

He  that  tiie  wide  west  under  his  rule  has. 

And  high  hath  set  his  throne  where  Tiberis  doth  pas. 


"  In  this  sad  plight,  friendlesse,  unfortunate. 
Now  miserable  I  Fidessa  dwell, 
Craving  of  you,  in  jiitty  of  my  state, 
To  doe  none  ill,  if  please  ye  not  doe  well." 
He  in  great  passion  all  this  while  did  dwell, 
More  busying  his  quicke  eies,  her  face  to  view. 
Then  his  dull  eares,  to  heare  what  s-hee  did  tell ; 
And  said,  "  Faire  lady,  hart  of  flint  would  rew 
The  undeserved  woes  and  sorrowes,  which  ye  shew. 


"  Henceforth  in  safe  assuraunce  may  ye  rest, 

Having  both  found  a  new  friend  you  to  aid, 

And  lost  an  old  foe  that  did  you  molest: 

Better  new  friend  then  old  foe  is  said." 

With  chaunge  of  chear  the  seeming-simple  maid 

Let  fal  her  eien,  as  shamefast,  to  the  earth, 

And  yeelding  soft,  in  that  she  nought  gainsaid. 

So  forth  they  rode,  he  feiningseemely  merth,  [derth. 

And  shee   coy  lookes :  so  dainty,  they  say,  maketh 


Long  time  they  thus  together  travelled  ; 

Til,  weary  of  their  way,  they  came  at  last 

Where  grew  two  goodly  trees,  that  faire  did  spred 

Their  armes  abroad,  with  gray  mosse  overcaste; 

And  their  greene  leaves,  trembling  with  every  blast, 

Made  a  calmeshadovve  far  in  compasse  round  • 

The  fearfuU  shepheard,  often  there  aghast. 

Under  them  never  sat,  ne  wont  there  sound 

His  mery  oaten  pipe ;  but  shund  th'  unlucky  ground. 


Canto  II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEFXE. 


17 


But  this  good  knight,  soone  as  he  them  can  spie, 
For  the  coole  shade  him  thither  hastly  got ; 
For  golden  Phoebus,  now  ymounted  hie. 
From  fiery  wheeles  of  his  faire  chariot 
Hurled  his  beame  so  scorching  cruell  hot, 
That  living  creature  mote  it  not  abide ; 
'  And  his  new  lady  it  endured  not. 
There  they  alight,  in  hope  themselves  to  hide 
From  the  fierce  heat,  and  rest  their  weary  limbs  a  tide. 


Faire-seemely  pleasaunce  each  to  other  makes. 

With  goodly  purposes,  there  as  they  sit ; 

And  in  his  ftilsed  fancy  he  her  takes 

To  be  the  fairest  wight,  that  lived  yit ; 

Which  to  expresse,  he  bends  his  gentle  wit ; 

And,  thinking  of  those  braunches  greene  to  frame 

A  girlond  for  her  dainty  forehead  tit. 

He  ])luckt  a  bough  ;  out  of  whose  rifte  there  came 

Smal  drops  of  gory  bloud,  that  trickled  down  the 


Tlierewith  a  piteous  yelling  voice  was  heard, 

Crying,  "  O  spare  with  guilty  hands  to  teare 

My  tender  sides  in  this  rough  rynd  embard  ; 

But  fly,  ah  !  fly  far  hence  away,  for  feare 

Least  to  you  hap,  that  happened  to  me  heare, 

And  to  this  wretched  lady,  my  deare  love  ; 

O  too  deare  love,  love  bought  with  death  too  deare  !" 

Astond  he  stood,  and  up  his  heare  did  hove  : 

And   with  that  suddein   horror  could   no   member 


A  t  last  whenas  the  dreadfull  passion 
Was  overpast,  and  manhood  well  awake  ; 
^'et  musing  at  the  straunge  occasion. 
And  doubting  much  his  sence,  he  thus  bespake  : 
'  ^^'hat  voice  of  damned  ghost  from  Limbo  lake, 
l.)r  guilefull  spright  wandring  in  empty  aire, 
(  Both  which  fraile  men  doe  oftentimes  mistake,) 
Sends  to  my  doubtful  eares  these  speaches  rare, 
And  niefuU  plaints,  me  bidding  guiltlesse  blood  to 
spare  1" 

XXXIIT. 

Then,  groningdeep  ;  "  Nor  damned  ghost,"  quoth  he, 
"  Xor  guileful  sprite,  to  thee  these  words  doth 
But  once  a  man  Fradubio,  now  a  tree  ;  [speake  ; 

\\  retcl'.ed  man,  wretched  tree  !  whose  nature  vveake 
A  cruell  witch,  her  cursed  will  to  v.reake, 
Uihh  thus  transformd,  and  plast  in  open  plaines, 
\\  here  Boreas  doth  blow  full  bitter  bleake, 
And  scorching  sunne  does  dry  my  secret  vaines  ; 
For  though  a  tree    I   seeme,  ytt  cold  and  heat  me 
paines." 

XXXIV. 

"  Say  on,  Fradubio.  then,  or  man  or  tree," 

Quoth  then  the  knight ;    "  by  whose  mischievous 

Art  thou  misshaped  thus,  as  now  I  see  1  [arts 

He  oft  finds  med'cine  who  his  griefe  imparts  ; 

Bat  double  griefs  afflict  concealing  harts  ; 

As  raging  flames  who  striveth  to  suppresse." 

"  Tlie  author  then,"  said  he^  "  of  all  my  smarts. 

Is  one  L'uessa,  a  false  sorceresse,  [nesse. 

Ibia  many  errant  knights  hath  broght  to  wretched- 


"  In  prime  of  youthly  yeares,  when  corage  hott 
The  fire  of  love  and  ioy  of  chevalree 
First  kindled  in  my  brest,  it  was  my  iott 
To  love  this  gentle  lady,  whome  3'e  see 
Now  not  a  lady,  but  a  seeming  tree  ; 
With  whome  as  once  I  rode  accompanyde, 
IMe  chauuced  of  a  knight  encountred  bee. 
That  had  a  like  faire  ladv  by  his  syde  ; 
Lyke  a  faire  lady,  but  did  tbwle  Duessa  hyde  ; 


"  Whose  forged  beauty  he  did  take  in  hand 

All  other  dames  to  liave  exceded  farre  ; 

I  in  defence  of  mine  did  likewise  stand, 

IMine,  that  did  then  shine  as  the  morning  starre. 

So  both  to  batteill  fierce  arraunged  arre  ; 

In  which  his  harder  fortune  was  to  fall 

Under  my  speare  ;  such  is  tlie  dye  of  waiTe. 

His  ladv,  left  as  a  prise  martiall, 

Did  yield  her  comely  person  to  be  at  my  call. 


"  So  doubly  lov'd  of  ladies  unlike  faire, 

Th'  one  seeming  such,  the  other  such  indeede, 

One  day  in  doubt  I  cast  for  to  compare 

Whether  in  beauties  glorie  did  exceede  ; 

A  rosy  girlond  was  the  victors  meede. 

Both  seemde  to  win,  and  both  seemde  won  to  bee ; 

So  hard  the  discord  was  to  be  agreede. 

Fradissa  was  as  faire,  as  faire  mote  bee. 

And  ever  false  Duessa  seemde  as  faire  as  shee. 


"  The  wicked  witch,  now  seeing  all  this  while 

The  doubtfidl  ballaunce  equally  to  sway. 

What  not  by  right,  she  cast  to  win  by  guile  ; 

And,  by  her  helUsh  science,  raisd  streight  way 

A  foggy  mist  that  overcast  the  day, 

A  nd  a  dull  blast  that  breathing  on  her  face 

Dimmed  her  former  beauties  shining  ray. 

And  with  foule  ugly  forme  did  her  disgrace  :  [place. 

Then  was  she  I'ayre  alone,  when  none  was  faire  ia 


"  Then  cride  she  out,  '  Fye,  fye,  deformed  wight 
Whose  borrowed  beautie  now  appeareth  plaine 
To  have  before  bewitched  all  mens  sight  : 
O  leave  her  soone,  or  let  her  soone  be  slaine  !' 
Her  loathly  visage  viewing  with  disdaine, 
Eftsoones  I  thought  her  such  as  she  me  told, 
And  would  have  ki!d  her  ;   but  with  faigned  paine 
The  false  witch  did  njy  wrathfull  hand  withhold  : 
So  left  her,  where  she  now  is  turned  to  treen  mould. 


"  Tliensforth  I  tnoke  Duessa  for  my  dame. 

And  in  the  witch  unweeting  iovd  long  time  ; 

Ne  ever  wist,  but  that  she  was  the  same  : 

Till  on  a  day  (that  day  is  everie  prime, 

W^hen  witches  wont  do  penance  lor  their  crime,) 

I  chaunst  to  see  her  in  her  proper  hew, 

Batliing  her  selfe  in  origane  and  thyme  : 

A  fiith\^  foule  old  woman  1  did  vew. 

That  ever  to  have  toucht  her  I  did  deadly  rew. 


l8 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I. 


"  Her  neather  partes  misshapen  monstruous, 

Were  liidd  in  water,  that  I  could  not  see  ; 

But  they  did  seeme  more  foule  and  hideous, 

Then  womans  shape  man  would  beleeve  to  bee. 

Thensforth  from  her  most  beastly  companie 

I  gan  refraine,  in  minde  to  slipp  away, 

Soone  as  appeard  safe  opportunitie  : 

For  dang'er  great,  if  not  assurd  decay, 

I  saw  before  mine  eyes,  if  I  were  knowne  to  stray. 


"  The  divelish  hag,  by  chaunges  of  my  cheare, 
Perceiv'd  my  thought ;  and,  drownd  in  sleepie  night, 
'iVith  wicked  herbes  and  oyntments  did  besmeare 
My  body,  all  through  charmes  and  magicke  might, 
That  all  my  senses  were  bereaved  quight : 
Then  brought  she  me  into  this  desert  waste. 
And  by  my  wretched  lovers  side  me  pight ; 
Where  now  enclosd  in  wooden  wals  full  faste, 
Banisht   from  living  wights,  our  wearie  daies  we 
waste." 

XLV 


"  But  how  long  time,"  said  then  the  Elfin  knight, 

"  Are  you  in  this  misformed  hous  to  dwell?" 

"  We  maynot  chaunge,"  quoth  he,  "  this  evill  plight. 

Till  we  be  bathed  in  a  living  well ; 

That  is  the  terme  prescribed  bv  the  spell."' 

"  O  how,"  sayd  he,  "  mote  I  that  well  out  find, 

That  may  restore  you  to  your  wonted  well  ?" 

"  Time  and  suffised  fates  to  former  kynd    [unbynd." 

Shall  us  restore  ;  none    else   from  hence  may   us 


The  false  Duessa,  now  Fidessa  hight. 

Heard  how  in  vaine  Fradubio  did  lament, 

And  knew  well  all  was  true.     But  the  good  knight, 

Full  of  sad  feare  and  ghastly  dreriment. 

When  all  this  speech  tlie  living  tree  had  spent. 

The  bleeding  bough  did  thrust  into  the  ground. 

That  from  the  blood  he  might  be  innocent. 

And  with  fresh  clay  did  close  the  wooden  wound  : 

Then  turning  to  his  lady,  dead  with  feare  her  fownd . 


Her  seeming  dead  he  fownd  with  feigned  feare. 
As  all  unweeting  of  that  well  siie  knew  ; 
And  pavnd  himselfe  with  busie  care  to  reare 
Her  out  of  carelesse  swowne.     Her  eyelids  blew. 
And  dimmed  sight  with  pale  and  deadly  hew. 
At  last  she  up  gan  lift :  with  trembling  cheare 
Her  up  he  tooke,  (too  simple  and  too  trew,) 
And  oft  her  kist.     At  length,  all  passed  feare. 
He  set  her  on  her  steede,  and  forward  forth  did  beare. 


CANTO  III. 

Forsaken  Truth  long  seekes  her  love. 
And  makes  the  lyon  mylde  ; 

]\Iarres  blind  Devotions  mart,  and  fals 
In  hand  of  leachour  vylde. 


Noucrrr  is  there  under  heav'ns  wide  hollownesse, 
That  moves  more  deare  compassion  of  mind, 
Then  beautie  brought  t'unworthio  wretchednesse 
Through  envies  snares,  <ir  fortunes  freak<'s  unkind. 
I,  whether  lately  through  her  brightnes  blynd, 
Or  through  alleagcauce,  and  fust  fealty, 
\\hich  I  do  owe  unto  all  womankynd, 
Feele  my  hart  perst  with  so  great  agony, 
When  such  I  see,  that  all  for  pitty  1  could  dy. 


And  now  it  is  empassioned  so  deepe, 

For  fairest  Cnaes  sake,  of  whom  I  sing, 

'1  hut  my  frayle  eies  these  lines  with  teares  do  steepe. 

To  thiuke  how  she  througii  guyleful  haiideling, 

Tliougn  true  as  touch,  though  daughter  of  a  king, 

'I'hough  faire  as  ever  living  wight  was  fayre, 

Tiiough  nor  in  word  nor  deede  ill  meriting. 

Is  fron\  her  knight  divorced  in  despayre, 

And  her  dew  loves  deryv'dto  that  vile  witchesshayre 


Yet  she,  most  faithfull  ladie,  all  this  while 

Forsaken,  wofull,  solitarie  mayd. 

Far  from  all  peoples  preace,  as  in  exile, 

In  wildernesse  and  wastfull  deserts  strayd, 

To  seeke  her  knight ;  who,  subtily  betrayd  [wrought, 

Through  that   late    vision    which    th'    euchauuter 

Had  her  abandond  ;  she  of  nought  afrayd, 

Through  woods  and  wastnes  wide  him  daily  sought  , 

Yet  wished  tydinges  none  of  him  unto  her  brought. 


One  day,  nigh  wearie  of  the  yrkesome  way, 

From  her  unhastie  beast  she  did  alight  ; 

And  on  the  grasse  her  dainty  limbs  did  lay 

j'n  secrete  shadow,  far  from  all  mens  sight ; 

From  her  fayre  head  her  fillet  she  undight. 

And  layd  her  stole  aside  ;  Her  angels  face. 

As  the  great  eye  of  heaven,  shyned  bright. 

And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place  ; 

Uid  never  mortall  eye  behold  such  heavenly  grace. 


[Canto.  III. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


19 


It  fortuned,  out  of  the  tliickest  wood 

A  ramping  lyoti  rushed  suddeinlv, 

Hunting  full  greedy  after  salvage  blood  ; 

Soone  as  the  royall  virgin  he  did  spy, 

With  gaping  mouth  at  her  ran  greedily, 

To  have  attonce  devourd  her  tender  corse  ; 

But  to  the  pi'ay  when  as  he  drew  more  ny, 

His  bloodv  rage  aswaged  with  remorse. 

And,  with  the  sight  amazd,  forgat  his  furious  forse. 


Instead  thereof,  he  kist  her  wearie  feet, 
And  lickt  her  liUy  hands  with  fawning  tong; 
As  he  her  wronged  innocence  did  weet. 
O  how  can  beautie  maister  the  most  strong. 
And  simple  truth  subdue  avenging  wrong  ! 
Whose  yielded  prydo  and  proud  submission, 
Still  dreading  death,  when  see  had  marked  long, 
Her  h.irt  j^au  melt  in  great  compassion  ; 
And  drizling  teares  did  shed  for  pure  affection. 


"  The  Ivon,  lord  of  everie  beast  in  field," 

Quoth  she,  "  his  princely  puissance  doth  abate, 

And  mightie  proud  to  humble  weake  does  yield, 

Forget'ull  of  the  hungry  rage,  which  late 

Him  prickt,  in  pittie  of  my  sad  estate  : — • 

But  he,  my  lyon,  and  my  noble  lord. 

How  does  ne  find  in  cniell  hart  to  hate 

Her,  tliat  him  lov'd,  and  ever  most  adord 

As  the  god  of  my  life  ?   why  hath  he  me  abhord  V' 


Redounding  teares  did  choke  th'  end  of  her  plaint, 

Which  softly  ecchoed  from  the  neighbour  wood  ; 

And,  sad  to  see  her  sorrowfull  constraint, 

The  kingly  beast  upon  her  gazing  stood ; 

With  pittie  calmd,  downe  fell  his  angry  mood. 

At  last,  in  close  hart  shutting  up  her  payne. 

Arose  the  virgin,  borne  of  heavenly  broody 

And  to  her  snowy  palfrey  got  agavne. 

To  seeke  her  strayed  champion  if  she  might  attayiie* 


The  lyon  would  not  leave  her  desolate. 

But  with  her  went  along,  as  a  strong  gard 

Of  her  chast  person,  and  a  faythfull  mate 

Of  her  sad  troubles  and  misfortunes  hard  ; 

Still,  when  she  slept,  he  kept  both  watch,  and  ward 

And,  when  she  wakt,  he  wayted  dilig6n,t. 

With  humble  service  to  her  will  prepnrd  : 

From  her  fayre  e3'es  he  took  command  t^ment, 

And  ever  by  her  lookes  conceived  her  intent. 


Long  she  thus  traveiled  through  deserts  wyde, 

By  which  she  thought  her  wandring  knight  shold  pas. 

Yet  never  shew  of  living  wight  espyde  ; 

Till  that  at  length  she  found  the  trodden  gras. 

In  which  the  tract  of  peoples  footing  was. 

Under  the  steepe  foot  of  a  mountaine  hore  ; 

The  same  she  followes,  till  at  last  she  has 

A  damzel  spyde  slow-footing  her  before, 

I'hat  OD  her  shoulders  sad  a  pot  of  water  bore. 


To  whom  approching,  she  to  her  gan  call, 
To  weet,  if  dwelling-place  were  nigh  at  hand  : 
But  the  rude  wench  her  answerd  nought  at  all ; 
She  could  not  heare,  nor  speake,  nor  understand  : 
Till,  seeing  by  her  side  the  lyon  stand, 
With  suddein  fesfi'e  her  pitcher  downe  she  threw, 
And  fled  away  :  for  never  in  that  land  . 

Face  of  fayre  lady  she  before  did  vew,  • 

And  that  dredd  lyons  looke  her  cast  in  deadly  hew. 


Full  fast  she  fled,  ne  ever  lookt  behynd, 

As  if  her  life  upon  the  wager  lay ; 

And  home  she  came,  whereas  her  mother  blynd 

Sate  in  eternall  night ;  nought  could  she  say  ; 

But,  suddeine  catching  hold,  did  her  dismay 

With  quiiking  hands,  and  other  signes  of  feare  ; 

Who,  full  of  ghastly  fright  and  cold  aflray, 

Gan  shut  the  dore.     By  this  arrived  there 

Dame  Una,  weary  dame,  and  entrance  did  requere ; 


Which  when  none  yielded,  her  unruly  page 
With  his  rude  clawes  the  wicket  open  rent, 
And  let  her  in  ;  where,  of  his  cruell  rage 
Nigh  dead  with  feare,  and  faint  astonishment, 
Shee  found  them  both  in  darksome  corner  pent ; 
Where  that  old  woman  day  and  night  did  pray 
Upon  her  beads,  devoutly  penitent ; 
Nine  hundred  Pater  nostn-s  every  day. 
And  thrice  nine  hundred  Aves,  she  was  wont  to  say. 


And,  to  augment  her  painefull  penaunce  more, 
Thrise  every  weeke  in  ashes  shee  did  sitt, 
And  rtext  her  wrinkled  skin,  rough  sackecloth  wore 
And  thrise-three  times  did  fast  from  any  bitt : 
But  now  for  feare  her  beads  she  did  forgett. 
Whose  needlesse  dread  for  to  remove  away, 
Faire  Una  framed  words  and  count'naunce  fitt  ; 
Which  hardly  doen,  at  length  she  gan  them  pray, 
That  in  their  cotage  small  that  night  she  rest  her  may 


The  day  is  spent ;  and  commeth  drowsie  night, 
When  everj"^  creature  shrouded  is  in  sleepe  ; 
Sad  Una  downe  her  laies  in  weary  plight. 
And  at  her  feete  the  lyon  watch  doth  keepe  ; 
In  stead  of  rest,  she  does  lament,  and  weepe. 
For  the  late  losse  of  her  deare-loved  knight. 
And  sighes,  and  grones,  and  evermore  does  steepe 
Her  tender  brest  in  bitter  teares  all  night ; 
All  night  she  thinks  too  long,  and  often  lookes  for 
lio-ht. 


Now  when  Aldeboran  was  mounted  bye, 
Above  the  shinie  Cassiopeias  chaire. 
And  all  in  deadly  sleepe  did  drowned  lye. 
One  knocked  at  the  dore,  and  in  would  fare  , 
He  knocked  fast,  and  often  curst,  and  sware„ 
That  ready  entraunco  was  not  at  his  call ; 
For  on  his  backe  a  heavy  load  he  bare 
Of  nightly  stelths,  and  pillage  severall, 
Which  he  had  got  abroad  by  purchas  criminali'. 

e  9 


90 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  L 


He  was,  to  weete,  a  stout  and  sturdy  tliiefe, 

Wont  to  robbe  churches  of  their  ornaments, 

And  Y)OOTe  mens  boxes  of  their  due  reliefe, 

Which  given  was  to  them  for  good  intents  : 

The  holy  saints  of  their  rich  vestiments 

He  did  disrobe,  when  all  men  carelesse  slept ; 

And  spoild  the  priests  of  their  habiliments  ; 

Whiles  none  the  holy  things  in  safety  kept. 

Then  he  by  conniug  sleights  in  at  the  window  crept. 


And  all,  that  he  by  right  or  wrong  could  find. 

Unto  this  house  he  brought,  and  did  bestow 

Upon  the  daughter  of  tliis  woman  blind, 

Abessa,  daughter  of  Corceca  slow. 

With  whome  he  whoredome  usd  that  few  did  know, 

And  fed  her  fatt  with  feast  of  offerings, 

And  plenty,  which  in  all  the  land  did  grow  ; 

Ne  spared  he  to  give  her  gold  and  rings : 

And  now  he  to  her  brought  part  of  his  stolen  things. 


Thus,  long  the  dore  with  rage  and  threats  he  bett ; 
Yet  of  those  fearfull  women  none  durst  rize, 
(The  lyon  frayed  them,)  him  in  to  lett ; 
He  would  no  lenger  stay  him  to  advize, 
But  open  breakes  the  dore  in  furious  wize. 
And  entring  is  ;  when  that  disdainfull  beast, 
Encountring  fierce,  him  suddein  doth  surprize  ; 
And  seizing  cruell  clawes  on  trembling  brest. 
Under  his  lordly  foot  him  proudly  hath  supprest. 


Him  booteth  not  resist,  nor  succour  call, 

His  bleeding  hart  is  in  the  vengers  hand  ; 

Who  streight  him  rent  in  thousand  peeces  small. 

And  quite  dismembred  hath  :  the  thirsty  land 

Dronke  up  his  life  ;  his  corse  left  on  the  strand, 

Hib  teareiuU  freends  weare  out  the  wofuU  night, 

"Ne  dare  to  weejie,  nor  seeme  to  understand 

Tlie  heavie  hap,  which  on  tliem  is  alight ; 

AfFraid,  least  to  themselves  the  like  mishapen  might. 


Now  "when  broad  day  the  world  discovered  has, 

Up  Una  rose,  up  rose  the  lyon  eke  ; 

And  on  their  fomier  iourney  forward  pas, 

In  waies  unknowne,  lier  wandring  knight  to  seeke. 

With  puines  far  passing  that  long-wandring  Greeke, 

That  for  liis  love  refused  deitye  : 

Such  were  the  labours  of  this  lady  meeke. 

Still  seeking  liim,  that  from  lier  still  did  five  ;    [nye. 

Then  furthest  from  her  liope,  wlien  most  she  weened 


Soone  as  she  parted  thence,  the  fearfull  twayne. 
That  blind  old  woman,  and  her  daughter  dear, 
Came  forth  ;  and,  finding  Xirkrapine  there  slayne. 
For  anguish  great  they  gan  to  rend  their  heare, 
And  beat  their  brests,  and  naked  flesh  to  teare  : 
And  when  they  both  had  vi-ept  and  wayld  their  fill. 
Then  forth  they  ran,  like  two  amazed  deare, 
Hulfe  mad  through  malice  and  revenging  will, 
To  follow  her,  that  was  the  causer  of  their  ill  ; 


Wliome  overtaking,  they  gan  loudly  bray, 
Witli  liollow  houling,  and  lamenting  cry  ; 
Shamefully  at  her  rayling  all  the  wav. 
And  her  accusing  of  dishonesty, 
That  was  the  flowre  of  fiiith  and  chastity  : 
And  still,  amidst  her  rayling,  she  did  pray 
That  plagues,  and  mischiefes,  and  long  misery. 
Might  fall  on  lier,  and  follow  all  the  way  ; 
And  that  in  endlesse  error  she  might  ever  stray. 


But,  when  she  saw  her  prayers  nought  prevails, 
Sbee  backe  retourned  with  some  labour  lost  ; 
And  in  the  way,  as  shee  did  weepe  and  waile, 
A  knight  her  mett  in  mighty  armes  embost. 
Yet  knight  was  not  for  all  his  bragging  host; 
But  subtill  Archimag,  that  Una  sought 
By  traynes  into  new  troubles  to  have  toste  : 
Of  that  old  woman  tidings  he  besought, 
If  that  of  such  a  lady  shee  could  tellen  ought. 


Therewith  she  gan  her  passion  to  renew. 
And  try,  and  curse,  and  raile,  and  rend  her  heare, 
Saying,  that  harlott  she  too  lately  knew. 
That  causd  her  shed  so  many  a  bitter  teare ; 
And  so  forth  told  the  story  of  her  feare. 
]\Iuch  seemed  he  to  mone  lier  haplessechaunce, 
And  after  for  that  lady  did  inquere  ; 
Which  being  taught,  he  forward  gan  advaunce 
His  fair  enchaunted  steed,   and   eke   his    charmed 
launce. 


Ere  long  he  came  where  Una  traveild  slow. 
And  that  wikle  champion  wayting  her  besyde  ; 
Whome  seeing  such,  for  dread  bee  durst  not  show 
Him  selfe  too  nigh  at  hand,  but  turned  wyde 
Unto  an  hil ;    from  whence  wh-^n  she  him  spyde. 
By  his  like-seeming  shield  her  knight  by  name 
Shee  weeiid  it  was,  and  towards  him  gan  ride ; 
Approacliing  nigh  she  wist  it  was  the  same  ; 
And  with  faire  fearefull  humblesse  towards  him  shee 


And  weeping  said,  "  Ah  my  long-lacked  lord. 
Where  have  ye  bene  thus  long  out  of  my  sight  ? 
Much  feared  I  to  have  bene  quight  abhord. 
Or  ought  have  done,  that  ye  displeasen  might 
That  siiould  as  death  unto  my  deare  heart  light 
For  since  mine  eie  your  ioyous  sight  did  mis, 
I\Iy  cheurcfull  day  is  turiid  to  chearclesse  night, 
And  eke  my  night  of  death  the  shadow  is  :      [blis  !' 
But  welcome  now,  my  light,  and  shining  lampe  of 


He  thereto  meeting  said,  "  My  dearest  dame, 
Far  be  it  from  your  thought,  and  fro  my  wil, 
'I'o  thinke  tliat  knighthood  J  so  much  should  shame. 
As  you  to  leaTe  that  have  me  loved  stil, 
And  chose  in  Faery  court,  of  meere  goodwil. 
Where  noblest  knights  were  to  be  found  on  earth. 
The  earth  shall  sooner  leave  her  kindly  skil 
To  bring  ibrtli  fruit,  and  make  eternal  derih, 
Then  I  leve  you,  my  liefe,  yborn  of  hevenly  berth 


Canto  III. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


"  And  sooth  to  sav,  why  I  lefte  you  so  long, 
\Vas  for  to  seeke  adventure  in  straunge  place  j 
Where,  Archimago  said,  a  felon  strong 
To  manv  knights  did  daily  worke  disgrace ; 
Hut  knight  he  now  shall  never  more  deface  : 
Good  cause  of  mine  excuse  that  mote  ye  please 
Well  to  accept,  aud  evermore  embrace 
Mv  faithfuU  service,  that  by  land  and  seas 
Have  vowd  you  to  defend :  novr  then  your  plaint 
appease." 

XXX. 

His  lovely  words  her  seemd  due  recompence 

Of  all  her  passed  paines  :  one  loving  howre 

For  many  yeares  of  sorrow  can  dispence  ; 

A  dram  of  sweete  is  worth  a  poimd  of  sowre. 

Shee  has  forgott  how  many  a  woeful  stowre 

For  him  she  late  endurd ;    she  speakes  no  more 

Of  past  :  true  is,  that  true  love  hath  no  powre 

To  looken  backe  ;  his  eies  be  fixt  before.  [sore. 

before  her  stands  her  kuight,  for  whom  she  toyld  so 


Much  like,  as  when  the  beaten  marinere, 

That  long  hath  wandred  in  the  ocean  wide, 

Ofte  soust  in  swelling  Tethys  saltish  teare  ; 

And  long  time  having  tand  his  tawney  hide 

With  blustring  breath  of  heaven,  that  none  can  bide, 

And  scorching  flames  of  fierce  Orions  hound  ; 

Soone  as  the  port  from  far  he  has  espide, 

His  chearfull  whistle  merily  doth  sound,        [around 

And  Nereus  crownes  with  cups  ;  his  mates  bimpledg 


Such  ioy  made  Una,  when  her  knight  she  found ; 

And  eke  th'  enchaunter  iovous  seemde  no  lesse 

Then  the  glad  marchant,  that  does  vew  from  ground 

His  sliip  far  come  from  watrie  wildernesse  ; 

He  liurles  out  vowes,  and   Neptune  oft  doth  blesse. 

So  fortii  they  past ;  and  all  the  way  they  spent 

Discoursing  of  her  dreadful  late  distresse. 

In  which  he  askt  hor,  what  the  lyon  nient ; 

Who  told,  her  all  that  fell  in  iourney,  as  she  went. 


They  had  not  ridden  far,  when  they  might  see 

One  yiricking  towards  them  with  hastie  heat, 

full  strongly  armd,  and  on  a  courser  free 

That  through  his  fiersnesse  fomed  all  with  sweat. 

And  the  sharpe  yron  did  for  anger  eat, 

"When  his  hot  ryder  spurd  his  chaufFed  side  ; 

His  looke  was  sterne,  and  seamed  still  to  threat 

Cruell  revenge,  which  he  in  hart  did  hyde  : 

A  nd  on  his  shield  Sans  Ioy  in  bloody  lines  was  dyde. 


When  nigh  he  drew  unto  this  gentle  payre, 
And  saw  the  red  crosse,  which  the  knight  did  beare. 
He  burnt  in  fire  ;  and  gan  eftsoones  prtr-pare 
HimseU'e  to  batteill  with  his  couched  speare. 
Loth  was  that  other,  and  did  faint  through  feare, 
To  taste  th'  untryed  dint  of  deadly  Steele  : 
But  yet  his  lady  did  so  well  him  cheare, 
Tiiat  hope  of  new  good  hap  he  gan  to  feele  ; 
So  bent  his  sjieare,  and  sptird  his  horse  with  yron 
heele. 


But  that  proud  Paynira  forward  came  so  ferce 
And  full  of  wrath,  that,  with  his  sharp-head  speare, 
Throus^h  vainly  crossed  shield  he  quite  did  perce  ; 
And,  had  his  staggering  steede  not  shronke  for  feare. 
Through  shield  and  body  eke  he  should  him  beare  : 
Yet,  so  great  was  the  puissanc-e  of  his  pu-h, 
That  from  his  sadle  quite  he  did  him  beare ; 
He  torabling  rudely  downe  to  ground  did  rush, 
And  from  his  goreil  wound  a  well  of  bloud  did  gu^h. 


Dismounting  lightly  from  his  loflie  steed, 

He  to  him  lept,  in  minde  to  reave  his  life, 

And  proudly  said  ;  "  Lo,  there  the  wortliie  meed 

Of  him,  that  slew  Sansfoy  with  bloody  knife  ; 

Henceforth  his  ghost,  freed  from  repining  strife. 

In  peace  may  passen  over  Lethe  lake  ; 

W'hen  mourning  altars,  purgd  with  enimies  life, 

The  black  infernall  furies  doen  aslake  :  [take." 

Life  from  Sansfoy  thou  tookst,  Sansloy  shall  from  theo 


Therewith  in  haste  his  helmet  gan  unlace. 
Till  Una  cride,  "  O  hold  that  heavie  hand. 
Dear  sir,  what  ever  that  thou  be  in  place  : 
Enough  is,  that  thy  foe  doth  vanquisht  stand 
Now  at  thy  mercy  ;  mercy  not  withstand  ; 
For  he  is  one  the  truest  knight  alive. 
Though  conquered  now  he  lye  on  lowly  land  ; 
And,  whijest  him  fortune  favourd,  fayr^^  did  thrive 
In  bloudy  field  ;  therefore  of  life  him  not  deprive." 


Her  piteous  wordes  might  not  abate  his  rage  ; 
But,  rudely  rending  up  his  helmet,  would 
Have   slayne  him  streight ;    but  when   he  sees  his 
And  hoarie  head  of  Archimago  old,  [''o^, 

His  hasty  hand  he  doth  amased  hold. 
And,  halfe  ashamed,  wondred  at  the  sight : 
For  that  old  man  well  knew  he,  though  untold. 
In  channes  and  magick  to  have  wondrous  might ; 
Ne  ever  wont  in  field,  ne  in  round  lists,  to  fight ; 


And  said,  "  Why  Archimago,  lucklesse  syre, 

W^hat  doe  I  see  ?  what  hard  mishap  is  this. 

That  hath  thee  hether  brought  to  taste  mine  yre  1 

Or  thine  the  fault,  or  mine  the  error  is. 

Instead  of  foe  to  wound  my  friend  amis  ?" 

He  answered  nought,  but  in  a  traunce  still  lay. 

And  on  those  guilefull  dazed  eyes  of  his 

The  cloude  of  death  did  sit ;  which  doen  away. 

He  left  him  lying  so,  ne  would  no  lenger  stay: 


But  to  the  virgin  comes  ;  who  all  this  while 
Amased  stands,  herselfe  so  mockt  to  see 
By  him,  who  has  the  guerdon  of  his  gude. 
For  so  misfeigning  her  true  knight  to  bee : 
Yet  is  she  now  in  more  perplexitie, 
Left  in  the  hand  of  that  same  Paynim  bold 
From  whom  her  booteth  not  at  all  to  flie  : 
W^ho,  by  her  cleanly  garment  latching  hold, 
Her  from  her  palfrey  pluckt,  her  visage  to  behold 


n 


THE  FAKRIK  QUEEXE. 


[Book  1 


But  her  fiers  servant,  full  of  kingly  aw 
And  liigh  disdaine,  wheaas  his  soveraine  dame 
So  rudely  handled  by  her  foe  he  saw, 
With  gaping-  iawes  full  greedy  at  him  came, 
And,  nunping  on  his  shield,  did  weene  the  same 
Have  reft  away  with  his  sharp  rending  clawes  : 
But  he  was  stout,  and  lust  did  now  uitiame 
His  corage  more,  that  from  his  griping  pawes 
He  hath  his  shield  redeemd  ;  and  forth  his  swerd  he 
drawes. 

xm. 

O  then,  too  weake  and  feeble  was  the  forse 
Of  salvage  beast,  his  puissance  to  withstand  ! 
For  he  was  strong,  and  of  so  nii-htie  corse, 
As  ever  wielded  S[ieare  in  warlike  hand  ; 
And  feates  of  armes  did  wisely  understand. 
Eftsoones  he  perced  through  his  chaufed  chest 
Witli  Ihiilling  point  of  deadly  yron  brand. 
And  launcht  his  l.rdly  hart  :"with  dearii  opprest 
He  ror'd  aloud,  whiles    life   forsooke  his   stuhborne 
brest.  ^ 


Who  now  is  left  to  keepe  the  forlorne  maid 

From  raging  spoile  of  lawlesse  victors  will  ? 

Her  faithfull  gard  remov'd  ;  her  hope  dismaiJ; 

Her  selfe  a  yielded  pray  to  save  or  spill  ! 

He  now,  lord  of  the  field,  his  pride  to  till. 

With  foule  rej)rocl)es  and  disdaineful  s])ight 

Her  vildly  entertaines  ;  and,  will  or  nill, 

Beares  her  awav  upon  his  courser  light:         [might. 

Her  prayers  nought  prevaile  :  his  rage  is   more  of 


And  all  the  wav,  with  great  lamenting  paine. 
And  piteous  j)laintes,  she  filleth  his  dull  eares. 
That  stony  hart  could  riven  have  in  twaine  ; 
And  iill  the  way  she  wetts  witli  flowing  teares ; 
But  he,  enrag'd  with  rancor,  nothing  heares. 
Her  servile  beast  yet  would  not  leave  her  so, 
But  follows  her  far  ofl",  ne  ought  he  feares 
To  be  partaker  of  her  wandring  woe. 
JMore  mild  in  beastly  kind,  then  that  her  beastly  foe 


CANTO  IV. 

To  sinfuU  hous  of  Pryde  Duess- 
a  guvdes  the  faithfull  knight  ; 

VVluTe,  brothers  death  to  wreak,  Sansioy 
Doth  chaleng  lum  to  fight. 


You.vo  knight  whatever,  that  dost  armes  ]irofesse, 

And  (hrough  long  labours  huntest  after  fame, 

Beware  of  fraud,  bewarf  of  ticklenesse. 

In  chdice,  and  ch;uiiige,  of  thy  deare-loved  dame; 

Least  thou  of  her  believe  too  lightly  blame. 

And  rash  misweening  doe  thy  hart  remove  : 

For  unto  knight  there  is  no  greater  shame. 

Then  liglitnesse  and  inconstancie  in  love  ;       []ir()ve. 

That  doth  this  Redcrosse  knights  ensample  plainly 


Who,  after  that  he  had  faire  Una  lorne. 

Through  light  misdeeming  of  her  loiallie  ; 

And  false  IJuessa  in  her  sted  had  borne. 

Called  I'idess',  and  so  supi)osd  to  be  ; 

Long  with  her  traveild  ;  till  at  last  they  see 

A  goodly  building,  bravely  garnished  ; 

The  house  of  mightie  ])rince  it  seeind  to  be  ; 

And  towards  it  a  broad  high  way  that  led, 

All  half  through  peojilesfeet,  which  thether  travelled. 


Great  troupes  of  people  traveild  thetherward 
Botli  (lav  and  night,  of  each  degree  and  place; 
15vit  ffw  returned,  having  scaped  hard, 
With  baleful!  beggerv,  or  foule  disgrace  ; 
Which  ever  after  in  most  wretched  case, 
Like  1  lathsome  lazars,  by  the  hedges  lay. 
Thether  Duessa  badd  him  bend  his  ]iace; 
For  she  is  wearie  of  the  toilsoin  wav; 
And  al.^o  nigh  consumed  is  the  lingring  day. 


A  stately  pollace  built  of  squared  bricke, 

Which  cunningly  was  without  morti  r  laid. 

Whose  wals  were  high,  but  nothing  strong  nor  thict 

And  golden  foile  all  over  them  displaid. 

That  purest  skye  with  brightnesse  they  dismaid  : 

High  lifted  up  were  many  loftie  towres, 

And  goodly  galleries  far  over  laid. 

Full  of  faire  windowes  and  delightful  bowres  ; 

And  on  the  top  a  diall  told  the  timely  howres. 


It  was  a  goodly  heape  for  to  behould, 

And  sjiake  the  praises  of  the  workmans  witt  : 

But  full  great  pittie,  that  so  faire  a  mouia 

Did  on  so  weake  foundation  ever  sitt : 

For  on  a  sandie  hill,  that  still  did  flitt 

And  fall  away,  it  mounted  was  full  Lie  : 

That  every  breath  of  heaven  shaked  itt  ; 

And  all  the  hinder  jiartes.  that  few  could  spie. 

Were  ruinous  imd  old,  but  jiainted  cunningly. 


Arrived  there,  they  passed  in  forth  right  ; 
For  still  to  all  the  gates  stood  ojien  wide  : 
Yet  charge  of  them  was  to  a  porter  hight, 
Cald  Rlalvenu,  who  entrance  none  denide  ; 
Tlieiice  to  tl  e  hall,  which  was  on  every  sied 
Witii  lich  array  and  costly  arras  dight , 
Infinite  sortes  of  people  did  abide 
'I'here  w;iiting  long,  to  win  the  wished  sight 
Of  her,  that  was  the  lady  of  that  pallace  bright. 


Canto  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


23 


By  them  they  passe,  all  gazing  on  them  round. 
And  to  the  presence  mount ;  whose  glorious  vew 
Their  frayle  amazed  senses  did  confound. 
In  livina:  prmces  court  nine  ever  knew 
Such  endlesse  richesse.  and  so  sunipteous  shew  ; 
Ne  Persia  selfe,  the  uourse  of  pompous  pride. 
Like  ever  saw  :  and  there  a  noble  crew 
Of  lords  and  ladies  stood  on  ever  side, 
Which,  with  their  presence  fayre,  the  place  much 
beautifyde. 


High  above  njl  a  cloth  of  state  was  spred. 

And  a  rich  throne,  as  bright  as  sunny  day  ; 

On  which  there  sate,  most  brave  embellished 

With  royall  robes  and  gorgeous  array, 

A  raayden  queene  that  slione,  as  Titans  ray. 

In  glistring  gold  and  perelesse  pretious  stone ; 

Yet  her  bright  blazing  beautie  did  assay 

To  dim  the  brightnesse  of  her  glorious  throne, 

As  envying  her  selfe,  that  too  exceeding  shone 


Exceeding  shone,  like  Phoebus  fayrest  childe, 
That  did  presume  his  fathers  tyrie  wayne, 
And  flaming  mouthes  of  steedes  unwonted  wilde. 
Through  highest  heaven  with  weaker  hand  to  rayne; 
Proud  of  such  glory  and  advancement  vayne. 
While  flashing  beames  do  daze  his  feeble  eyen. 
He  leaves  the  welkin  way  most  beaten  playne, 
And,  rapt  with  whirling  wheeles,  inflames  the  skyen 
With  fire  not  made  to  burne,  but  fayrely  for  to  sh3-ne. 


So  proud  she  shyied  in  her  princely  state. 
Looking  to  heavf  n  ;  for  earth  she  did  disdayne: 
And  sitting  higli  ;  for  lowly  she  did  Iiate  : 
Lo,  underneath  her  scomefuU  feete  was  layne 
A  dreadfuU  dr?gon  with  an  hideous  trayne  ; 
And  in  her  hand  she  held  a  mirrhour  bright. 
Wherein  her  face  she  often  vewed  fayne, 
And  iv  her  selfe-lov'd  semblance  took  delight  ; 
Fo'  she  was  wondrous  faire,  as  any  living  wight. 


Of  gxiesly  Pluto  she  the  daughter  was,   • 

And  sad  Proserpina,  the  queene  of  hell ; 

Yet  did  she  thinke  her  pearelesse  worth  to  pas 

That  parentage,  with  pride  so  did  she  swell  ; 

And  thundring  love,  tliat  high  in  lieaven  doth  dwell 

And  wield  the  v»-orid,  she  claymed  for  her  syre  ; 

Or  if  that  any  else  did  love  excell ; 

For  to  the  highest  she  did  still  aspyre  ; 

Or,  if  ought  higher  were  then  that,  did  it  desyre. 


And  proud  Lucifera  men  did  her  call. 
That  made  her  selfe  a  queene,  and  crownd  to  be; 
Yet  rightl'ull  kingdome  she  had  none  at  all 
Ne  heritage  of  nt.tive  soveraintie  ; 
But  did  usurpe  with  wrong  and  tyrannic 
Upon  the  scepter,  which  she  now  did  hold  : 
Me  raid  her  realme  with  lawes,  but  pol.icie. 
And  strong  advizement  of  six  wizards  old. 
That   wiih    their   counsels   bad    her   kingdome    did 
uphold. 


Soone  as  the  elfin  knight  in  presence  came. 

And  lalse  Duessa,  seeming  lady  fayre, 

A  genile  Imsher,  Vanitie  by  name, 

Made  rowme,  and  passage  for  them  did  prepaire  : 

So  goodly  brought  them  to  the  lowest  stavre 

Of  her  high  throne  ;  where  they,  on  Immble  kneo 

Making  obeysaunce,  did  the  cause  declare. 

Why  they  were  come,  her  roiall  state  to  see. 

To  prove  the  wide  report  of  her  great  maisstee. 


With  loftie  eyes,  halfe  loth  to  looke  so  lowe. 
She  thancked  them  in  her  disdainefull  wise  ; 
Ne  other  grace  vouchsafed  them  to  showe 
Of  princesse  worthy  ;  scarse  them  bad  arise. 
Her  lordes  and  ladies  all  this  while  devise 
Themselves  to  setten  forth  to  straungers  sight : 
Some  frounce  their  curled  heare  in  courtlv  gui^e  ; 
Some  prancke  their  ruftes  ;  and  others  trimly  dight 
Their  gay  attyre :    each  others  greater  pride  does 
spight. 


Goodly  they  all  that  knight  doe  entertayne. 
Right  glad  with  him  to  have  increast  their  crew  ; 
But  to  Duess'  each  one  himselfe  did  payne 
All  kindnesse  and  faire  courtesie  to  shew  ; 
For  in  that  court  whylome  her  well  they  knew  : 
Yet  the  stout  Faery  mongst  the  middest  crowd 
Thought  all  their  glorie  vaine  in  knightlie  vew-. 
And  that  great  princesse  too  exceeding  prowd. 
That  to  stransje  kni"ht  no  better  countenance  allowd. 


Suddein  upriseth  from  her  stately  place 

The  roiall  dame,  and  for  her  coche  did  call : 

All  hurtlen  ibrth  ;  and  she,  with  princely  pace. 

As  faire  Aurora,  in  her  purple  pall. 

Out  of  the  east  the  dawning  day  doth  call, 

So  forth  she  comes  ;  lierbrightnes  brode  doth  blaze. 

The  he-.ipes  of  people,  thronging  hi  the  hall, 

Doe  ride  each  other,  upon  her  to  gaze  : 

Her  g-lorious  glitter  and  light  doth   all  mens  eies 


So  forth  she  comes,  and  to  her  coche  does  clyme. 

Adorned  all  with  gold  and  girlonds  gay. 

That  seemd  as  fresh  as  Flora  in  lier  prime  ; 

And  strove  to  match,  in  roiall  rich  array. 

Great  lunoes  golden  chayre  ;    the  wliich,  they  say. 

The  gods  stand  gazing  on,  when  she  does  ride 

To  loveshigh  hous  through  heavens  bras-paved  way, 

Drawiie  of  favre  pecocks,  that  excell  in  pride, 

And  full  of  Argus  eyes  their  tayles  dispredden  wide 


But  this  was  drawne 
On  which  her  six  sag 
Taught  to  oaby  their 
With  like  conditions 
Of  which  the  first,  t! 
Was  sluggish  Idleiie; 
Upon  a  slouthtull  as>i 
Arayd  iu  hab"'  blacke 
Like  to  an  holy  monc 


of  six  unequall  beasts, 
e  counsellours  did  ryde, 
bestiall  beheasts, 
to  their  kindes  apply de  ; 
at  all  the  rest  did  guyde, 
;se,  the  nourse  of  Sin  ; 
e  he  chose  to  ryde, 

and  amis  thin  ; 
k,  the  service  to  begin. 


£4 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book 


And  in  his  hand  his  portesse  still  he  hare, 

That  much  was  worne,  hut  therein  little  redd  ; 

For  of  devotion  he  had  little  care, 

Still  drownd  in  sleepe,  and  most  of  his  daies  dedd  : 

Scarse  could  he  once  uphold  his  heavie  hedd, 

To  looken  whetlier  it  were  night  or  day. 

JVIav  seeme  the  wayne  was  very  evil  ledd, 

When  such  an  one  had  guiding  of  the  way, 

That  knew  not,  whether  right  he  went  or  else  astray. 


From  worldly  cares  hiraselfe  he  did  esloyne, 

And  greatly  shunned  manly  exercise  ; 

From  everie  worke  he  chalenged  essoyne. 

For  contemplation  sake  :  yet  otbervvise 

His  life  he  led  in  lawlesse  riotise ; 

By  which  he  grew  to  grievous  malady  : 

For  in  his  lustlesse  limhs,  through  evill  guise, 

A  shaking  fever  raignd  continually  : 

Such  one  was  Idlenesse,  first  of  this  company. 


And  hy  his  side  rode  loathsome  Gluttony, 

Deformed  creature,  on  a  filthie  swyne ; 

His  belly  was  upblowne  with  luxury, 

And  eke  with  fatnesse  swollen  were  his  eyne  ; 

And  like  a  crane  his  neck  was  long  and  fyne, 

AVith  which  he  swallowed  up  excessive  feast, 

For  want  whereof  poore  people  oft  did  pyne  : 

And  all  the  way,  most  like  a  hruti^h  beast. 

He  spued  up  his  gorge,  that  all  did  him  deteast. 


In  greene  vine  leaves  he  was  right  fitly  clad  ; 

For  other  clothes  he  could  not  wear  for  heate  : 

And  on  his  head  an  yvie  girland  had. 

From  under  which  fast  trickled  downe  the  sweat . 

Still  as  he  rode,  he  somewhat  still  did  eat. 

And  in  his  hande  did  beare  a  bouzing  can, 

Of  which  he  supt  so  oft,  that  on  his  seat 

His  dronken  corse  he  scarse  upholden  can  : 

In  shape  and  life  more  like  a  monster  then  a  man. 


Unfit  he  was  for  any  worldly  thing. 

And  eke  unliable  once  to  stirre  or  go ; 

Not  meet  to  be  of  counsell  to  a  king. 

Whose  mind  in  meate  and  drinke  was  drowned  so. 

That  from  his  frend  he  seeldome  knew  his  lb  : 

Full  of  diseases  was  his  carcas  blew. 

And  a  drs'  dropsie  througli  his  flesh  did  flow. 

Which  hy  misdiet  daily  greater  grew; 

Such  one  was  Gluttony,  the  second  ef  that  crew. 


And  next  to  him  rode  lustfuU  Lecliery 

Ujion  a  bearded  gote,  whose  rugged  heare. 

And  whally  eies,    (the  signe  of  ^elosy,) 

Was  like  the  person  se.lfe,  whom  he  did  heare  : 

Who  rough,  and  blacke,  and  filthy,  did  appeare  ; 

Unscemely  man  to  please  fair  ladies  eye  : 

Yet  ho  of  l-adies  oft  was  loved  deare, 

Wneu  fairer  faces  were  bid  standen  by  : 

O  who  does  know  the  bent  cf  womens  fantasy  ! 


In  a  greene  gowne  lie  clothed  was  full  faire. 
Which  underneath  did  hide  his  tillhiiK-sse ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  burning  hart  he  bare. 
Full  of  vaine  follies  and  new-fanglenesse  : 
J'or  he  vvas  false,  and  fraught  with  ficklenesse  ; 
And  learned  had  to  love  with  secret  lookes  ; 
•And  well  could  daunce  ;  and  sing  with  ruefulnesse ; 
And  fortunes  tell  ;  and  read  in  loving  bookes  : 
And  thousand  other  waies,  to  bait  his  fleshly  hookes. 


Inconstant  man,  that  loved  all  he  saw. 

And  lusted  after  all,  that  he  did  love  ; 

Ne  would  his  looser  life  be  tide  to  law. 

But  ioyd  weake  wemens  hearts  to  tempt,  and  prove 

If  from  their  loyall  loves  he  might  them  move  : 

Which  lewdnes  fild  him  with  reproachfull  pain 

Of  that  foule  evill,  which  all  men  reprove. 

That  roits  the  marrow,  and  consumes  the  braine  ; 

Such  one  was  Lechery,  the  third  of  all  this  traine. 


And  greedy  Avarice  by  him  did  ride. 

Upon  a  caihell  loaden  all  with  gold  : 

Two  iron  coffers  hong  on  either  side, 

With  precious  metall  full  as  they  might  hold  ; 

And  in  his  lap  an  heap  of  coine  he  told  ; 

For  of  his  ^vicked  pelf  his  god  he  made. 

And  unto  hell  himselfe  for  money  sold  ; 

A  ccursed  usury  was  all  his  trade  ; 

And  right  and  wrong  ylike  in  equall  ballaunce  waide. 


His  lite  was  nigh  unto  deaths  dore  yplaste  ; 
And  thred-bare  cote,  and  C(ibled  s^.ioes,  hee  ware 
Ne  scarse  good  morsell  all  his  life  did  taste  ; 
But  both  from  backe  and  belly  still  did  spare. 
To  fill  his  bags,  and  richesse  to  cosipare ; 
Yet  childe  ne  kinsman  living  had  he  none 
To  leave  them  to  ;  but  thorough  daily  care 
To  get,  and  nightly  feare  to  lose  his  owne. 
He  led  a  wretched  life,  unto  himselfe  unknowne. 


Most  wretched  wight,  whom  nothing  might  suflise  ; 

Whose  greedy  lust  did  lacke  in  greatest  store  ; 

Whose  need  had  end,  hut  no  end  covetise  ; 

Whose  welth  was  want;  whose  plenty  made  him  pore  J 

Wlio  had  enough,  yett  wisiied  ever  more  ; 

A  vile  disease  ;  and  eke  in  foote  and  hand 

A  grievous  gout  toriiu'iited  him  full  sore  ; 

'i'hat  well  he  could  not  touch,  nor  goe,  nor  stand  ; 

Such  one  was  Avarice,  the  fourth  of  ibis  i'aire  baud  ! 


And  next  to  him  malicious  Envy  rode 
Upon  a  ravenous  wolfe,  ami  still  did  chaw 
]5etween  his  cankred  teeth  a  venemous  tode. 
That  all  the  poison  ran  about  his  chaw  ; 
But  inwardly  he  chawed  bis  owne  maw 
At  neibors  welth,  that  made  him  ev-er  sad  ; 
Ff)r  deatli  it  was,  when  any  good  he  saw  ; 
And  wept,  that  cause  of  weeping  none  he  had  ; 
But,  when  he  heard  of  harine,  he  wexed  wond''OU.- 
Slad. 


Canto  IV.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


25 


All  in  a  kirtle  of  discolourd  say 

lie  clutlied  was,  ypaynted  full  of  eies  ; 

And  in  his  bosome  secretly  there  lay 

An  hatefull  snake,  the  whicli  his  taile  uptyes 

In  many  folds,  and  mortall  sting  implyes  ; 

Still  as  he  rode,  lie  guasht  his  teeth  to  see 

Tliose  heapes  of  gold  with  griple  Covetyse  ; 

And  grudged  at  the  great  felicitee 

Of  proud  Lucifera,  and  his  owne  companee. 


He  hated  all  good  workes  and  vertuous  deeds, 

And  Inni  no  lesse,  that  any  like  did  use  ; 

And,  who  with  gratious  bread  the  hungry  feeds, 

His  almes  for  want  of  faith  he  doth  accuse : 

So  every  good  to  bad  lie  doth  abuse  : 

And  eke  the  verse  of  famous  poets  witt 

ile  does  backebite,  and  spightfull  poison  spues 

From  leprous  mouth  on  all  that  ever  writt : 

Such  one  vile  Envy  was,  that  fifte  in  row  did  sitt. 


And  him  beside  rides  fierce  revenging  AVrath, 

I  pon  a  lion,  loth  for  to  be  led  ; 

And  in  his  hand  a  burning  brond  he  hath, 

'I'iie  which  he  brandisheth  about  his  hed  : 

His  eies  did  hurle  forth  sparcles  fiery  red, 

And  stared  sterne  on  all  that  him  beheld  ; 

As  ashes  pale  of  hew,  and  seeming  ded  ; 

And  on  his  dagger  still  his  hand  he  held,        [sweld. 

Trembling  through  hasty  ra^e,  when  choler  in  him 


His  ruffin  raiment  all  was  staind  with  blood 

Which  he  had  spilt,  and  all  to  rags  yrent ; 

Through  unadvized  rashnes  woxen  wood  ; 

For  of  his  hands  he  had  no  governement, 

Ne  car'd  for  blood  in  his  avengement : 

But,  wlien  the  furious  fitt  was  ovprpast, 

His  oucU  facts  he  often  would  repent ; 

Vet,  wilfull  man,  he  never  would  forecast,        [hast. 

How  many  mischieves  should  ensue  his  heedlesse 


Full  many  mischiefes  follow  cruel!  Wrath  ; 
Abhorred  Bloodshed,  and  tumultuous  Strife, 
Unmanly  Murder,  and  unthrifty  Scath, 
Bitter  Despight  with  llancoui  s  rusty  knife  ; 
^nd  fretting  Griefe,  the  enemy  of  life  : 
All  these,  and  many  evils  moe  haunt  Ire, 
The  swelling  Splene,  and  Frenzy  raging  life. 
The  shaking  Palsey,  and  Saint  Fraunces  fire  : 
Such  one  was  Wrath,  the  last  of  this  uiigxnliy  tire. 


And,  after  all,  upon  the  wagon  beame 
Rode  Satiian  with  a  smarting  whip  in  hand. 
With  which  he  forward  lasht  the  laesy  teme. 
So  oft  as  Slowth  still  in  the  mire  did  stand. 
Huge  routs  of  people  did  about  them  band, 
Showting  for  joy  ;  and  still  before  their  way 
^  foKgy  mist  had  covered  all  the  land  ; 
And,  underneath  their  feet,  all  scattered  lay 
Dead  sculls  and  bones  of  men  whose  life  had  gone 
astray. 


So  forth  they  marchen  in  this  goodly  sort, 

To  take  the  solace  of  the  open  aire, 

And  in  fresh  flowring  fields  themselves  to  sport: 

Emongst  the  rest  rode  that  false  lady  falre. 

The  foule  Duessa,  next  unto  the  chaire 

Of  proud  Lucifer',  as  one  of  the  traine  : 

But  that  good  knight  would  not  so  nigh  re})aire. 

Him  selfe  estraunging  from  their  ioyaunce  vaine. 

Whose  fellowship  seemd  far  unfittfor  warlike  swanie 


So,  having  solaced  themselves  a  space 
With  pleasaunce  of'the  breathing  fields  yfed. 
They  backe  retourned  to  the  ])nncely  place; 
Whereas  an  errant  knight  in  armes  j'cled. 
And  heathnish  shield,  wherein  with  letters  red 
Was  writt  Smis  iny,  they  new  arrived  find  : 
Enflam'd  with  fury  and  fiers  hardyhed, 
He  seemd  in  hart  to  harbour  thoughts  unkind, 
And  nourish  bloody  vengeaunce  in  his  bitter  mind. 


Who,  when  the  shamed  shield  of  slaine  Sansfoy 
He  spj'-Js  with  that  same  Fary  champions  page, 
Bewr^  ri-ng  him  that  did  of  late  destroy 
His  eldest  brotlier  ;  burning  all  with  rage. 
He  to  hiia  lept,  and  that  same  envious  gage 
Of  victors  glorv  from  him  snacht  away  : 
]5ut  th'  F'lfin  knight,  which  ought  that  warlike  wage, 
IJisdaind  to  loose  the  meed  he  wonne  in  fray  ; 
And,   him  rencountring  fierce,   reskewd  the  nobU 
pray. 

XL. 

Therewith  they  gan  to  hurtlen  greedily. 

Redoubted  battaile  ready  to  darrayne. 

And  clash  their  shields,  and  shake  their  swords  on  by  ; 

That  with  their  sturre  they  troubled  all  the  traine  : 

Till  that  great  queene,  upnn  eternall  paine 

Of  liigh  displeasure  that  ensewen  might, 

Commaunded  them  their  fury  to  refraine  ; 

And,  if  that  either  to  that  shield  had  ns'ht. 

In  equall  lists  they  should  the  morrow  next  it  rignr. 


"  Ah  dearest  dame,"  quoth  then  the  Paynim  bold, 
"  Pardon  the  error  of  enitiged  wight, 
Whome  great  griefe  made  forgett  the  raines  to  hold 
Of  reasons  rule,  to  see  this  recreaunt  knight, 
(No  knight,  but  treacnour  full  of  false  dispight 
And  shameful  treason,)  who  thr(jugh  guile  hath  slayn 
The  prowest  knight,  tli-^t  ever  field  did  fight. 
Even  stout  Sanstoy,  i  O  who  can  then  refrayn  ?) 
Wnose  stiietd  lie  oeaies  renverst,  the  more  to  heap 
disdayn. 

XLII. 

"  And,  to  augment  the  glorie  of  his  guile. 
His  dearest  love,  the  faire  Fidessa,  loe 
Is  there  possessed  of  the  traytour  vile  ; 
W'ho  reapes  the  harvest  sowen  by  his  foe, 
Sowen  in  bloodie  field,  and  bought  with  woe  : 
That — brothers  hand  shall  dearely  well  reciuight. 
So  be,  O  Queene,  you  equall  favour  sJiowe." 
Him  litle  answerd  th'  angry  Elfin  knight ; 
He  never  meant  with   words,  but  swords,  to  plead 
his  right : 


2,6 


THE  FAEKIE  QULENE. 


[T'OOK 


But  threw  his  gauntlet,  as  a  sacred  pledg, 

His  cause  in  combat  the  next  day  to  try  : 

So  been  tliey  parted  both,  with  harts  on  edg 

To  be  aveng-'d  each  on  his  enimy. 

That  night  they  pas  in  ioy  and  iolllty, 

Feasting  and  courting  both  in  bovvre  and  hall ; 

For  steward  was  excessive  Gluttony, 

Tiint  of  his  iilenty  poured  ibrtli  to  all :      [them  call. 

Which  doen,  the  chamberlain  Slowth  did  to  rest 


Now  wlienas  dai'ksome  night  had  all  displayd 

[ler  colei>lacke  curteui  over  brightest  skye  ; 

The  warlike  youthes,  on  dnyntie  couches  layd, 

Did  cliace  away  sweet  sleepe  from  sluggish  eye, 

To  muse  on  meanes  of  hojied  victory. 

But  whenas  Morpheus  had  with  leaden  mace 

Arrested  all  that  courtly  company, 

Uprose  Duessa  from  her  resting  place. 

And  to  the  PajTiims  lodging  comes  with  silent  pace 


Whom  broad  awake  she  findes,  in  troublous  fitt, 
Fore-casting,  how  his  foe  he  might  annoy  ; 
And  him  amoves  with  speaches  seeming  iitt, 
'  Ah  deare  Sansioy,  next  dearest  to  Sansfoy, 
Cause  of  my  new  griefe,  cause  of  my  new  ioy  ; 
loyous,  to  see  his  ymage  in  mine  eye, 
And  greevd,  to  thinke  how  foe  did  him  destroy, 
I'hat  was  the  tlowre  of  grace  and  chevalrve; 
Lo,  his  Fidessa,  to  thy  secret  faith  I  flye."' 


With  gentle  wordes  he  can  her  fayrely  greet, 
And  had  say  on  the  secrete  of  her  hart  : 
Then,  sighing  soft  ;  "  I  learne  that  little  sweet 
Oit  tempred  is,"  quoth  she,  "  with  muchell  smart  : 
For,  since  my  brest  was  launcht  witli  lovely  dart 
Of  deare  Sansfoy  I  never  ioyed  howre, 
But  in  eternall  woes  my  weaker  hart 
Have  wasted,  loving  him  with  all  my  powre, 
Aadforhis  sake  have  felt  full  many  an  heavy  sto^A  re 


"  At  last,  when  perils  all  I  weened  past, 

And  hop'd  to  reape  the  crop  of  all  my  care. 

Into  new  woes  unweeting  I  was  cast 

By  this  false  faytor,  who  unworthie  ware 

Ilis  worthie  shield,  whom  he  with  guilefull  snare 

Entrapped  slew,  and  brought  to  shamefull  grave  • 

JMe  silly  maid  awav  with  him  he  bare. 

And  ever  since  hath  kept  in  darksom  cave  ; 

For  that  I  would  not  yeeld  that  to  Sansfoy  I  gave. 


"  But  since  faire  sunn  e  hath  sperstthatlowrlngclowd. 
And  to  my  loathed  life  now  shewes  some  light. 
Under  your  beames  I  will  me  safely  shrowd 
From  dreaded  storme  of  his  disdainfull  spight : 
To  you  th'  inheritance  belonges  by  right 
Of  brothers  prayse,  to  you  eke  longes  his  love. 
Let  not  his  love,  let  not  his  restlesse  spright, 
Be  unreveng'd,  ihat  calles  to  you  above 
From  wandring  Stygian  shores,  where  it  doth  end* 
lesse  move." 


Thereto  said  he,  "  Faire  dame,  be  nought  dismaid 
For  sorrowes  past ;  their  griefe  is  with  them  gone. 
Ne  yet  of  present  periU  be  affraid  ; 
For  needlesse  feare  did  never  vantage  none  ; 
And  helplesse  hap  it  booteth  not  to  mone. 
Dead  is  Sansfoy,  his  vitall  paines  are  past, 
Though  greeved  ghost  for  vengeance  deeji  do  grone: 
He  lives,  that  sliall  him  pay  his  dewties  last, 
And  ouiltie  Elfin  blood  slrall  sacrifice  in  hast." 


"  0,  but  I  feare  the  fickle  freakes,"  quoth  shee, 
''  Of  Fortune  false,  and  oddes  of  armes  in  field." 
"  Why,  dame,"  i|Uijtli  he,  "  what  oddes  can  ever  bee 
Where  both  doe  fight  alike,  to  win  or  yield?" 
"  Yea,  but,"  (juotli  she,  "  he  beares  a  charmed  shield, 
And  eke  enchaunted  armes,  that  none  can  perce; 
Ne  none  can  wound  the  man,  that  does  them  wield." 
"  Charmd  or  enchaunted,"  answerd  he  then  ferce, 
"  I  no  whitt  reck  ;  ne  you  the  like  need  to  reherce. 


"  But,  faire  Fidessa,  sithens  Fortunes  guile, 

Or  enimies  powre,  hafh  now  captived  you, 

Keturne  fron)  «  hence  ve  came,  and  rest  a  while, 

'I'lJl  morrow  next,  that  I  the  Elfe  subdew. 

And  with  Sanslbyes  dead  dowiy  you  endew," 

•'  Ay  me,  that  is  a  double  death,"  she  said,. 

•'  Willi  proud  foes  sight  my  sorrow  to  renew: 

Wh^^re  fver  Vft  .1  he,  my  secret  aide 

Simil  follow  you."    So  pissing  forth, she  hiin  obaid. 


Canto  V.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


«7 


CANTO  V. 


Tlie  faithfull  kniglit  in  equall  field 
Subdewes  liis  faithlesse  foe  ; 

Whom  false  Duessa  saves,  and  for 
His  cure  to  hell  does  g-oe. 


The  noble  hart  that  harbours  vertuous  thought, 

And  is  with  childe  of  ulorious  great  intent, 

Can  never  rest,  untill  it  forth  have  brought 

Th'  eternall  brood  of  g'lorie  excellent. 

Such  restlesse  passion  did  all  night  torment 

The  flaming  corage  of  that  Faery  kniglit. 

Devizing,  how  that  doughtie  turnament 

With  greatest  honour  be  atcliieven  might :        [light. 

Still  did  he  wake,  and   still  did  watch  for  dawnin"- 


At  last,  the  golden  orientall  gate 

Of  greatest  heaven  gan  to  open  fayre  , 

And  Phoebus,  fresh  as  brvdegrome  to  his  mate. 

Came  dauncing-  forth,  slialdng  his  deawie  havre  ; 

And  liurld  his  glistring  beams  through  gloomy  a\re. 

Which  when  the  wakeful  Elfe  perceiv'd,  streightway 

He  startfd  up,  and  did  him  selfe  prepayre 

In  sunbright  amies,  and  battailous  array  ; 

For  with  that  Pagan  proud  he  combatt  will  that  day. 


And  forth  he  comes  into  tlie  commune  ball ; 

\Vhere  earely  waite  him  many  a  gazing  eye. 

To  weet  what  end  to  straungtr  knights  may  fall. 

There  many  minstrales  maken  rnelody, 

To  drive  away  the  dull  melancholy  ; 

And  many  bardes,  that  to  the  trembling  chord 

Can  tune  their  timely  voices  cunningly  ; 

And  many  chroniclers,  that  can  record  [lord 

Old  loves,  and  warres  for  ladies   doen   by   many  a 


Soone  after  comes  tlie  cruell  Sarazin, 

111  woven  maile  all  armed  warily  ; 

And  sternly  lookes  at  him,  who  not  a  pin 

Does  care  for  looke  of  living  creatures  eye. 

I'hey  bring  them  wines  of  Creece  and  Araby, 

And  daintie  s[)ices  fetch  from  furthest  Ynd, 

lo  kindle  heat  of  corage  privily  ; 

And  in  the  wine  a  solemne  oth  thev  bynd 

'   observe  the  sacred  lawes  of  armes,  that  are  assynd. 


At  last  forth  comes  that  far  renowmed  queene  ; 

With  royall  pomp  and  princely  maiestie 

She  is  ybrougl.t  unto  a  ]ialed  gi-eene. 

And  placed  under  stately  canapee, 

The  warlike  feates  of  both  those  knights  to  see. 

On  th'  other  side  in  all  mens  open  vew 

Duessa  placed  is,  and  on  a  tree 

Sansfov  his  shield  is  hangd  with  bloody  hew  : 

those,  the  lawrell  girlonds  to  the  victor  dew. 


A  shrilling  trompett  sownded  from  on  hye. 
And  unto  battaill  bad  themselves  addresse  : 
Their  shining  shieldes  about  their  wrestes  they  tye. 
And  burning  blades  about  their  heades  doe  blesse. 
The  instruments  of  wrath  and  heavinesse  : 
^Vith  greedy  force  each  other  doth  assayle, 
And  strike  so  fiercely,  that  they  do  impresse 
Deepe  dinted  furrou-es  in  the  battled  mayle  : 
The  yron  walles   to  ward  their  blowes  are  weak  and 
fraile. 


The  Sarazin  was  stout  and  wondrous  strong, 
And  heaped  blowes  like  yron  hammers  great ; 
For  after  blood  and  vengeance  he  did  long. 
The  knight  was  tiers,  and  full  of  youthly  heat. 
And  doubled  strokes,  like  dreaded  thunders  threat  : 
For  all  for  praise  and  honour  did  he  fight. 
Beth  stricken  strvke,  and  beaten  both  doe  beat  ; 
That  from  their  shields  forth  flvetli  firie  light, 
And    helmets,  hewen  deepe,  shew  marks  of  eithers 
mi;i'ht. 


So  til'  one  for  wrong,  the  other  strives  for  right : 
As  when  a  gryfon,  seized  of  his  pray, 
A  dragon  fiers  encountreth  in  his  iiight. 
Through  widest  ayre  making  his  ydle  way, 
That  would  his  rightfull  ravine  rend  away  ; 
\Vith  hideous  horror  both  together  smight. 
And  souce  so  sore,  that  they  the  heavens  affray  : 
The  wise  soothsayer,  seeing  so  sad  sight, 
Th'  amazed  vulgar  telles  of  warres  and  mortal  fic>ht 


So  th'  one  for  wrong,  the  other  strives  for  right ; 
And  each  to  deadly  shame  v\-oukl  drive  his  foe  : 
The  cruell  Steele  so  greedily  doth  bight 
In  tender  flesh,  that  sireames  <f  blood  down  flow  ; 
With  which  the  armes,  thatearst  so  bright  did  show, 
Into  a  pure  veraiillion  now  are  dyde. 
Great  ruth  in  all  the  gazers  harts  did  grow. 
Seeing  the  gored  woundes  to  gape  so  wvde. 
That  victory  they  dare  not  wish  to  either  side. 


At  last  the  Paynim  chaunst  to  cast  his  eye. 
His  suddein  eye,  flaming  with  wrathfull  fyre. 
Upon  his  brothers  shield,  which  hong  thereby  : 
Therewith  redoubled  was  his  raging  yre. 
And  said  ;  "  Ah  !   wretched  sonne  of  wofiill  syre, 
Doest  thou  sit  wayling  by  blacke  Stygian  lake, 
\Vhylest  here  thy  shield  is  hangd  lor  viclors  hyre  ? 
And,  sluggish  gerinan,  doest  thy  forces  slake 
To  after-send  his  fi;e,  that  him  may  overtake? 


ve 


"Go 

And 
Goe, 
That 

TllIT 

'll.at 
Kiid 
Tiie 
The 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  1 


,  caytive  Elfe,  him  quickly  overtake, 
soone  redeerae  from  liis  long-wandring  woe  • 
o-uiltie  ghost,  to  him  my  message  make, 
i  liis  shield  have  quit  from  dying  foe." 
■ewith  upon  his  crest  he  stroke  bim  so, 
twise  he  reeled,  readie  twise  to  fall : 
of  the  doubtfull  battaile  deemed  tho 
lookers  on  ;  and  lowd  to  him  gan  call 
false  Duessa,  "  Thine  the  shield,  and  I,  and  all!' 


ZII. 

Soone  as  the  Faerie  heard  his  ladie  speake, 

Out  of  his  swowning  dreame  he  gan  awake  ; 

And  quickning  faitli,  that  erst  was  woxen  weake, 

The  creeping  deadly  cold  away  did  shake  ; 

Tho  mov'd  with  wrath,  and  shame,  and  ladies  sake, 

Of  all  attonce  he  cast  aveng'd  to  be, 

And  v.-ith  so'  exceeding  furie  at  him  strake. 

That  forced  him  to  stoupe  upon  his  knee  : 

Had  he  not  stouped  so,  he  should  have  cloven  bee. 


Home  is  he  brought,  and  layd  in  sumptuous  bed  : 

Where  many  skiltull  leaches  him  abide 

To  salve  his  hurts,  that  yet  still  freslily  bled. 

In  wine  and  oyle  they  wash  his  wuundus  wide, 

And  softly  gan  embalme  on  everie  side. 

And  all  the  while  most  heavenly  melody 

About  the  bed  sweet  musieke  did  divide, 

Him  to  beguile  of  griefe  and  agony  : 

And  all  the  while  IJuessa  wept  full  bitterly. 


As  when  a  wearie  traveller,  that  strayes 

By  muddy  shore  of  broad  seven-mouthed  Nile, 

Unweeting  of  the  perillous  wandring  wayes, 

Doth  meete  a  cruell  craftie  crocodile. 

Which,  in  false  griefe  hyding  his  liarmefull  guile. 

Doth  weepe  full  sore,  and  slieddeth  tender  leares  ; 

The  foolisli  man,  that  pities  all  this  while 

His  mournefull  plight,  is  swallowed  up  unawres  ; 

FortretfuU  of  his  owne   that  mindes  an  others  caies. 


And  to  him  said  ;  "  Goe  now,  proud  miscreant, 
Thvselfe  thy  message  do  to  german  deare  ; 
Alone  he,  wandring,  thee  too  long  doth  want  : 
Goe  say,  his  foe  thy  shield  with  his  doth  beare." 
Therewith  his  heavie  hand  he  high  gan  reare. 
Him  to  have  ■jlaine  ;  when  lo  !  a  darkesome  clowd 
Upon  him  fell ;  he  no  where  doth  appeare, 
But  vanisht  is.     The  Elfe  him  calls  alowd, 
But  answer  none  receives  ;  the  darknes  him  does 
shrewd. 


In  haste  Duessa  from  her  place  arose. 
And  to  him  running  sayd  ;  "  O  prowest  knight. 
That  ever  ladie  to  her  love  did  chose. 
Let  now  abate  the  terrour  of  your  might, 
And  ([uench  the  flame  of  furious  despight 
And  bloodie  vengeance  :  lo  !  th'  infernall  powres. 
Covering  your  foe  with  cloud  of  deadly  night. 
Have  borne  him  hence  to  Plutoes  balefull  bowres  : 
The  conquest  yours  ;  I  yours  ;  the  shield  and  glory 
yours  !" 

XV. 

Not  all  so  satisfide,  with  greedy  eye 

lie  sought,  all  roundabout,  his  thirsty  blade 

To  bathe  in  blood  of  faithlesse  enimy  ; 

Who  all  that  while  lay  hid  in  secrete  shade  : 

He  standes  ama'zed  how  he  thence  should  fade. 

At  last  the  trumpets  triumph  sound  on  hie 

And  running  heralds  humble  homage  made, 

Greeting  him  goodly  with  new  victorie  ; 

And  to  him  brought  the  shield,  the  cause  of  enmitie. 


Wherewith  he  goeth  to  that  soveraine  queene  ; 
And,  falling  her  before  on  lowly  knee, 

To  !itr  malies  pre.^ent  of  his  service  scene  ; 
\Vhi.:h  she  accej)ts  with  thankes  and  goodly  gree, 
Grea'ly  advauncing  his  great  chevalree  : 
So  miriheth  home,  and  by  lier  fcikes  the  knight, 
Wliom  all  the  peojtle  foUowe  with  great  glee, 
Shouting,  aaid  clapping  all  their  hands  on  bight, 
That  all  the  ayre  it  fils,  and  tiyes  to  heaven  bright. 


So  wept  Duessa  untill  eventyde. 
That  shyning  lam  pen  in  loves  high  house  were  light ; 
Then  forth  she  rose,  ne  lenger  would  abide  ; 
But  comes  unto  the  place,  where  th'  hethen  knight, 
In  slombring  swownd  nigh  voyd  of  vitall  spriglit, 
Lav  cover'd  with  inchaunted  cloud  all  day  : 
Whom  when  she  found,  as  she  him  left  in  plight, 
To  wayle  his  wofull  case  she  would  not  stay, 
But  to  the  easterne  coast  of  heaven  makes   speedy 
way. 

XX. 

Where  griesly  Night,  with  visage  deadly  sad, 
That  Phoebus  chearefuU  face  durst  never  vew. 
And  in  a  foule  blacke  pitchy  mantle  clad. 
She  findes  forth  comming  from  her  darksome  mew  ; 
Where  she  all  day  did  hide  her  hated  hew. 
Before  the  dore  her  yron  charet  stood. 
Already  harnessed  for  iourney  new, 
And  cole-blacke  steedes  yborne  of  hellish  brood, 
That  on  their  rusty  bits  did  champ,  as  they   were 
wood. 


Who  when  she  saw  Duessa,  sunny  bright, 
Adornd  with  gold  and  iewels  shining  cleare. 
She  greatly  grew  amazed  at  the  sight. 
And  th'  unacquainted  light  began  to  feare ; 
(For  never  did  such  brightnes  there  appeare  ;) 
And  would  have  backe  retyred  to  her  cave, 
Untill  the  witches  speach  she  gan  to  beare, 
Saving  ;  "  Yet  O  thou  dreaded  dame,  I  crave 
Abyde,  till  I  have  told  the  message  which  1  have." 


She  stayd ;  and  forth  Duessa  gan  proceede  ; 
"  O  thou,  most  auncient  grandmother  of  all, 
More  old  than  love,  whom  thou  at  first  didst  breede, 
Or  that  great  house  of  gods  Ciclestiall ; 
Which  wast  begot  in  Da:mogorgons  hall, 
And  sawst  the  secrets  of  the  world  unmade  ; 
Why  suflredst  thou  thy  nephewes  deare  to  fall 
With  ITfin  sword  most  shamefully  betrade  1  [shade  ! 
Lo,  where  the  stout  Sansio}'  doth   sleepe  in  deadly 


Canto.  V.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


2? 


"  And.  him  hefore,  I  saw  with  bitter  eyes 

The  bold  Sansfoy  shrinek  underneath  his  speaiD ; 

And  now  the  pray  of  fowles  in  field  he  lyes, 

Nor  wayld  of  friendes,  nor  layd  on  groning  beare, 

That  whylome  was  to  me  too  dearely  deare. 

O  !  what  of  gods  then  boots  it  to  be  borne, 

If  old  Aveugles  sonnes  so  evill  lieare  ? 

Or  who  shall  not  great  Niglites  children  scorne, 

When  two  of  three  her  nephews  are  so  fowle  forlorne? 


"  Up,  then  ;  up,  dreary  dame,  of  darknes  queene  ; 
Go,  gayther  up  tlie  reliques  of  thy  race  ; 
Or  else  goe,  them  avenge  ;  and  let  be  seene 
That  dreaded  Night  in  brightest  day  hath  place, 
And  can  the  children  of  fayre  Light  defiice." 
Her  feeling  speaches  some  compassion  mov'd 
In  hart,  and  chaunge  in  that  great  mothers  face  : 
Yet  pitty  in  her  hart  was  never  prov'd 
Till  then  ;  for  evermore  she  hated,  never  lov'd ; 


And  said,  "  Deare  daughter,  rightly  may  I  rew 
The  fall  of  famous  children  borne  of  mee, 
And  good  successes,  which  their  foes  ensew  : 
But  who  can  turne  the  streame  of  destinee, 
Or  breake  the  chayne  of  strong  necessitee, 
Which  fast  is  tyde  to  loves  eternall  seat  ? 
The  sonnes  of  Day  he  favoureth,  I  see, 
And  by  my  ruines  thinkes  to  make  them  great : 
I'o  make  one  great  by  others  losse  is  bad  exclieat. 


"  Yet  shall  they  not  escape  so  freely  all ; 
For  some  shall  pay  the  piice  of  others  guilt : 
And  he,  the  man  tiiat  made  Sansfoy  to  fall. 
Shall  with  his  owne  blood  price  that  he  has  spilt. 
But  what  art  thou,  that  telst  of  nephews  kilt  1" 
"  I,  that  do  seeme  not  I,  Duessa  ame," 
Quoth  slie,  "  how  ever  now,  in  garments  gilt 
And  gorgeous  gold  arrayd,  I  to  thee  came  ; 
Duessa  I,  the  daughter  of  Deceipt  and  Shame," 


Then,  bowing  downe  her  aged  backe,  she  kist 
The  wicked  witch,  saying  ;  "  In  that  fayre  face 
The  false  resemblaunce  of  Deceipt,  I  wist, 
Did  closely  lurke  ;  yet  so  true-seeming  grace 
It  carried,  that  I  scarse  in  darksome  place 
Could  it  discerne  ;  though  I  the  mother  bee 
Of  Falbhood,  and  roote  of  Duessaes  race. 
O  welcome,  child,  whom  I  have  longd  to  see, 
And  now  have  seene  unwares  !  Lo,  now  I  goe  with 
thee." 


Then  to  her  yron  wagon  see  betakes, 
And  with  her  beares  the  fowle  welfavourd  witch  : 
Through  mirkesome  aire  her  ready  way  she  makes. 
Her  twyfold  teme  (of  which  two  blacke  as  pitch, 
And  two  were  browne,  yet  each  to  each  unlich) 
Did  softly  swim  away,  ne  ever  stamp  [twitch  ; 

I'nlesse  she  r;haun-t  their  stubborne  mouths  to 
Thtn,  foaming  tarre,  their  bridles  they  would  champ. 
And  trampling  the  line  element  would  fiercely  ramp. 


So  well  they  sped,  that  they  be  come  at  length 
Unto  the  place,  whereas  the  Pavnim  lay 
Devoid  of  outward  sence  and  native  strength, 
Coverd  with  charmed  cloud  i'rom  vew  of  dav 
And  sight  of  men,  since  his  late  lucklesse  fray. 
His  cruell  woundes  with  cruddy  bloud  congeald 
They  binden  up  so  wiselv  as  they  may, 
And  handle  softly,  till  they  can  be  heald  : 
So  lay  him  in  her  charett,  close  in  night  conceald. 


And,  all  the  while  she  stood  upon  the  ground. 
The  wakefuU  dogs  did  never  cease  to  bay  ; 
As  giving  warning  of  th'  unwonted  sound, 
■With  which  her  yron  wheeles  did  them  affray, 
And  her  darke  griesly  looke  them  much  dismay. 
The  messenger  of  death,  the  ghastly  owle. 
With  drery  shriekes  did  also  her  bewray  ; 
And  hungry  wolves  continually  did  howle 
At  her  ibhorred  face,  so  filthy  and  so  fowle. 


Thence  turning  backe  in  silence  soft  they  stole. 
And  brought  the  heavy  corse  with  easy  jjace 
To  yawning  ^ulte  of  deep  Avernus  hole  : 
By  that  same  hole  an  entraunce,  darke  and  bace. 
With  smoake  and  sulphur  hiding  all  the  place, 
Descends  to  hell  :  there  creature  never  past. 
That  backe  retourned  without  heavenly  grace  ; 
But  dreadfull  furies,  which  their  chaines  have  brast, 
And  damned   sprights  sent   forth  to  make   ill  men 
aghast. 


By  that  same  way  the  direfuU  dames  doe  drive 
Their  mournefall  churet,  fild  with  rusty  blood. 
And  downe  to  Plutoes  house  are  come  bilive  : 
Which  passing  through,  on  every  side  them  stood 
The  trembling  ghosts  with  sad  amazed  mood, 
Chaltring  their  iron  teeth,  and  staring  wide 
With  stonie  eies  ;  and  all  the  hellish  brood 
Of  feends  infernall  fiockt  on  every  side. 
To  gaze  on  erthly  wight,  that  with  the   Night  durst 
ride. 


They  pas  the  bitter  waves  of  Acheron, 

Where  many  soules  sit  wailing  woefully  ; 

And  come  lo  fiery  flood  of  Bhlegeton, 

Whereas  the  damnttd  ghostes  in  torments  fry, 

And  with  sharp  shrilling  shriekes  doe  bootlesse  cry^ 

Cursing  high  love,  the  which  them  thither  seut. 

The  hous  of  endlesse  Paine  is  built  thereby. 

In  which  ten  thousand  sorts  of  punishment 

The  cursed  creatures  doe  eternally  torment. 


XXSIV. 

Before  tbe  threshold  dreadfull  Cerberus 

His  three  deformed  heads  did  lay  along. 

Curled  with  thousand  adders  venomous  ; 

And  lilled  forth  his  bloody  flaming  tong  : 

At  thr-m  he  ^an  to  reare  his  bristles  s-trong, 

And  felly  gnarre,  untill  Dayes  enemy 

Did  liim  appease  ;  then  downe  his  taile  he  bong, 

A  lid  suffered  them  to  pas.- en  quietly  : 

For  she  in  lit  11  and  heaven  had  power  equally. 


30 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I. 


There  was  Ixion  turned  on  a  wheele, 
For  daring  tempt  the  queene  of  heaven  to  sin  ; 
And  Sisvpluis  an  liuge  round  stone  did  reele 
Against  an  hill,  ne  might  from  labour  lin  ; 
There  thirstv  Tantalus  hon^;-  hy  the  chin  ; 
And  Titvus  fed  a  vultur  on  his  maw  ; 
T_V])iianis  iovnts  were  stretclied  on  a  gin  ; 
Theseus  coudemnd  to  endlesse  slouth  by  law; 
And  fifty  sisters  water  in  lake  vessels  draw 


They,  all  beholding  wordly  wights  in  place, 
'^eave  orf  their  worke,  unmindiuU  of  their  smart, 
To  gaze  on  them  ;  who  forth  bv  them  doe  pace, 
Till  they  be  come  unto  the  furthest  part ; 
Where  was  a  cave  ywroiight  by  wondrous  art, 
Deepe,  darke,  uneasy,  dolefull,  comfonlesse, 
In  which  sad  Aesculapius  far  apart 
Emprisond  was  in  chaines  i  eipedilesse  ; 
For  that  Hippolytus  rent  corse  he  did  redresse. 


Hippolvtus  a  iolly  huntsman  was, 

That  wont  in  charett  chace  the  foming  bore  : 

He  all  his  peeres  in  beauty  did  surpas  : 

But  ladies  love,  as  iosse  of  time,  forbore  : 

His  wanton  stepdame  loved  him  the  more  ; 

But,  when  she  saw  her  oft'red  sweets  refusd. 

Her  love  slie  turnd  to  hate,  and  him  before 

Plis  i'ather  fierce  of  treason  false  accusd. 

And  v,-itli  her  gealous  termes  his  open  eares  abusd ; 

xxxviir. 

Who,  all  in  rage,  his  sea-god  syre  besought 
Some  cursed  vengeaunce  on  his  sonne  to  cast : 
b'rom    surging   gulf   two   monsters    streight    were 

brought ; 
With  dread  whereof  his  chacing  steedes  aghast 
Both  charett  swifte  and  huntsman  overcast. 
His  goodly  corps,  on  ragged  cliffs  yrent. 
Was  quite  dismembred,  and  his  members  chast 
Scattered  ou  everv  mountaine  as  he  went. 
That  of  Hijjpolytus  was  lefte  no  moniment. 

xxxtx. 

His  cruell  stepdaine,  seeing  what  was  donne. 
Her  wi>  ked  dales  with  .wretched  knife  did  end. 
In  death  avowing  th'  innocence  of  lier  sonne. 
Which  hearing,  his  rash  syre  began  to  rend 
His  heare,  and  hasty  long  that  did  offend  : 
Th'o,  gathering  up  the  reliques  of  his  smart, 
Bv  Dianes  meanes  who  was  Hipjiolyts  frend, 
Them  brought  to  Aesculape,  that  by  his  art 
Did  heule  them  all  againe,  and  ioyned  every  part. 


Such  wondrous  science  in  mans  witt  to  raiu 
When  love  avizd,  that  could  the  dead  revive, 
And  fates  expired  could  renew  again. 
Of  endlesse  life  he  might  him  not  deprive  ; 
But  unto  liell  did  thrust  him  downe  alive. 
With  flashing  thunderbolt  ywounded  sore  ; 
Where,  long  remaining,  he  did  alwaies  strive 
Hims'"lfe  with  salves  to  health  for  to  restore. 
And  slake  the  lieavenly  fire  that  raged  evermore. 


There  auncient  Night  arriving,  did  alight 
From  her  nigh-weary  wayne,  and  in  her  amies 
To  Aesculajiius  brought  the  wounded  knight  . 
Whom  having  softly  disaraid  of  amies, 
Tho  gan  to  him  discover  all  his  harmes, 
Beseeching  him  with  prayer,  and  with  praise, 
If  either  salves,  or  oyles,  or  herbes,  or  charmes, 
A  fordonne  wight  from  dore  of  death  mote  rai^e. 
He  would  at  her  request  prolong  her  nephews  daies. 


"  Ah  dame,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  temptest  me  in  vaine 
To  dare  tlie  thing,  which  daily  yet  I  rew ; 
And  the  old  cause  of  my  continued  paine 
AVith  like  attempt  to  like  end  to  renew. 
Is  not  enough,  that,  thrust  from  heaven  dew, 
Here  endlesse  penaunce  for  one  fault  1  pay  ; 
But  that  redoubled  crime  witii  vengeaunce  nevv 
Thou  biddest  nie  to  eeke  ?  can  Night  defray 
The  wrath  of  thundring  love,  that  rules  both  Night 
and  Day  ?" 

XLIII. 

"  Not  so,"  quotli  she  ;  "  but,  sith  that  heavens  king 
From  Jiope  of  heaven  hath  thee  excluded  quight. 
Why  fearest  thou,  that  canst  not  hope  for  thing  ; 
And  fearest  not  that  more  thee  hurten  might. 
Now  in  the  powre  of  everlasting  Night  ? 
Goe  to  then,  O  thou  far  renowmed  sonne 
Of  great  Apollo,  shew  thy  famous  might 
In  medicine,  that  els  hath  to  thee  wonne       [donne." 
Great  pains,  and  greater  praise,  both  never  to  be 


Her  words  prevaild ;  and  then  the  learned  leach 
His  cunning  hand  gan  to  his  wounds  to  lay, 
And  all  things  els   the  which  his  art  did  teach  . 
Which  having  seene,  from  thence  arose  away 
The  mother  of  dredd  Darknesse,  and  let  stay 
Aveugles  sonne  there  in  the  leaches  cure  ; 
And,  backe  retourning,  took  her  wonted  way 
To  I'oune  her  timely  race,  whilst  Phoebus  pure 
In  westerne  waves  his  weary  wagon  did  recure. 


The  false  Duessa,  leaving  noyous  Night, 
Returnd  to  stately  pallace  of  Dame  Pryde  ; 
Where  wlien  she  came,  she  fomid  the  Faery  knight 
Departed  thence  ;  alhee  (his  woundl'S  vv'yde 
Not  throughly  heald)  unready  were  to  ryde. 
Good  cause  he  had  to  hasten  thence  away  ; 
For  on  a  day  his  wary  dwarfe  had  spyde 
AVhere,  in  a  dungeon  deejie,  huge  nombers  lay 
Of  wiytive  wretched  thralls,  that  wayled  night  and 
day  ; 


(A  ruefull  sight  as  could  be  seene  with  eie  ;) 
Of  whom  he  learned  had  in  secret  wise 
The  hidden  cause  of  their  captivitie  ; 
How  mortgaging  their  lives  to  Covetise, 
Through  wastfull  pride  and  wanton  riotise. 
They  were  by  law  of  that  proud  tyrannesse, 
Provokt  with  Wiath  and  Envyes  false  surmise, 
Condemned  to  that  dongeon  mercilesse. 
Where  they  should  live  in  wo,  and  dye  in  wretched 
nesse. 


Canto  YI. 


THE  FAERTE  QUEENF. 


•SI 


There  was  that  great  proud  king  of  BabyloD, 

That  would  compell  all  nations  to  adore 

And  him,  as  onelv  God,  to  call  iipon  ; 

'I'ill,  through  celestiall  doonie  thrown  out  of  dore. 

Into  an  oxe  he  was  transformd  of  yore. 

There  also  was  king  Croesus,  that  enhaunst 

His  hart  too  high  through  his  great  richesse  store ; 

And  proud  x\ntiochus,  the  which  advaunst 

His  cursed  hand  gainst  God,  and  on  his  altares  daunst. 


And,  them  long  time  before,  great  Nimrod  was, 
That  first  the  world  with  sword  and  fire  warrayd  ; 
And  after  him  old  Ninus  far  did  pas 
In  princely  pomp,  of  all  the  world  obavd. 
There  also  was  that  mightie  monarch  layd 
Low  under  all,  yet  above  all  in  pride. 
That  name  of  native  syre  did  fowle  upbrayd. 
And  would  as  Ammons  sonne  be  magnitide  ; 
Till,  scornd  of  God  and  man,  a  shameful!  death  he 
dide. 


All  these  together  in  one  heape  were  throwne, 
Like  carkases  of  beastes  in  butchers  stall. 
And,  in  another  corner,  wide  were  strowne 
The  antique  ruins  of  the  Romanes  fall  : 
Great  Romulus,  the  grandsyre  of  tliem  all 
Proud  Tarquin  ;  and  too  lordly  Lentulus  j 
Stout  Scipio  ;  and  stubbome  Hanniball  j 
Ambitious  Sylla  ;  and  sterne  iNIarius  ; 
High  Caesar  ;  great  Pompey  ;  and  fiers  Antoniu*. 


Amongst  these  mightie  men  were  wemen  mixt. 

Proud  wemen,  vaine,  forgetfull  of  their  soke  ; 

The  bold  Semiramis,  whose  sides  transtixt 

With  sonnes  own  blade  her  fowle  reproches  spoke  ; 

Fayre  Sthenobrea,  that  her  selfe  did  choke 

With  wilfull  chord,  for  wanting  of  her  will ; 

High-minded  Cleopatra,  that  with  stroke 

Of  aspes  sting  her  selfe  did  stoutly  kill  :  ffiH. 

And  thousands  moe  the  like,  that  did  that  don-eon 


Besides  the  endlesse  routes  of  wretched-tliralles, 
Which  thether  were  assembled,  day  by  day, 
From  all  the  world,  after  their  wofull  falles 
Through  wicked  pride  and  wasted  welthes  decay. 
But  most,  of  all  which  in  that  dongeon  lay. 
Fell  from  high  princes  courtes,  or  ladies  bewres  ; 
AVhere  they  in  vdle  pomp,  or  wanton  play. 
Consumed  had  their  goods  and  thriftlesse  howres, 
And    lastly   thrown    themselves   into   these    heavy 
stowres. 


Whose  case  whenas  the  careful  dwarfe  had  tould, 
And  made  ensample  of  their  mournfull  sight 
Unto  his  maister  ;  he  ne  lenger  wuuld 
There  dwell  in  perill  of  like  painefull  plight, 
But  earely  rose  ;  and,  ere  that  dawning  light 
Discovered  had  the  world  to  heaven  wyde. 
He  by  a  privy  posterne  tooke  his  flight, 
1  hat  of  no  envious  eyes  he  mote  be  spyde  : 
For,  doubtlesse,  death  ensewd  if  any  him  descyde 


Scarse  could  he  footicg  find  in  that  fowle  way, 

For  many  corses,  like  a  great  lay-stall. 

Of  murdred  men,  which  therein  strowed  lay 

Without  remorse  or  decent  funerall  ; 

Which,  al  through  that  great  Princesse  Pride  did  fall. 

And  came  to  shamefull  end  :  and  them  besyde. 

Forth  ryding  underneadi  the  castell  wall, 

A  donghill  of  dead  carcases  he  spyde  ; 

The  dreadfull  spectacle  of  that  sad  House  of  Piyde. 


CANTO  VI. 


From  lawlesse  lust  by  wondrous  grace 

Fayre  Una  is  releast ; 
Whome  salvage  nation  does  adore. 

And  leames  her  wise  beheast. 


\s  when  a  ship,  that  flyes  fa3Te  under  sayle, 
\n  hidden  rocke  escaped  hath  unwares, 
rhat  lay  in  waite  her  wrack  for  to  bewaile  ; 
Ihe  mariner  yet  halfe  amazed  stares 
At  perill  past,  and  yet  in  doubt  ne  dares 
Fo  ioy  at  his  foolhappie  oversight : 
So  doubly  is  distrest  twixt  ioy  and  cares 
1  he  dreadlesse  corage  of  this  Elfin  knight, 
Having  escapt  so  sad  ensamples  in  liis  sight. 


Yet  sad  he  was,  that  his  too  hastie  speede 
The  fayre  Duess'  had  forst  him  leave  bemnd  j 
And  yet  more  sad,  that  Una,  his  deare  areen. 
Her  truth  had  staynd  with  treason  so  unkind  ; 
Yet  cryme  in  her  could  never  creature  find  : 
But  for  his  love,  and  for  her  owne  selfe  sake. 
She  wandred  had  from  one  to  other  Ynd, 
Him  for  to  seeke,  ne  ever  would  forsake  : 
Till  her  unwares  the  fiers  Sansloy  did  overtake ; 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  L 


Who,  after  Archimagoes  fowle  defeat, 

Led  lier  away  into  a  forest  wilde  ; 

Ami,  turning  Tv-rathful  fyre  to  lustfull  heat, 

\\  ith  beastly  sin  thought  her  to  have  defilde, 

And  made  the  vassall  of  his  pleasures  vilde. 

Yet  first  he  cast  by  treatie,  and  by  ti-aynes, 

Her  to  pei-suade  that  stubborn  fort  to  yilde  ; 

For  greater  conquest  of  hard  love  he  gsynes, 

That  workes  it  to  his  will,  then  he  that  it  constraines. 


With  fawning  wordes  he  courted  her  a  while  ; 

And,  looking  lovely  and  oft  sighing  sore. 

Her  constant  hart  did  tempt  with  diverse  guile  : 

But  wordes,  and  lookes,  and  sighes  she  did  abhore  ; 

As  rock  of  diamond  stedfast  evermore. 

Yet,  for  to  feed  his  fyrie  lustfull  eye, 

He  snatcht  the  vele  that  hong  her  face  before  : 

Then  gan  her  beautie  shyne  as  brightest  skve. 

And  burnt  his  beastly  hart  t'enforce  her  chastitye. 


So  when  he  saw  his  flatt'ring  arts  to  fiyle. 

And  subtile  engines  bett  from  batteree  j 

AVith  greedy  force  he  gan  the  fort  assayle, 

Whereof  he  weend  possessed  soone  to  bee, 

And  win  rich  spoile  of  ransackt  chastitee. 

Ah  heavens  !  that  doe  this  hideous  act  behold. 

And  heavenly  virgin  thus  outraged  see, 

How  can  ye  vengeance  iust  so  long  withhold. 

And  nurle  uot  flashing  flames  upon  that  Paynim  bold? 


The  pitteous  mayden,  carefull,  comfortlesse. 
Does  throw  outthrillmg  shriekes.and  slirieking  crj'es, 
(The  last  vaine  helpe  of  wemens  greate  distresse,) 
And  with  loud  plaintes  importuneth  the  skyes  ; 
That  molten  starres  doe  drop  like  weepino- "eyes ; 
And  Phccbus,  flying  so  most  shameful  sight. 
His  blushing  face  in  foggy  cloud  implyes. 
And  hydes  for  shame.     What  witt  of  mortal  wight 
Can  now  devise  to  quitt  a  thrall  from  such  a  plight  ? 


Eternall  Providence,  exceeding  thought, 
\Vhere  none  appeares  can  make  her  selfe  a  way  ! 
A  wondrous  way  it  for  this  lady  wrouo-ht. 
From  lyons  clawes  to  jjlucke  the  gryped  pray. 
Hfr  shrill  outcryes  and  shrieks  so  loud  did  bray, 
Tiiat  all  the  woodes  and  forestes  did  resownd  : 
A  troupe  of  faunas  and  satyres  far  away 
Within  the  wood  were  dauncing  in  a  rownd. 
Whiles  old  Sylvanus  slej)t  in  shady  aiber  sowud  : 


Who.  'vhen  <;hey  heard  that  pitteous  strained  voice. 

In  has'.e  torsooke  their  rurall  merriment. 

And  nil  towardes  the  far  rebownded  noyce, 

'JO  weet  what  wight  so  loudly  did  lament. 

Unto  the  place  they  come  incontinent  . 

W  horn  when  the  raging  Sarazin  espyde, 

A  rude,  mishapen,  monstrous  rablement, 

Whose  like  he  never  saw,  he  durst  not  byde; 

but  got  his  ready  steed,  and  fast  away  gan  ryde.. 


The  wyld  wood-gods,  arrived  in  the  place, 

There  find  the  virgin,  doolfull,  desolate, 

AVith  ruffled  rayments,  and  favre  blubbred  face. 

As  her  outrageous  foe  had  left  her  late  ; 

And  trembling  yet  through  feare  of  foi-mer  hate  • 

All  stand  amazed  at  so  uncouth  sight. 

And  gin  to  pittie  her  unhaj)pie  state  ; 

All  stand  astonied  at  her  beauty  bright. 

In  their  rude  eyes  unworthy  of  so  wofull  plight. 


She,  more  amazd,  in  double  dread  doth  dwell. 
And  every  tender  part  for  feare  does  shake  : 
As  when  a  greedy  wolfe,  through  honger  fell, 
A  seely  lamb  far  from  the  flock  does  take. 
Of  whom  he  meanes  his  bloody  feast  to  make, 
A  lyon  spyes  fast  running  towards  him, 
The  innocent  pra}-  in  hast  he  does  forsake  ; 
Which,  quitt  from  death,  yet  quakes  in  every  lim 
With  chaunge  of  feare,  to  see  the  lyou  looke  so  grim> 


Such  fearefull  fitt  assaid  her  trembling  hart  ; 
Ne  worde  to  speake,  ne  ioynt  to  move,  she  had  ; 
The  salvage  nation  feele  her  secret  smart. 
And  read  her  sorrow  in  her  count'nance  sad  : 
Their  frowning  forheads,  with  rough  homes  3  clad 
And  rustick  horror,  all  asyde  doe  lay  ; 
And,  gently  grenning,  show  a  semblance  glad 
To  comfort  her ;  and,  i'eare  to  put  away, 
Ttieir  backwaid-beat  knees    teach   her    humbly    to 
obay. 

XII. 

The  doubtfull  damzell  dare  not  yet  commiit 
Her  single  person  to  their  barbarous  truth  ; 
But  still  twixt  feare  and  hope  amazd  does  sitt. 
Late  learnd  what  harme  to  hasty  trust  ensu'th  • 
They,  in  compassion  of  her  tender  youth. 
And  wonder  of  her  beautie  soverayne, 
Are  wonne  Avith  pitty  and  unwonted  ruth  ; 
And,  all  prostrate  upon  the  lowly  playne, 
Doe  kisse  her  feete,  and  iawne  on  her  with    c:,unt'- 
nance  fayne. 

XIII. 

Their  harts  she  ghesseth  by  their  humble  guise, 
And  yieldes  her  to  extreinitie  of  time  : 
So  friim  the  ground  she  fearlesse  doth  arise. 
And  walkelh  forth  without  suspect  of  crime: 
They,  all  as  glad  as  birdes  of  ioyous  pryme, 
ThoiK-e  led  lier  forth,  about  her  dauncing  round, 
Shouting,  and  singing  all  a  shepheards  ryme  ; 
And  with  greene  braunchos  strowingall  the  ground, 
Do  worship  her  as  queene  with  olire  girlond  cround. 


And  all  the  way  their  merry  pipes  they  sound. 
That  all  the  woods  with  double  echo  ring  j 
And  with  their  horned  feel  doe  weare  the  ground, 
Leaping  hke  wanton  kids  in  pleasant  spring. 
So  towards  old  Sylvanus  they  her  bring  ; 
Who,  with  the  iioyse  awaked,  conimeth  out 
To  weet  the  cause,  his  weake  steps  governing 
And  aged  limbs  on  cypresse  stadle  stout; 
Aud  with  an  y  vie  twyue  his  waste  is  girt  abou 


VI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEETVE. 


33 


Far  off  he  wonders  what  tliem  makes  so  glad, 
Or  Bacchus  merry  fruit  they  did  invent, 
Or  Cybeles  fraiiticke  rights  have  made  them  mad  : 
They,  drawing  nigh,  unto  their  god  present 
That  flowre  of  fayth  and  heautie  excellent : 
The  god  himselfe,  vewing  that  mirrhour  rare. 
Stood  long  amaz'd,  and  burnt  in  his  intent : 
His  owne  favre  Dryope  now  he  thinks  not  faire, 
And  Pholoe  fowle,  when  her  to  this  he  doth  compaire. 


The  wood-borne  people  fall  before  her  flat, 
And  worship  her  as  goddesse  of  the  wood  ; 
And  old  Sylvanus  selfe  bethinkes  not,  what 
To  thinke  of  wi^ht  so  fayre  ;  but  gazing  stood 
In  doubt  to  deeme  her  borne  of  earthly  brood  : 
Sometimes  dame  Venus  selfe  he  seemes  to  see  ; 
But  Venus  never  had  so  sober  mood  : 
Sometimes  Diana  he  her  takes  to  be  ; 
But  misseth  bow  and  shaftes,  and  buskins  to  her  knee. 


B}^  vew  of  her  he  ginneth  to  revive 
His  ancient  love,  and  dearest  Cyparisse  ; 
And  calles  to  mind  his  pourtraiture  alive. 
How  favre  he  was,  and  yet  not  fayre  to  this  ; 
And  how  he  slew  with  glauncing  dart  amisse 
A  gentle  hvnd,  the  which  the  lovely  boy 
Did  love  as  life,  above  all  worldly  blisse  : 
For  griefe  whereof  the  lad  n'ould  after  ioy  ; 
But  pynd  away  in  anguish  and  selfewild  annoy. 


The  wooddy  nymphes,  faire  Hamadryades, 
Her  to  behold  do  thelher  runne  apace  ; 
And  all  the  troupe  of  light-foot  Naiades 
Flocke  all  about  to  see  her  lovely  face : 
But,  when  they  vewed  have  her  heavenly  grace, 
They  envy  her  in  tl>eir  raalitious  mind, 
And  fly  awa}'  for  feare  of  fowle  disgrace-. 
But  all  the  Satyres  scorne  their  woody  kind. 
And  henceforth  nothing  faire,  but  her,  on  earth  they 
find. 


Glad  of  such  lucke,  the  luckelesse  lucky  mayd 
Did  her  content  to  please  their  feeble  eyes  ; 
And  long  time  with  that  salvage  people  stayd. 
To  gather  breath  in  many  miserves: 
During  which  time  her  gentle  wit  she  plves. 
To  teach  ihem  truth,  which  worshipt  her  in  vaine, 
And  made  her  th'  image  of  idolatryes  : 
But,  when  their  bootlesse  zeale  she  did  restra>Tie 
From  her  own  worship,  they  her  asse  would  worship 
fayn. 

XX. 

It  fortuned,  a  noble  warlike  knight 

By  iust  occasion  to  that  forrest  came 

To  seeke  his  kindred,  and  the  lignage  right. 

From  whence  he  tooke  his  wel-deserved  name : 

He  had  in  armes  abroad  wonne  muchell  fame, 

And  fild  far  lands  with  glorie  of  his  might  ; 

Plaine,  faithluU,  true,  and  enimy  of  shame. 

And  ever  lov'd  to  nght  for  ladies  right : 

But  in  vaine  glorious  frayes  he  Utle  did  delight. 


A  satyres  sonne  yborne  in  forrest  wyld, 
]5y  straunge  adventure  as  it  did  betyde. 
And  there  begotten  of  a  lady  myld, 
Fayre  Thyamis,  tlie  daughter  of  Labryde  ; 
That  was  in  sacred  bandes  of  wedlocke  tyde 
To  Therion,  a  loose,  unruly  swayne. 
Who  had  more  ioy  to  raunge  the  forrest  wyde. 
And  chase  the  salvage  beast  with  busie  payne, 
Then  serve  his  ladies  love,  and  waste    in   plea.'su:  i 
vayne. 

XXII. 

The  forlorne  mayd  did  with  loves  longing  burne, 

And  could  not  lacke  her  lovers  company  ; 

But  to  the  wood  she  goes,  to  serve  her  turne. 

And  seeke  her  spouse,  that  from  her  still  does  fly 

And  followes  other  game  and  venery  : 

A  satyre  chaunst  her  wandriug  for  to  finde  ; 

And,  kindling  coles  of  lust  in  brutish  eye, 

The  loyall  linkes  of  wedlocke  did  unbiude, 

And  made  her  person  thrall  unto  his  beastly  kind. 


So  long  in  secret  cabin  there  he  held 
Her  captive  to  his  sensuall  desyre  ; 
Till  that  with  timely  fruit  her  belly  sweld. 
And  bore  a  boy  unto  tliat  salvage  syre  : 
Then  home  he  suffred  her  for  to  retyre  ; 
For  ransome  leaving  him  the  late-borne  chilue : 
Whom,  till  to  ryper  years  he  gan  aspyre, 
He  nousled  up  in  life  and  maners  wilde, 
Emongst  wild  beastes  and  woods,  from  laws  of  men 
exilde. 


For  all  he  taught  the  tender  ymp,  was  but 

To  banish  cowardize  and  bastard  feare  : 

His  trembling  hand  he  would  him  force  to  put 

Upon  the  lyon  and  the  rugged  beare  ; 

And  from  the  she-beares  teats  her  whelps  to  teare  ; 

And  eke  wyld  roring  buls  he  would  him  make 

To  tame,  and  ryde  their  backes  not  made  to  beare  ; 

And  the  robuckes  in  flight  to  overtake  : 

That  everie  beast  for  feare  of  him  did  fly  and  quake. 


Thereby  so  fearlesse  and  so  fell  he  grew, 
That  his  owne  syre  and  maister  of  his  guise 
Did  often  tremble  at  his  horrid  vew  j 
And  oft,  for  dread  of  hurt,  would  him  advise 
The  angiy  beastes  not  rash!/  to  despise, 
Nor  too  much  to  provoke  ;  for  he  would  learne 
The  lyon  stoup  to  him  in  lowly  wise, 
(A  lesson  hard,)  and  make  the  libbard  sterne 
Leave  roaring,   when  in   rage  he  for  revenge  did 
eame. 


And,  for  to  make  his  powre  approved  more, 
Wyld  beastes  in  yron  yokes  he  would  compell; 
The  spotted  panther,  and  the  tusked  bore. 
The  pardale  swift,  and  the  tigre  cmell. 
The  antelope  and  wolf,  both  tiers  and  fell ; 
And  them  constiaine  in  equall  teme  to  draw. 
Such  ioy  he  had  their  stubborne  harts  to  quell. 
And  sturdie  courage  tame  with  dreadfuU  aw  ; 
That  his  beheast  they  feared,  as  a  tyrans  law. 


S4 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  i. 


His  loving  motlicr  came  upon  a  day 
Unto  tlie  woodes,  to  see  her  little  sonne  ; 
And  cliaunst  unwares  to  meet  him  in  the  way, 
After  his  sportes  and  cruell  jiastime  donne  j 
AVhen  after  him  a  lyonesse  did  runne. 
That  roaring-  all  with  rage  did  lowd  requere 
Her  cliildren  deare,  whom  he  away  had  wonne  •. 
The  lyon  whelpes  she  saw  how  he  did  beare, 
And  lull  in  ruoged  amies  withouten  childish  feare. 


T])o  fearefull  dame  all  qu;ilied  at  the  siglit, 

And  turning  backe  gan  fast  to  fly  away  ; 

Untill,  with  love  revokt  from  vaine  affright, 

She  hardly  yet  perswaded  was  to  stay. 

And  then  to  him  these  womaniah  words  gan  say  : 

"  Ah,  Satyrane,  my  dearling  and  ray  ioy. 

For  love  of  me  leave  oft"  this  dreadfull  play  ; 

To  dally  thus  with  death  is  no  fit  toy  :  [boy." 

Go,  find  some  other  play-fellowes,  mine  own  sweet 


In  these  and  like  delightes  of  bloody  game 
He  trayned  was,  till.ryper  years  he  raught ; 
And  there  abode,  whylst  anv  beast  of  name 
Walkt  in  that  forrest,  whom  he  had  not  tauglit 
'J"o  feare  his  force  :  and  then  his  courage  liaught 
Desvrd  of  forreine  foemen  to  be  knowne. 
And  far  abroad  for  straunge  adventures  sought; 
In  wliich  his  might  was  never  overthrowue  ; 
But  through  al  Faery  lond  his  famous  worth  wa? 
blowne. 


^'et  evermore  it  was  his  manner  faire. 
After  long  labours  and  adventures  spent, 
Unto  those  native  woods  for  to  repaire, 
To  see  his  syre  and  oftspring  auncient. 
And  now  he  thether  came  for  like  intent ; 
Wliere  he  unwares  the  fairest  Una  found, 
Straunge  lady,  in  so  straunge  habiliment, 
'leaching  the  Satyres,  whicli  her  sat  around, 
Trew  sacred  lore,  which  from  her  sweet  lips  did 
redound. 


He  wondred  at  her  wisedome  hevenly  rare, 
^\  liose  like  in  womens  witt  he  never  knew  : 
And,  when  her  curtpous  deeds  he  did  compare, 
Gan  her  admire,  and  her  sad  sorrowes  rew, 
Blaming  of  Fortune,  which  sucli  troubles  thre\«, 
And  ioyd  to  make  proofe  of  her  cruelty 
On  gentle  dame,  so  Imrtlesse  and  so  trew . 
Tiicnceforth  he  kept  her  goodly  company, 
And  learnd  her  discipline  of  faith  and  verity. 


But  she,  all  vowd  unto  the  Redcrosse  knight. 
His  wandring  ]>erill  closely  did  lament, 
j\'e  in  this  new  actjuaiiitaunce  could  delight ; 
But  her  deare  heart  with  anguish  did  torment, 
And  all  her  witt  in  secret  counsels  spent, 
How  to  escaj)e.     At  last  in  privy  wise 
'J'o  Satyrane  she  shewed  her  intent ; 
AV  lio,  glad  to  gain  such  favour,  gan  devise, 
How  with  that  pensive  maid  he  best  might  thence 
arise. 


So  on  a  day,  when  satvres  all  were  gone 
'l"o  do  their  service  to  Sylvanus  old, 
The  gentle  virgin,  left  behinde  alone, 
He  led  away  with  corage  stout  and  bold. 
Too  late  it  was  to  satyi-es  to  be  told, 
Or  ever  hope  recover  her  againe  ; 
In  vaine  he  seekes  that,  having,  cannot  liold. 
So  fast  he  carried  her  with  carefuU  p.iine. 
That  they  the  woods  are  past,  and  come  now  to  ;he 
plaine. 

XXXIV. 

The  better  ])art  now  of  tlie  lingring  day 
They  traveild  had,  wheiiastliey  far  espide 
A  weary  wight  forwandring  by  the  vi-ay  , 
And  tOAards  him  they  gan  in  hast  to  ride. 
To  weete  of  newes  that  did  abroad  betyde, 
Or  tidings  of  her  knight  of  the  Redcrosse; 
But  he,  tliem  spying  gan  to  turne  asyde 
For  feare,  as  seemd,  or  for  some  feigned  losse  : 
Rlore    greedy  they  of  newes  fast  towards  him  do 
crosse. 


A  silly  man,  in  simple  weedes  forvrome. 

And  soild  with  dust  of  the  long  dried  way  ; 

His  sandales  were  with  toilsome  travell  tome. 

And  face  all  tand  with  scorching  sunny  raj-. 

As  he  had  traveild  many  a  sommers  day 

Through  boyling  sands  of  Arabie  and  Ynde  ; 

And  in  his  liand  a  lacobs  staft'e,  to  stay 

His  wearv  limb-;  upon  ;  and  eke  behind  [bind 

His  scrip  did  hang,  in  which  his  needments  he  dii 


The  kniglit,  approching  nigh,  of  him  inqucrd 
Tidings  of  warre,  and  of  adventures  nevr  ; 
But  warres,  nor  new  adventures,  none  he  herd. 
Then  Una  gan  to  aske,  if  ought  he  knew 
Or  heard  abroad  of  that  her  champion  trew. 
That  in  his  armour  bare  a  croslet  red. 
"  Ay  me  !  deare  dame,"  quoth  he,  "  well  may  I  rew 
To  tell  the  sad  sight  which  mine  eies  have  red  ; 
These  eies  did  see  that  knight  both  living  and  eke 
ded." 


That  cruell  word  her  tender  hart  so  thrild. 
That  suddcin  cold  did  roiine  through  every  vaine. 
And  stony  horrour  all  her  sences  hid 
Willi  dying  fitt,  tliat  downe  she  fell  for  paine. 
Tlie  knight  her  lightly  reared  up  againe. 
And  comforted  with  curteous  kind  reliefe  : 
Then,  wonne  from  death,  she  bad  him  tellen  plame 
The  further  processe  of  her  hidden  griefe  : 
The  lesser  pangs  can  beai-e,  who  hatli  endurd  the 
chief. 


Then  gan  the  pilgrim  tluis  ;  "  I  chaunst  this  day, 
Tliis  fata-11  day,  tliat  shall  1  ever  rew. 
To  see  two  knights,  in  travell  on  my  way, 
(A  sory  sight,)  arraung'd  in  batteill  new. 
Both  breathing  vengeaunce,  both  of  wrathfull  Jiew 
l\Iy  fearefull  flesh  did  tremble  at  their  strife. 
To  see  their  blades  so  greedily  imbrew, 
That,  dronke  with  blood,  yet  thristed  after  life  : 
What  more?  the  Bidcrosse  knight  was  slaine  with 
Paynim  knife." 


Canto  VI. j 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


35 


"  All !  dearest  lord,"  quoth  she, "  how  might  that  bee, 
And  he  the  stoutest  knight,  that  ever  wonne  ?" 
"  All  !  dearest  dame,"  quoth  he,  ''  how  might  I  see 
The  thing,  that  might  not  be,  and  yet  was  donne  1" 
"  Where  is,"  said  Satyrane,  "  that  Paynims  sonne, 
That  him  of  life,  and  us  of  ioy,  hath  refte  ?" 
"  Not  fur  away,"  quoth  he,  "  he  hence  doth  wonne, 
Foreby  a  fountaine,  where  I  late  him  left 
Washing  his  bloody  wounds,  that  through  the  Steele 
were  cleft." 


Therewith  the  knight  then  marched  forth  in  hast, 

Whiles  Una,  with  huge  heavinesse  opprest, 

Could  not  for  sorrow  follow  him  so  fast ; 

And  soone  he  came,  as  he  the  place  had  ghest, 

Whereas  that  Pagan  proud  himselfe  did  rest 

In  secret  shadow  by  a  fountaine  side  ; 

Even  he  it  was,  that  earst  would  have  supprest 

Faire  Una  ;  whom  when  Satyrane  espide. 

With  foule  reprochfull  words  he  boldly  him  defide  ; 


And  said  ;  "  Arise,  thou  cursed  miscreaunt, 

That  hast  with  knightlesse  guile,  and  trecherous  train, 

Faire  knighthood  fowly  shamed,  and  doest  vaunt 

That  good  knight  of  the  Redcrosse  to  have  slain  : 

Arise,  and  with  like  treason  now  maintain 

Thy  guilty  wrong,  or  els  thee  guilty  yield." 

The  Sarazin,  this  hearing,  rose  amain, 

And.  catching  up  in  haste  his  three-square  shield 

And  shining  helmet,  soone  him  buckled  to  the  field  ; 


And,  drawing  nigh  him,  said  ;  "  Ah  !  misborn  Elfe, 
In  evill  houre  thy  foes  thee  hither  sent 
Anothers  wrongs  to  wreak  upon  thy  selfe  : 
Yet  ill  thou  blamest  me,  for  having  blent 
Wy  name  with  guile  and  traiterous  intent : 
That  Redcrosse  knight,  perdie,  I  never  slew  ; 
But  had  he  beene,  where  erst  his  arms  were  lent, 
Th'  enchaunter  vaine  his  errour  should  not  rew  : 
But  thou  his  errour  shall,  I  hope,  now  proven  trew." 


Therewith  they  gan,  both  furious  and  fell. 

To  thunder  blowes,  and  fiersly  to  assaile 

Eacl)  other,  bent  his  enimy  to  quell  ; 

That  with  their  force  they  perst  both  plate  and  maile, 

And  made  wide  furrowes  in  their  fleshes  fraile, 

That  it  would  pitty  any  living  eie  : 

Large  floods  of  blood  adowne  their  sides  did  raile  ; 

But  floods  of  blood  could  not  them  satisfie  : 

Both  hongred  after  death  ;  both  chose  to  win,  or  die. 


So  long  they  fight,  and  full  revenge  pursue, 
That,  fainting,  each  themselves  to  breathen  lett ; 
And,  ofte  refreshed,  battell  oft  renue. 
As  when  two  bores,  with  rancling  malice  mett. 
Their  gory  sides  fresh  bleeding  fiercely  frett ; 
Til  breathlesse  both  themselves  aside  retire, 
'Where,  foming  wrath,  their  cruelltuskes  they  whett, 
And  trample  th'  earth,  the  whiles  they  may  respire  ; 
Then  backe  to  fight  againe,  new  breathed  and  entire. 


So  fiersly,  when  these  knights  had  breathed  once, 
They  gan  to  fight  retourne  ;  increasing  more 
Their  puissant  force,  and  cruell  rage  attonce. 
With  heaped  strokes  more  hugely  then  before  ; 
That  with  their  drery  woundes,  and  bloodv  gore, 
They  doth  defoi-med,  scarsely  could  bee  known. 
By  this,  sad  Una  fraught  with  anguish  sore, 
Led  with  their  noise  which  through  the  aire  was 
thrown,  [sown. 

Arriv'd,  wher  they  in  erth  their  friiitles  blood  ha 

XL  VI. 

Whom  all  so  soone  as  that  proud  Sarazin 

Espide,  he  gan  revive  the  memory 

Of  his  leud  lusts,  and  late  attempted  sin  ; 

And  lefte  the  doubtfull  battel  hastily, 

To  catch  her,  newly  offred  to  his  eie  : 

But  Satyrane,  with  strokes  him  turning,  staid, 

And  stemely  bad  him  other  business  plie 

Then  hunt  the  steps  of  pure  uuspotted  maid  : 

AVherewith  he  al  enrag'd  these  bitter  speaches  said  , 


"  O  foolish  faeries  sonne,  what  fury  mad 

Hath  thee  incenst  to  hast  thy  dolefull  fate  ? 

Were  it  not  better  I  that  lady  had 

Then  that  thou  hadst  repented  it  too  late  ? 

Rlost  sencelesse  man  he,  that  himselfe  doth  hate 

To  love  another  :   Lo  then,  for  thine  ayd, 

Hei-e  take  thy  lovers  token  on  thv  pate." 

So  they  to  fight;  the  whiles  the  "royall  mayd 

Fledd  farre  away,  of  that  proud  Paynim  sore  afravd. 


But  that  false  pilgrim,  which  that  leasing  told, 
Being  in  deed  old  Arthimage,  did  stay- 
in  secret  shadow  all  this  to  behold ; 
And  much  reioiced  in  their  bloody  fray  : 
But,  when  he  saw  the  damsell  passe  away. 
He  left  his  stond,  and  her  jiursewd  apace. 
In  hope  to  bring  her  to  her  last  decav. 
But  for  to  tell  her  lamentable  cace , 
And  eke  this  battels  end,  will  need  another  place. 


36 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[BookL 


CANTO  VII. 

The  Reclcrosse  knight  is  captive  made 
By  gyaunt  proud  opprest : 

Prince  Arthure  meets  with  Una  great- 
ly with  those  newes  distrest. 


What  man  so  wise,  what  earthly  witt  so  ware, 

As  to  discry  the  crafty  cunning  traine, 

By  which  Deceit  doth  maske  in  visour  faire. 

And  cast  her  colours  died  deep  in  graine, 

To  seeme  like  Truth,  whose  shape  she  well  can  faine. 

And  fitting  gestures  to  her  purpose  frame, 

The  guiltlesse  man  with  guile  to  entertaine  ? 

Great  maistresse  of  her  art  was  that  false  dame. 

The  false  Duessa,  cloked  with  Fidessaes  name. 


■WTio  when,  returning  from  the  drery  Night, 
She  found  not  in  tliat  perilous  Hous  of  Pryde, 
Where  she  had  left  the  noble  Redcrosse  knight, 
Her  hoped  pray  ;  she  would  no  lenger  byde. 
But  forth  she  went  to  seeke  him  for  and  wyde. 
Ere  long  she  fownrl,  whereas  he  wearie  sato 
To  rest  him  selfe,  foreby  a  fountain  syde, 
Disarmed  all  of  yron-coted  plate  ; 
And  by  his  side  his  steed  the  grassy  forage  ate. 


Hee  feedes  upon  tlie  cooling  shade,  and  hayes 
His  sweatie  forehead  in  the  breathing  wynd. 
Which  through  the  trembling  leaves  full  gently  playes, 
Wherein  the  chearefull  bii-ds  of  sundry  kynd 
I>oe  chnunt  sweet  rnusick,  to  delight  his  mynd  : 
The  witch  approching  gan  him  fayrely  greet. 
And  with  reproch  of  carelesnes  unkynd 
Upbrayd,  for  leaving  her  in  place  unmeet. 
With  fowle  words  tempring  fiiire,  soure  gall  with 
hony  sweet. 


Unkiudnesse  past,  they  gan  of  solace  treat. 
And  bathe  in  pleasaunce  of  the  ioyous  shade, 
\Vliich  shielded  them  against  tlie  boyling  heat, 
And.  with  greene  l)oughes  decking  a  gloomy  sJiade, 
About  the  fountaiiie  like  a  girlond  made  ; 
Wliose  bubbling  wave  did  ever  freshly  well, 
Ne  ever  would  through  fervent  summer  fade  : 
The  sacred  nymph,  which  tlierein  wont  to  dwell, 
Was  out  of  Dianes  favor,  as  it  then  befell. 


The  cause  was  this :  One  dav,  when  Phocle  fayre 

With  all  her  hand  was  following  the  chace, 

Tliis  nymph,  quite  tyr'd  with  hiat  of  scorching  ayre, 

Sat  downe  to  rest  in  middcst  of  the  race  : 

Tlie  goddesse  wroth  gan  l''ou  ly  her  disgrace. 

And  badd  the  wateis,  whicli  i'rom  her  did  flow, 

Pie  such  as  she  her  selfe  was  then  in  j)lace. 

Tlienceforth  her  waters  wexed  dull  and  slow  ; 

And  all,  that  drinke  thereof,  do  faint  and  feeble  grow. 


Hereof  this  gentle  knight  unweeting  was  ; 

And,  lying  downe  upon  the  sandie  graile, 

Dronke  of  the  streame,  as  cleare  as  christall  glas  : 

Eftsoones  his  manly  forces  gan  to  fayle, 

And  mightie  strong  was  turnd  to  feeble  frayle. 

His  chaunged  powres  at  first  themselves  not  felt ; 

Till  crudled  cold  his  corage  gan  assayle, 

And  cheareful  blood  in  fayntnes  chill  did  melt. 

Which,  like  a  fever  fit,  through  all  his  bodie  sweit 


Yet  goodly  court  he  made  still  to  his  dame, 

Pourd  out  in  loosnesse  on  the  grassy  grownd, 

Both  carelesse  of  his  health,  and  of  his  fame : 

Till  at  the  last  he  heard  a  dreadfull  sownd, 

Wliich  through  the  woodloud  bellowing  did  rebownd 

That  all  the  earth  for  terror  seemd  to  shake, 

And  trees  did  tremble.  Th'  Elfe,  therewith  astownd, 

Upstarted  lightly  from  his  looser  make. 

And  his  unready  weapons  gan  in  hand  to  take. 


But  ere  he  could  his  armour  on  him  dight. 

Or  gett  his  shield,  his  monstrous  enimy 

With  sturdie  steps  came  stalking  in  his  sight, 

An  hideous  geaunt,  homble  and  bye. 

That  with  his  tallnesse  seemd  to  threat  the  skye  ; 

The  ground  eke  groned  under  him  for  dreed  : 

His  living  like  saw  never  living  eye, 

Ne  durst  behold  ;  his  stature  did  evceed 

Tlie  hio-ht  of  three  the  tallest  sonnes  of  mortall  seed. 


The  greatest  Earth  his  lincouth  mother  was. 
And  blustring  tEoIus  his  boasted  syre  ;  [p^, 

Who  with  his  breatli,  which  through  the  world  doth 
Her  hollow  womb  did  secretly  inspyre. 
And  fild  her  hidden  caves  with  stormie  yre. 
That  she  conceiv'd  ;  and  trebling  the  dew  time. 
In  wliich  the  wombes  of  wemen  do  expyre, 
Urought  forth  this  monstrous  masse  of  earthly  slyme, 
Puft   up  with  emptie  wynd,  and    fild   with  sinful) 
cryme. 

X. 

So  growen  great,  through  arrogant  delight. 

Of  th'  high  descent  whereof  he  was  ybome. 

And  through  presumption  of  his  matchlesse  might. 

All  other  powres  and  knighthood  he  did  scorne. 

Such  now  he  marcheth  to  this  man  forlorne. 

And  left  to  losse;  his  stalking  steps  are  stayde 

Upon  a  snaggy  oke,  wliicli  ho  had  torne 

Out  of  his  mothers  bowelles,  and  it  made 

His  mortall  mace,  wherewith  his  foeraen  he  dismayde. 


Canto   VTT. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


3? 


That,  when  the  knisjht  he  spvde,  he  gan  advaunce 
With  liun;e  force  and  insupportable  mayne, 
And  towardes  him  witli  ch-eadfull  fury  praunce  ; 
Who  haplesse,  and  eke  liopelesse,  all  in  raiue 
Did  to  him  pace  sad  battaile  to  darrayne, 
Disarmd,  disgraste,  and  mwardly  dismayde  ; 
And  eke  so  faint  in  every  iovut  and  vavne, 
Througli  that  fraile  fountain,  which  him  feeble  made, 
That  sca-sely  could  he  weeld   his  bootlesse  single 
blade. 


The  geaunt  strooke  so  maynly  mercilesse, 

That  could  have  overthrowne  a  stony  towre  ; 

And,  were  it  not  hevenlv  grace  that  did  him  blesse, 

He  had  beene  pouldred  all,  as  thin  as  flowre  ; 

But  he  was  warv  of  that  deadly  stowre, 

And  lightly  lept  from  underneath  the  blow  : 

Yet  so  exceeding  was  the  villeins  powre 

That  with  the  winde  it  did  him  overthrow, 

And  all  his  sences  stoond,  that  still  he  lay  full  low. 


As  when  that  divelish  vron  engin,  wrought 
In  deejjest  hell,  and  framd  by  furies  skill. 
With  windy  nitre  and  quick  sulphur  fraught, 
And  ramd  with  bollet  rownd,  ordaind  to  kill, 
Conceiveth  fvre  ;  the  heavens  it  doth  fill 
With  thundring  noyse,  and  all   the  ayre  doth  choke, 
That  none  can  breath,  nor  see,  nor  heare  at  will. 
Through  smouldry  cloud  of  duskish  stincking  smoke  ; 
That  til'  onlv  breath   him  daunts,  who  hath  escaj)C 
the  stroke. 


So  daunted  when  the  geaunt  saw  the  knight, 

His  heavie  hand  he  heaved  up  on  liye, 

And  iiim  to  dust  thought  to  have  battred  quight, 

Untill  Duessa  loud  to  liim  gan  crve  ; 

"  O  great  Orgoglio,  greatest  under  skye. 

Oh  !  hold  thy  mortall  hand  for  ladies  sake  ; 

Hold  for  mv  sake,  and  doe  him  not  to  dye, 

But  vanquisht  thine  eternall  bondslave  make. 

And  me,  thy  worthy  meed,  unto  thy  leman  take.' 


He  hearkned,  and  did  stay  from  further  harmes, 

To  gavne  so  goodly  guerdon  as  she  spake  : 

So  willinglv  she  came  into  his  amies. 

Who  her  as  willingly  to  gra'  e  did  take, 

And  was  possessed  of  his  newfound  make. 

Then  up  he  tooke  the  slondjred  sencelesse  corse  ; 

And,  ere  he  could  out  of  his  swowne  awake, 

Him  to  his  castle  brought  with  hastie  forse. 

And  in  a  dongeon  deepe  him  threw  without  remorse. 


From  that  day  forth  Duessa  was  his  deare. 

And  highly  honourd  in  iiis  haughtie  eye  • 

He  gave  her  gold  and  purple  pall  to  weare, 

And  tripde  crowne  set  on  her  head  full  hye. 

And  her  endowd  with  rovall  maiestye  : 

Then,  for  to  make  her  dreaded  more  of  men, 

And  peoples  hartes  with  awfuU  terror  tye, 

A  monstrous  beast  ybredd  in  filthy  fen  [den. 

He  chose,  v.-hich  he  had  kept  long  time  in  darksom 


Such  one  it  was,  as  that  renowmed  snake 

Which  great  Alcides  in  Stremona  slew. 

Long  fostred  in  the  filth  of  Lerna  lake  : 

Whose  many  heades  out-budding  ever  new 

Did  breed  him  endlesse  labor  to  subdew. 

But  this  same  monster  much  more  ugly  was  ; 

For  seven  great  heads  out  of  his  bodv  grew  ! 

An  vron  brest,  and  back  of  scaly  bras, 

And  all  embrevvd  in  blood  his  eyes  did  shine  as  gla3. 


His  tayle  was  stretched  out  in  wondrous  length. 
That  to  the  hous  of  hevenly  gods  it  rauuht ; 
And  with  extorted  powre,  and  borrow'd  strength, 
The  ever  burning  lamps  from  tijence  it  braught, 
And  prowdlv  threw  to  ground,  as  thiiiiis  of  naught 
And  underneath  his  filthy  feet  did  tread 
The  sacred  thinges,  and  holy  heastes  foretaught. 
Upon  this  dreadful!  beast  with  sevenfold  bead 
He  sett  the  false  Duessa,  for  more  aw  and  dread. 


The  wofull  dwarfe,  which  saw  his  maisters  fall, 
(Whiles  he  had  keeping  of  his  grasing  steed,) 
And  valiant  knight  become  a  caytive  thrall  ; 
\Vhen  all  was  jiast,  tooke  up  his  forlorne  weed  ; 
His  mightie  armour,  missing  m(;st  at  need  ; 
His  silver  shield,  now  idle,  maisterlesse ; 
His  poynant  speare,  that  many  made  to  bleed  ; 
The  rueful  nioniments  of  heavinesse  ; 
And  with  them  all  departes,to  tell  his  great  distresse. 


He  had  not  travaild  long,  when  on  the  way 

He  wofull  lady,  wofull  Una,  met 

Fast  flying  from  that  Paynims  greedy  pray, 

Whilest  .Satyrane  him  from  piursuit  did  let : 

Who  when  her  eyes  she  on  the  dwarf  had  set, 

And  saw  the  signes  that  deadly  tydinges  spake. 

She  fell  to  ground  for  sorrowfull  regret. 

And  lively  breath  her  sad  brest  did  forsake  ; 

Yet  might  her  pitteous  hart  be  seen  to  pant  and  quakOi 


The  messenger  of  so  unhappie  newes 
Would  faine  have  dyde  ;    dead  was  his  hart  within 
Yet  outwardly  s^me  little  comfort  shewes  : 
At  last,  recovering  hart,  he  does  begin 
To  rub  her  temples,  and  to  chaufe  her  chin. 
And  everie  tender  part  does  tosse  and  turne: 
So  hardly  he  the  flitted  life  does  win 
Unto  her  native  prison  to  retourne. 
Then   gins  her  grieved   ghost   thus  to  lament  and 
raourne : 


"  Ye  dreary  instruments  of  dolefull  sight, 
That  doe  this  dreadly  spectacle  behold. 
Why  due  ye  lenger  feed  on  loathed  light. 
Or  liking  find  to  gaze  on  earthly  mould, 
Sith  cruell  Fates  tlie  careful!  tlireds  unfould. 
The  which  my  life  and  love  togetlier  tyde  ? 
Now  let  the  stony  dart  of  sencelesse  Cold 
Perce  to  my  hart,  and  pas  tlirou^h  everie  side  ; 
And  let  eternall  nioht  so  sad  <ight  fro  me  hyde. 


38 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I 


"  O,  lightsome  Day,  the  lampe  of  highest  love, 
First  made  by  him  mens  wandripg-  wayes  to  guyde. 
When  darkaesse  he  in  deepest  dongeon  drove  ; 
Henceforth  thy  hated  face  for  ever  hyde. 
And  shut  up  heavens  windowes  shyning  wyde  . 
For  earthly  sight  can  nought  but  sorrow  breed, 
And  late  repentance,  which  shall  long  ahyde 
Mine  eyes  no  more  on  vanitie  shall  feed, 
But,  seeled  up  wiih  death,  shall  have  their  deadly 
meed." 


Then  downe  againe  she  fell  unto  the  ground  ; 

But  he  her  quickly  reared  u])  againe  • 

Thrise  did  she  sinke  adowne  in  deadly  swownd, 

^nd  thrise  lie  her  reviv'd  with  busie  pahie, 

At  last  when  life  recover'd  had  the  raine, 

And  over-wrestled  his  strong  enimy. 

With  foltring  tong,  and  trembling  everie  vaine, 

"  Tell  on,"  quoth  she,  "the  wofuU  tragedy, 

The  which  these  relicjues  sad  present  unto  mine  eye  ; 


"  Tempestuous  Fortune  hath  spent  all  her  spight, 

And  thrilling  Sorrow  throwne  liis  utmost  dart  : 

Tliy  sad  tong  cannot  tell  more  heavy  plight 

Tlien  that  I  fcele,  and  harbour  in  mine  hart  : 

Wl;o  hath  endur'd  the  whole,  can  beare  ech  part. 

If  death  it  be ;  it  is  not  the  first  wound. 

That  launched  hatli  my  brest  with  bleeding  fjinai't. 

Begin,  and  end  the  1)itter  balefull  stound  ; 

If  lesse  then  that  1  feare,  more  favour  I  have  found.' 


Tlien  gau  the  dwarfe  the  whole  discourse  declare  ; 
llie  subtile  traines  of  Archiinago  old  ; 
The  wanton  loves  of  false  Fide^sa  fayre, 
Bought  with  the  blood  of  vanquisht  Paynim  bold  ; 
The  wretched  payre  transformed  to  treen  mould  j 
1  he  House  of  Pryde,  and  perilles  round  about  ; 
The  combat,  which  he  with  Sansioy  did  hould  ; 
The  lucklesse  conflict  with  the  gyaunt  stout. 
Wherein  captiv'd,  of  life  or  death  he  stood  in  doubt. 


She  heard  with  patience  all  unto  the  end  ; 

And  strove  to  maistcr  sorrowfull  assay, 

Which  greater  grew,  the  more  she  did  contend, 

And  almost  rent  her  tender  liart  in  tway  ; 

And  love  fresh  coles  unto  lier  fire  did  lay  : 

For  greater  love,  the  greati  r  is  the  losse. 

Was  never  lady  loved  dearer  dav 

Then  she  did  love  the  knight  of  the  Redcrosse  ; 

For  whose  deare  sake  so  many  troubles  her  didtosse. 


At  last  when  fervent  sorrow  slaked  was, 
She  up  arose,  resolving  him  to  find 
Alive  or  ch^ad  ;  and  forward  forth  did  pas, 
All  as  the  dwarfe  tlie  way  to  her  assynd  : 
And  evermore,  in  constant  carefull  mmd. 
She  fedd  lier  wound  with  fresh  renewed  bale  : 
Long  tost  with  stormes,  and  bet  with  bitter  wind, 
High  over  hills,  and  lowe  adowne  the  dale,       [vale. 
She  wandred  many  a  wo.id,   and   measurd  many   a 


At  last  she  chaunced  by  good  hap  to  meet 
A  goodly  knight,  faire  marching  by  the  way, 
Together  with  his  squyre,  arraved  meet: 
His  glitterand  armour  shined  far  away, 
Like  glauncing  light  of  Phoebus  briglitest  ray  ; 
From  top  to  toe  no  place  appeared  bare. 
That  deadly  dint  of  Steele  endanger  mav  : 
Athwart  his  brest  a  bauldrick  brave  ho  ware. 
That  shind,  like  twinkling  stai's,  with   stones  most 
pretious  rare  : 


And,  in  the  midst  thereof,  one  pretious  stone 

Of  wondrous  worth,  and  eke  of  wondrous  mights, 

Shapt  like  a  ladies  liead,  exceeding  shone, 

Like  Hesperus  emongst  the  lesser  lights, 

And  strove  for  to  amaze  the  weaker  sights  : 

Thereby  his  mortail  blade  full  comely  hong 

In  yvory  sheath,  ycarv'd  with  curious  slights. 

Whose  iults  were  burnisht  gold  ;  and  handle  strons 

Of  mother  perle  ;  and  buckled  with  a  golden  tong. 


His  haughtie  helmet,  horrid  all  witJi  gold, 
Both  glorious  brightnesse  and  great  teixour  bredd: 
For  all  the  crest  a  dragon  did  enfold 
With  greedie  pawes,  and  over  all  did  spredd 
His  golden  winges  ;  his  dreadfull  hideous  hedd 
Close  couched  on  the  bever,  seemd  to  throw 
From  flaming  mouth  bright  sparckles  fiery  redd, 
That  suddeine  horrour  to  fainte  hartes  did  show  , 
And  scaly  tayle  was  stretcht  adowne  his  back  full 
low. 


Upon  the  top  of  all  his  loftie  crest, 

A  bouncli  of  heares  discolourd  diversly. 

With  sprincled  pearle  and  gold  full  richly  drest, 

Did  shake,  and  seemd  to  daunce  for  iollity  ; 

Like  to  an  almond  tree  ymounted  hye 

On  top  of  greene  Selinis  all  alone, 

With  blossoms  brave  bedecked  daintily  ; 

Whose  tender  locks  do  tremble  every  one 

At  everie  little  breath,  that  under  heaven  is  blowne. 


His  warlike  shield  all  closely  cover'd  was, 

!Ne  might  of  mortail  eye  he  ever  scene  ; 

Not  made  of  Steele,  nor  of  enduring  bras, 

(Such  earthly  mettals  soon  consumed  beene,) 

But  all  of  diamond  perfect  pure  and  deene 

It  framed  was,  one  massy  entire  motild, 

Hew'n  out  of  adamant  rocke  with  engines  keene, 

'J'hat  point  of  speare  it  never  percen  could, 

Ke  dint  of  direfull  sword  divide  the  substance  would 


The  same  to  wight  he  never  wont  disclose. 
But  whenas  monsters  huge  he  would  dismay, 
Or  daunt  unetjuall  armies  of  his  foes. 
Or  when  the  flying  ho'aviMis  he  would  affray  : 
For  so  exceeding  shone  his  !;listrin^  r.\y, 
1'hat  Phoebus  golden  face  it  did  attaint. 
As  when  a  cloud  his  beames  doth  over-lay  ; 
And  silver  Cynthia  wexed  pale  and  faynf. 
As   when   her   face  is  staynd  with    m-.igicke    arts 
constraint. 


Ca    TC  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


39 


No  magicke  arts  hereof  had  any  might, 
Nor  bloody  wordes  of  bold  enchaunters  call ; 
liut  all  tliat  was  not  such  as  seemd  in  sight 
Before  that  shield  did  fade,  and  suddeine  fall : 
And,  when  him  list  the  raskall  routes  appall, 
IMen  into  stones  therewith  he  could  transmew. 
And  stones  to  dust,  and  dust  to  nought  at  all  : 
And,  when  him  list  the  prouder  lookes  subdew. 
He  would  them  gazing  blind,  or  turne  to  other  hew. 


Ne  let  it  seeme  that  credence  this  exceedes  ; 
For  he,  that  made  the  same,  was  knowne  right  well 
To  have  done  much  more  admirable  deedes  : 
It  IMerlin  was,  which  whylome  did  excell 
All  living  wightes  in  might  of  magicke  spell  : 
T5oth  shield,  and  sword,  and  armour  all  he  wrought 
For  this  young  prince,  when  first  to  armes  he  fell  ; 
But,  when  he  dyde,  the  Faery  Queene  it  brought 
To  Faerie  load  ;  where  yet  it  may  be  seene,  if  sought. 


A  gentle  youth,  his  dearely  loved  squire, 
His  speare  of  heben  wood  behind  him  bare, 
Whose  harmeful  head,  thrise  heated  in  the  fire, 
Had  riven  many  a  brest  with  pikehead  square  : 
A  goodly  person  ;  and  could  menage  faire 
His  stubborne  steed  with  curbed  canon  bitt, 
Who  under  him  did  trample  as  the  aire, 
And  chauft,  that  any  on  his  backe  should  sitt ; 
The  yron  rowels  into  frotliy  fome  he  bitt. 


Wlienas  this  knight  nigh  to  the  lady  drew, 

With  lovely  court  he  gan  her  entertaine  ; 

But,  when  he  heard  her  aunswers  loth,  he  knew 

Some  secret  sorrow  did  her  heart  distraine  : 

Wliich  to  allay,  and  calme  her  storir.'ag  paine, 

Faire  feeling  words  he  wisely  gan  display. 

And,  for  her  humor  fitting  purpose  faine. 

To  tempt  the  cause  it  selfe  for  to  bewray  ;        [say  ; 

Wherewith  enmovd,  these  bleeding  words  she  gan  to 


"  What  worlds  delight,  or  iov  of  living  speach, 

Can  hart,  so  plungd  in  sea  of  sorrowes  deep. 

And  heaped  with  so  huge  misfortunes,  reach  ? 

The  carefull  Cold  beginneth  for  to  creep. 

And  in  my  heart  his  yron  arrow  steep, 

Soone  as  I  thinke  upon  m)  bitter  bale. 

Such  helplesse  harmes  yts  better  hidden  keep, 

Then  rip  up  griefe,  where  it  may  not  availe  ; 

My  last  lefl  comfort  is  my  woes  to  weepe  and  waile." 


"  Ah  lady  deare,"  quoth  then  the  gentle  knight, 
"  ^^'ell  may  I  ween  your  griefe  is  wondrous  great ; 
For  Wondrous  great  griefe  groneth  in  my  spright. 
Whiles  thus  I  heare  you  of  your  sorrowes  treat. 
But,  woefull  lady,  let  me  you  intrete 
For  to  unfold  the  anguish  of  your  hart ; 
Mishaps  are  maistred  by  advice  discrete, 
And  counsell  mitigates  the  greatest  smart ; 
Foundnever  help,  who  never  would  his  hurts  impart." 


"  Oh  !  but,"  quoth  she,  "  great  griefe  will  not  be 
And  can  more  easily  be  thought  then  said."  [tould, 
"  Right  so,"  quoth  he  :  "  but  he,  that  never  would. 
Could  never  :  will  to  might  gives  greatest  aid." 
"  But  griefe,"  quoth  she,  "  does  greater  grow  dis- 
If  then  it  find  not  helpe,  and  breeds  despaire. "[plaid, 
"  Despair  breeds  not,"  quoth  he,"  where  faith  is  staid." 
"  iS'o  faith  so  fast,"  quoth  she,  "  hut  flesh  does  paire.' 
"  Flesh  may  empaire,"  quoth  he,  "  but  reason  caa 
repaire." 


His  goodly  reason,  and  well-guided  speach, 
So  deepe  did  settle  in  her  gracious  thought, 
Thac  her  perswaded  to  disclose  the  breach 
Which  love  and  fortune  in  her  hart  had  wrought ; 
And  said  ;  "  Faire  sir,  I  hope  good  hap  have  brought 
You  to  inquere  the  secrets  of  my  griefe  ; 
Or  that  your  wisdome  will  direct  mv  thought ; 
Or  that  your  prowesse  can  me  yield  relief'e  ; 
Then  heare  the  story  sad,  wliich  I  shall  tell  yon 
briefe. 


"  The  forlorne  maiden,  whom  your  eies  have  seer 

The  laughing  stocke  of  Fortunes  mockeries. 

Am  th'  onely  daughter  of  a  king  and  queene. 

Whose  parents  deare  ('whiles  equal  destinies 

Did  ronne  about,  and  their  felicities 

The  favourable  heavens  did  not  envy,) 

Did  spred  their  rule  througli  all  the  territories. 

Which  Phison  and  Euphrates  floweth  by. 

And  Gehons  golden  waves  doe  wash  continually : 


"  Till  that  their  cruell  cursed  enemv, 
An  huge  great  dragon,  h  rrJhle  in  sight. 
Bred  in  the  loathly  lakes  of  Tartarv, 
With  murdrous  ravine,  and  devouring  might, 
Tlieir  kingdome  spoild,  and  countvfy  wasted  quight: 
Themselves,  for  feare  into  his  iavves  to  fall. 
He  forst  to  castle  strong  to  take  their  fliglit ; 
Where,  fast  embard  in  miglitv  brasen  wall. 
He  has  tJiem  now  fowr  years  besiegd  to  make  them 
thrall. 


"  Full  many  knights,  adventurous  and  stout, 
Have  enterpriz'd,  that  monster  to  subdew  : 
From  every  coast,  that  heaven  walks  about. 
Have  thither  come  the  noble  martial  crew, 
That  famous  harde  atchievements  still  pursew  ; 
Yet  never  any  could  that  girlond  win. 
But  all  still  shronke  ;  and  still  he  greater  grew; 
All  they  for  want  of  faith,  or  guilt  of  sin. 
The  pitteous  pray  of  his  fiers  cruelty  have  bin. 


"  At  last,  vied  with  far  reported  praise. 
Which  flying  Fame  throughout  tlie  world  had  spreCS, 
Of  doughty  knights,  whom  Fary  land  did  raise, 
That  noble  order  hight  of  Maideuhed, 
Forthwith  to  court  of  Gloriane  I  sped. 
Of  Gloriane,  great  queene  of  glory  bright, 
Whose  kingdomes  seat  Cleopolis  is  red  ; 
There  to  obtaine  some  such  redoubted  knight 
That  parents  deare  from  tyrants  puwre  deliver  migFti 


40 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I. 


*'Yt  was  my  cliaunce  (my  civaunce  was  fairoand  good) 
Tliere  for  to  find  a  fresh  unproved  knight  ; 
Whose  manly  hands  imhrewd  in  guilty  blood 
Had  never  beene,  ne  ever  by  his  might 
Had  throwne  to  ground  the  unregarded  riglit : 
Vet  of  his  prowesse  proofe  he  since  has  made 
jl  witnes  ara~)  in  manv  a  cruell  fight  ; 
The  groniug  ghosts  of  many  one  dismaide 
Have  felt  the  bitter  dint  of  his  avenging  blade. 


"  And  ye,  the  forlorne  reliques  of  Ins  powre, 
His  biting  Sword,  and  his  devouring  Speare, 
Which  have  endured  many  a  dreadfull  slowre. 
Can  speake  his  prowesse,  that  did  earst  you  beare, 
And  well  could  rule  ;  now  he  hath  left  you  heare 
To  be  the  record  of  his  ruetull  losse, 
And  of  my  dolefull  disaventurous  deare  : 
O  heavie  record  of  the  good  Iledcrosse, 
Where  have    ye  left  your  lord,  that  could   so  well 
vou  tosse  ? 


"  Well  hoped  I,  and  faire  beginnings  had, 

That  he  my  captive  languor  should  redeeme  : 

Till  all  unweeting  an  enc  haunter  bad 

His  sence  abusd,  and  made  him  to  misdeems 

My  loyalty,  net  such  as  it  did  seeme, 

That  rather  death  desire  then  such  despight. 

Be  judge,  ye  heavens,  that  all  things  right  esteniiie, 

How  I  him  lov'd,  and  love  with  all  my  mighi  I 

So  thought  I  eke  of  him,  and  think  I  thought  anght. 


"  Tlienceforth  me  desolate  he  quite  forsooke, 
To  wander,  where  wikle  Fortune  would  me  lead. 
And  other  bywaies  he  himselfe  betooke. 
Where  never  foote  of  living  wight  did  tread. 
That  brought  not  backe  the  baleful!  body  dead  ; 
In  wIulIi  him  chaunced  false  Duessa  meete. 
Mine  onely  foe,  mine  onely  deadly  dread  ; 
Who  with  Iier  witchcraft,  and  misseeming  sweete, 
Inveigled  him  to  lollow  her  desires  unmeete. 


"  At  last,  by  subtile  sleights  she  him  betraid 
Unto  his  foe,  a  gyaunt  huge  and  tall ; 
Who  him  disarmed,  dissolute,  dismaid, 
llnwares  surprised,  and  with  mighty  mall 
The  monster  mercilesse  him  made  to  fall, 
Wliose  fall  did  never  foe  before  behold  : 
And  now  in  darkesome  dungeon,  wretched  thrall, 
Ilemcdiiesse,  for  aie  he  doth  him  hold  : 
This  is  my  cause  of  griefe,  more  great  then  mav  be 
told." 


Ere  she  had  ended  all,  slie  gan  to  faint : 
But  he  her  comforted,  and  faire  bespake  ; 
"  Certes,  madame,  ye  have  great  cause  of  plaint. 
That  stoutest  heart,  I  weene,  could  cause  to  quake. 
But  be  of  cheare,  and  comfort  to  you  take  ; 
For,  till  I  have  acquit  your  captive  knight. 
Assure  your  selfe,  I  will  you  not  forsake." 
His  chearefuU  words  reviv'd  herchearelesse  spright 
So  forth  they  went,  the  dwai-fe  them  guiding  ever 
right. 


CANTO  VIII. 


Faire  virgin,  to  redeeme  lier  deare, 

Brings  Arthure  to  the  fight  ; 
Who  slayes  the  gyaunt,  wounds  the  beast. 

And  strips  Duessa  quight. 


Ay  me,  how  many  perils  doe  enfold 
The  rigliteous  man,  to  make  him  dailv  fall, 
W^ere  not  that  heavenly  grace  doth  liim  ii])hoId, 
And  stedfast  Trutli  acquite  him  out  of  all ! 
Her  love  is  firme,  her  care  continual!, 
So  oft  as  he,  througli  liis  own  foolish  jiride 
Or  weaknes,  is  to  sinful!  hands  made  thrall  : 
Els  should  this  Redcrosse  knight  in  hands  have  dvde, 
For  wliose  deliverance  she  this  pnnce  doth  tliether 
guyd. 

II. 

They  sadly  Iraveild  thus,  until!  they  came, 

Nigh  to  a  castle  bnil(h>d  strong  and  hye  : 

Tlien  cryde  the  dwarfe,  "  Lo  !  yonder  is  the  same. 

In  whicli  my  lord,  my  liege,  doth  lucklesse  ly, 

Thrall  to  that  gyaunts  lialefull  tyranny  : 

Therefore,  deaie  sir,  your  mighty  powres  assay." 

Tlie  noble  knight  aliglited  by  and  by 

From  loftie  steed,  and  had  tlie  ladie  stay. 

To  see  wliat  end  of  fight  should  him  befall  that  day. 


So  with  his  squire,  th'  admirer  of  his  might. 
He  marclied  forth  towardes  thit  castle  wall  ; 
Whose  gates  lie  fownd  fast  shutt,  ne  living  wight 
To  Avarde  the  same,  nor  answere  commers  call. 
Tlicn  tooke  that  squire  an  home  of  bugle  small, 
Which  hong  adowne  liis  side  in  twisted  gold 
And  tasselle.s  gay  :   wyde  wonders  over  all 
Of  tliat  same  Iiornes  groat  vertues  weren  told 
Whicli  had  approved  bene  in  uses  manifold. 


Was  never  wight  that  lieard  tliat  slirilling  sownd. 

But  trembling  feare  did  fiel  in  every  vaine  : 

Three  miles  it  might  be  easy  lieard  arownd. 

And  ecclioes  tliree  answer'd  it  selfe  agavne: 

No  faulse  enchauntment,  nor  deceitful!  traine. 

Might  once  abide  the  terror  of  that  blast. 

But  presently  was  voide  and  wlioUy  vaine  : 

No  gate  so  strong,  no  locke  so  firme  and  fast, 

But  with  that  piercing  noise  flew  open  quite,  or  brast 


n:-:   KAF.IUE  QUEEXE. 


41 


The  s:une  be'bre  tlin  ii^enuuts  g-ate  lie  blew. 
That  all  the  ciis'le  i|Uiiked  from  the  growiid, 
And  evi^rv  d"re  of  Cree-will  open  flew. 
'I'lie  i;yauiit  selfe  disinaied  with  that  sownd, 
Where  he  with  his  Duessa  dalliaunce  fbwiid, 
In  hast  c:nne  rushinjj,-  forth  iroin  inner  bowre. 
With  stariiiij  countenance  sterna,  as  one  astowiid 
And  stai^gering  stt'ps,  to  weet  what  suddein  stovvre 
Had   wrought    tliat  horror  strange,  and    dar'd  his 
dreaded  powre. 


And  after  him  the  proud  Duessa  came, 

High  mounted  on  her  many-headed  beas-t ; 

And  every  head  with  fyrie  tongue  did  flame. 

And  everv  head  was  crowned  on  his  creast. 

And  bloodv  mouthed  with  late  cruell  feast. 

That  when  the  knight  beheld,  his  miglitie  shild 

Upon  his  manlv  arnie  he  soone  addrest. 

And  at  him  fiersly  flew,  with  corage  fild. 

And  eger  greedinesse  through  every  member  thrild. 


Therewith  the  gyaunt  buckled  him  to  fight, 

Inflamii  with  scornefull  wrath  and  high  disdaine, 

And  lilting  up  his  dreadfull  club  on  higbt. 

All  armd  with  ragged  snubbes  and  knottie  graine, 

Him  tliought  at  first  encnunter  to  liave  slaine. 

But  wise  .ind  warv  was  that  noble  pere  ; 

And,  lightly  leajjing  from  so  monstrous  maine, 

Did  favre  avoide  the  violence  him  nere  ; 

Itbooted  nought  to  thinke  such  thunderbolts  to  beare: 


Ne  shame  he  thought  to  shonne  so  hideous  might : 
The  vdle  stroke,  enforcing  furious  w-.iv. 
Missing  tlie  marke  of  his  misavmed  sight, 
Did  nil  to  ground,  and  wiih  liis  heavie  sway 
So  deejilv  dinted  in  the  driven  clay, 
That  three  yardes  dee'pe  a  furrow  up  did  throw  : 
'J  he  sad  earth,  wounded  with  so  sore  assay, 
Did  gro-.H  full  grievous  underneath  thi'  blow  ; 
And,  trembling  with  strange  feare,  did  like  an  ertli- 
quake  show. 


As  when  almightie  love,  in  wrathfull  mood. 
To  wreake  the  nnilt  of  mortall  sins  is  bent, 
llurles  forth  his  thundring  dart  with  deadly  food, 
Knrold  in  flamt-s,  and  smouldring  dreriment. 
Through  rivt-n  cloudes  and  molten  firmament; 
1  lie  fiers  tlreeforked  engin,  making  way, 
Both  loftie  towres  and  highest  trees  hath  rent. 
And  all  tliat  might  his  angry  passage  stay  ; 
And,  shooting  in  the  earth,    castes  up   a  mount  of 
clay. 

X. 

His  bovstrous  club,  so  buried  in  the  grownd. 
He  could  not  rearen  uj)  againe  so  light, 
15ut  that  the  knight  liim  at  advantage  fownd  ; 
And,  whiles  h-  strove  his  couibred  clubbe  to  ijuight 
Out  of  the  eirth,  witii  blade  all  burning  bright 
lie  smott  off  his  lel't  arnie.  which  like  a  block 
Did  full  to  ground  dejiriv'd  of  native  might; 
Iy<iigo  strearues  of  bloud  out  of  the  truncked  stock 
Forth  gushed,  like  fresh-vs'ater  streame  from  riven 
locke. 


Dismayed  with  so  desperate  deadly  wound. 
And  eke  impatient  of  unwonted  puyne, 
He  lowdly  brayd  witli  beastly  yelling  sownd, 
'J'hat  all  the  tieldes  rebellowed  againe  : 
As  great  a  noyse  as  when  in  Cymbrian  plaine 
An  her.l  of  bulles,  whom  kindly  rage  doth  iting. 
Doe  for  the  milky  mothers  want  com])hnne. 
And  fill  the  fieldes  with  troublous  bellovving  :  i 

The   neighbor  woodes  arovvnd  with  hollow  murmu,' 
rinsr. 


That  when  his  deare  Duessa  heard,  and  saw 
The  evil  stownd  that  daungerd  her  estate, 
Unto  his  aide  she  hastily  did  draw. 
Her  dreadfull  beast :   who,  swolen  with  blood  of  late, 
Came  ramping  forth  with  proud  presumpteous  gate. 
And  threatned  all  his  heades  like  flaming  brandes. 
But  him  the  squire  made  quickly  to  retrate, 
Encountring  fiers  with  single  sword  in  hand  ; 
And  twixt  him  and  his  lord  did  like  a  bulwarke 
stand. 


The  proud  Duessa,  full  of  wrathfull  spight 

And  fiers  disdaine,  to  be  affronted  so, 

Enforst  her  purple  beast  with  all  her  might. 

That  stop  out  of  the  way  to  overthroe, 

Scorning  the  let  of  so  unequall  foe  : 

Ent  nathijmore  would  that  corageous  swayne 

To  her  yeeld  passage,  gainst  his  lord  to  goe  ; 

lUit  with  outrageous  strokes  did  him  restraiae, 

And  with  his  body  bard  the  way  atwixt  them  twaine. 

Then  tooke  the  angrie  witch  her  golden  cup, 
Which  sti.l  she  bore,  replete  with  magick  artes  ; 
Dea  h  and  despeyre  did  many  thereof  -up, 
Auil  secret  poyson  througli  their  inner  panes  ; 
Tir  eternall  bale  of  heavie  wounded  harts  : 
Which,  after  charmes  and  some  enchauiuments  said. 
She  lightly  sprinkled  on  his  weaker  partes  : 
Therewith  his  sturdie  corage  soon  was  qnayd, 
And  all  his  sences  were  with  suddein  dread  dismayd. 


So  downe  he  fell  before  tlie  cruell  beast, 
\Vho  on  his  neck  his  bloody  clawes  did  sieze. 
That  life  nioh  crushc  out  of  his  panting  brest  : 
No  powre  he  had  to  stirre,  nor  will  to  rize. 
That  when  the  carefuil  knight  gan  well  avise, 
He  lightly  left  the  foe  with  whom  he  fought. 
And  to  the  beast  gan  turne  his  enterprise  ; 
For  wondrous  anguish  in  his  liart  it  wrought, 
To  see  his  loved  squyre  into  such  thraldom  brought ; 


And,  high  advauncing  his  blood-thirstie  blade. 
Stroke  one  of  those  deformed  heades  so  sore, 
I'htit  of  his  puissance  proud  ensample  made  ;  ^ 

I  lis  monstrous  scalpe  down  to  his  teeth  it  tore, 
\nd  that  misformed  sha|)e  misshaj)ed  more  : 
A  sea  of  blood  gusht  from  the  gaping  wownd. 
That  lier  gay  garments  staynd  with  filthy  gore. 
And  ovirflowed  all  the  field  arownd  ; 
That  over  shoes  in  blood  he  waded  on  the  grownd. 


4? 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  1. 


Thereat  he  rored  for  exceeding  paine, 
That,  to  have  heard,  great  horror  would  have  bred  ; 
And  scourging  th'  eniptie  avre  with  his  long  trayiie, 
Throug-I)  great  impatience  of  his  grieved  had, 
Ilis  gorgeous  ryder  from  lier  loftie  sted 
Would  have  cast  downe,  and  trodd  in  durty  myre, 
Had  not  the  gyaunt  soone  her  succoured  ; 
AVho,  al  enrag'd  with  smart  and  frantick  yre, 
Came   hurtling  in  full  fiers,  and   forst  the  knight 
retvre. 


The  force,  which  wont  in  two  to  be  disperst, 
In  one  alone  left  hand  he  now  unites,  [erst  ; 

Which  is  through  rage  more  strong  than  both  were 
With  which  his  hideous  club  aloft  he  dites, 
And  at  his  foe  with  furious  rigor  smites, 
That  strongest  oake  might  seeme  to  overthrow  : 
The  stroke  upon  his  shield  so  beavie  lites, 
That  to  the  ground  it  doubleth  him  full  low  : — 
^Vhat  mortall  wight  could  ever  beare  so  monstrous 
blow  ? 


And  in  his  fall  his  shield,  that  covered  was. 
Did  loose  his  vele  by  chaunce,  and  open  flew ; 
Tlie  liuht  whereof,  that  hevens  light  did  pas. 
Such  blazing  brightnesse  througli  the  aver  tlirew, 
That  eye  mote  not  the  same  endure  to  vew. 
Wliich  when  the  gyaunt  spyde  with  staring  eye, 
He  downe  let  fall  his  arme,  and  soft  withdrew 
His  weapon  huge,  that  heaved  was  on  bye 
For  to  have  slain  the  man,  that  on  the  ground  did 
lye. 

XX. 

And  eke  the  fruitfull-headed  beast,  amazd 
At  flashing  beanies  of  that  sunshiny  shield. 
Became  stark  blind,  and  all  his  sences  dazd, 
That  downe  he  tumbled  on  the  durtie  field, 
And  seemd  himselfe  as  conquered  to  yield. 
Whom  when  his  maistresse  proud  perceiv'd  to  fall, 
Whiles  yet  his  feeble  feet  for  fiiintnesse  reeld, 
L'nto  the  gyaunt  lowdly  she  gan  call  ; 
O  !  helpe,  Orgoglio  ;  helpe,  or  els  we  perish  all." 


At  her  so  pitteous  cry  was  much  amoov'd 
Her  champion  stout ;  and,  for  to  ayde  his  frend, 
Againe  his  wonted  angry  weapon  proov'd, 
But  all  in  vaine  :   for  lie  lias  redd  his  end 
In  that  bright  shield,  and  all  their  forces  spend 
Themselves  in  vaine  :  for,  since  tliat  glauncing  sight. 
He  hath  no  powre  to  hurt,  nor  to  defend. 
As  where  th'  Almighties  lightning  brond  does  light, 
It  dimnies  the  dazed  eyen,  and  daunts  the  sences 
quight. 

xxit. 
Whom  when  the  prince,  to  battoill  new  addrest 
And  tlireatning  high  liis  dreadfull  stroke,  did  see, 
His  Sjiarkling  blade  about  his  head  ho  blest. 
And  smote  off  quite  his  left  leg  by  the  knee, 
That  downe  he  tomb  led  ;  as  an  aged  tree, 
liii;])  growing  on  the  toj)  of  rocky  clift. 
Whose  hart-strings  with  keeno  Steele  nigh  hewen  be  ; 
Tiie  mightie  trunck  halfe  rent  wiih  ragged  rift 
Doth  roll  adowne  the  rocks,  and  fall  with  fearefull 
drift. 


Or  as  a  castle,  reared  high  and  rc<und. 
By  subtile  engins  and  ma'.itious  slight 
Is  undermined  from  the  lowest  ground. 
And  her  foundation  forst,  and  feebled  quight, 
A  t  last  downe  falles  ;  and  with  her  heaped  bight 
Her  hastie  mine  does  more  beavie  make, 
And  yields  it  selfe  unto  the  victours  might : 
Such  was  this  gyaunts  fall,  that  seemd  to  shake 
The  stedfast  globe  of  earth,  as  it  for  feare  did  quake. 


The  knight  then,  lightly  leaping  to  the  pray. 
With  mortall  Steele  him  smot  againe  so  sore, 
That  headlesse  his  unweldybodie  lay. 
All  wallowd  in  his  owne  fowle  bloody  gore. 
Which  flowed  from  his  wounds  in  wondrous  store. 
But,  soone  as  breath  out  of  his  brest  did  pas, 
That  huge  great  body,  which  the  gyaunt  bore, 
Was  vanisht  quite  ;  and  of  that  monstrous  mas 
Was  nothing  left,  but  like  an  emptie  blader  was. 


Whose  grievous  fall  when  false  Duessa  spyde. 

Her  golden  cup  she  cast  unto  tlie  ground. 

And  crowned  mitre  rudely  threw  asyde  : 

Such  percing  griefe  lier  stubborne  hart  did  wound, 

That  sbe  could  not  endure  that  doleful!  stound  ; 

But,  leaving  all  behind  her,  fled  away  : 

The  light-foot  squyer  her  quickly  turnd  around, 

And,  by  hard  meanes  enforcing  her  to  stay. 

So  brought  unto  his  lord,  as  his  deserved  pray. 


The  roiall  virgin  which  beheld  from  farre. 

In  pensive  plight  and  sad  peqilexitie. 

The  whole  atchievement  of  this  doubtfuU  warre. 

Came  running  fast  to  greet  his  victorie. 

With  sober  gladnesse  and  myld  modestie  ; 

And,  with  sweet  ioyous  cheare,  him  thus  bespake  : 

"  Kayre  braunch  of  noblesse,  flowre  of  chevalrie, 

That  with  your  worth  the  world  amazed  make, 

How  shall  I  quite  the  pajnes,  ye  sutler  for  my  sake  ' 


"  And  you,  fresh  budd  of  vertue  springing  fast, 
Whom  these  sad  eyes  saw  nigh  unto  Deaths  dore, 
What  hath  poore  virgin  for  sucli  perill  past 
Wherewith  you  to  reward  ?     Accept  therefore 
I\Iy  simple  selfe,  and  service  evermore. 
And  He  that  high  does  sit,  and  all  things  see 
^^'itll  equall  eye,  their  merites  to  restore. 
Behold  what  ye  tliis  day  have  done  for  raee  ; 
And,  what  I  cannot  quite,  requite  with  usuree  ! 


"  But  sith  the  heavens,  and  your  faire  liandfiling, 

Have  made  you  master  of  the  field  this  day  ; 

Your  fortune  maister  eke  with  governing. 

And,  well  begonne,  end  all  so  well,  I  pray  ! 

Ne  let  that  wicked  woman  scape  away  ; 

Forslie  it  is,  that  did  my  lord  bethrall, 

j\Iy  dearest  lord,  and  deepe  in  dongeon  lay  ; 

Where  he  his  better  dayes  hath  wasted  all : 

O  heare,  how  piteous  he  to  you  for  ayd  does  call !" 


Canto  YIIL] 


THE  FAERIF:  QIIEEXE. 


43 


Forthwith  he  gave  in  charge  unto  his  squyre, 
That  scarlet  whore  to  keepen  carefully  ; 
Whiles  lie  himselfe  with  greedie  great  desyre 
Into  the  castle  entred  forcibly, 
Where  living  creature  none  he  did  espj'e  : 
Then  gau  he  loudly  through  the  house  to  call  ; 
But  no  man  car'd  to  answere  to  his  crye  : 
There  raignd  a  solemne  silence  over  all  ; 
Nor  voice  was  heard  nor  wight  was  seene  in  bowre 
or  hall ! 

.XXX. 

At  last,  with  creeping  crooked  pace  forth  came 
An  old  old  man,  with  beard  as  white  as  snow ; 
That  on  a  staft'e  his  feeble  steps  did  frame, 
And  guvde  his  wearie  gate  both  too  and  fro  ; 
For  his  eye-sight  him  fayled  long  ygo  : 
And  on  his  arme  a  bounch  of  keyes  he  bore, 
The  which  unused  rust  did  overgrow  : 
Those  were  the  keyes  of  every  inner  dore  ; 
But  he  could  not  them  use,  but  kept  them  still  in 
store. 


But  very  uncouth  sight  was  to  behold, 
How  he  did  fashion  his  untoward  pace  ; 
For  as  he  forward  moov'd  his  footing  old. 
So  backward  still  was  tutnd  his  wrincled  face 
Unlike  to  men,  who  ever,  as  they  trace. 
Both  feet  and  face  one  way  are  wont  to  lead. 
This  was  the  auncient  keeper  of  that  place, 
And  footer  father  of  the  gyaunt  dead  ; 
His  name  Ignaro  tlid  his  nature  right  aread. 


There  all  within  full  rich  aravd  he  found, 

With  royall  arras,  and  resplendent  gold. 

And  did  witli  store  of  every  thing  abound. 

That  greatest  princes  presence  miglit  behold. 

lint  aU  tlie  floore  (too  filthy  to  be  tuld) 

With  blood  of  guiltlesse  babes,  and  innocents  trew 

^V!lich  there  were  slaine,  as  sheepe  out  of  the  fold, 

Defiled  was  ;  that  dre.idfuU  was  to  vew  ; 

And  sacred  ashes  over  it  was  strowed  new. 


And  there  beside  a  marble  stone  was  built 

An  altare,  carv'd  with  cunning  ymagerv  ; 

On  which  trew  Christians  biood  was  often  spilt. 

And  holy  martvres  often  doen  to  dve. 

With  cruell  malice  and  strong  tyranny  : 

Whose  blessed  sprites,  from  underneath  the  stone, 

To  God  for  vengeance  cryde  continually  ; 

And  with  great  griefe  were  often  heard  to  grono  ; 

That  hardest  heart  would  bleede  to  hear  their  piteou3 


Through  every  rowme  he  sought,  and  evcrie  bowr , 

But  no  where  could  he  find  that  woful  thrall. 

At  last  he  came  unto  an  yron  doore 

That  fast  was  lockt;  but  key  found  not  at  all 

Emongst  that  bounch  to  open  it  withall ; 

Jjut  in  tlie  same  a  little  grate  was  pight, 

Through  which  lie  sent  his  vovce,  and  lowd  did  call 

With  all  his  powre,  to  weet  if  living  wight 

Were  housed  therewithin,  whom  he  enlargen  might. 


His  reverend  heares  and  holy  gravitee 
The  kniuht  much  honord,  as  beseemed  well ; 
And  gently  askt,  where  all  the  people  bee, 
\\'hich  in  that  stately  building  wont  to  dwell : 
\\lio  answerd  him  full  soft,  He  could  not  tell. 
Again  he  askt,  where  that  same  knight  was  layd. 
Whom  great  Orgoglio  with  his  piiissaunce  fell 
Had  made  his  caytive  thrall :  againe  he  sayde. 
He  could  not  tell ;  ne  ever  other  answere  made. 


Then  asked  he,  which  way  he  in  might  pas : 
Ue  could  not  tell,  againe  he  answered. 
Thereat,  the  courteous  knight  displeased  was. 
And  said  ;  "  Old  sj-re,  it  seemes  thou  hast  not  red 
How  ill  it  sits  ^\-ith  that  same  silver  bed. 
In  vaine  to  mocke,  or  raockt  in  vaine  to  bee  : 
But  if  thou  be,  as  thou  art  pourtrahed 
With  Natures  pen,  in  ages  grave  degree, 
Aread  in  graver  wise  what  I  demaund  of  thee." 


His  answere  likewise  was.  He  could  iiot  tell. 
Whose  senceless  speach,  and  doted  ignorance, 
Whenas  the  noble  prince  had  marked  v.-ell. 
He  ghest  his  nature  by  his  countenance  ; 
Aud  calm'd  his  wrath  with  goodly  temperance. 
Then,  to  him  stepping,  from  his  arme  did  reache 
TTiose  keyes,  and  made  himselfe  free  enterance. 
Each  dore  he  opened  without  anv  breach  : 
There  was  no  barre  to  stop,  nor  foe  him  to  empeach. 


Therewith  an  hollow,  drearv,  murmuring  voyce 
These  pitteous  plaintes  and  dolours  did  resound  ; 
"  O  !   who  is  that,  which  brings  me  happv  choyce 
Of  ileatli,  that  here  Ive  dying  every  stound, 
Yet  live  perforce  in  balefull  darknesse  bound  ? 
For  now  three  moones  have  changed  thrice  their  hew, 
And  have  been  thrice  hid  underneath  the  ground, 
Since  I  the  heavens  chearefuU  face  did  vew  : 
O  welcome,  thou,  that  doest  of  death  bring  tydings 
trew  ! 


Wliichwhen  that  champion  heard,  with  percing  point 

Of  pittv  deare  his  hart  was  thrilled  sore  ; 

And  trembling  hoirour  ran  through  every  ionynt 

For  ruth  of  gentle  knight  so  fowle  forlore: 

Which  shaking  off,  he  rent  that  yron  dore 

With  furious  force  and  indignation  fell  ; 

Where  entred  in,  his  foot  could  find  no  flore. 

But  all  a  deepe  descent,  as  dark  as  hell. 

That  breathed  ever  forth  a  filthie  banetuU  smell. 


But  neither  darkenesse  fowle,  nor  hlthy  bands, 

Nor  noyous  smell,  his  purpose  could  withhold, 

(Entire  affection  hateth  nicer  hands,) 

But  that  with  constant  zele  and  corage  bold, 

After  long  paines  and  labors  manifold. 

He  found  the  meanes  that  prisoner  up  to  reare  ; 

Whose  feeble  thighes,  unable  to  uphold 

His  pined  corse,  him  scarse  to  liglit  could  beare  j 

A  ruefull  spectacle  of  death  aud  ghastly  drere. 


44 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I 


His  sad  dull  eies,  doepe  suiick  in  liollow  pits, 
Could  not  endure  th'  unwonted  sunne  to  view  ; 
His  biire  thin  clieelces  I'or  want  of  better  bits, 
And  empty  sides  deceived  of  tlieir  dew, 
Could  make  ii  stony  liart  his  hap  to  rew  ; 
His  rawb  me  arines,  wliose  mighty  brawned  bowrs 
Were  wont  to  rive  Steele  plates,  and  helmets  hew, 
Were  clene  consum'd  ;  and  all.  Iiis  vitall  powres 
Decayd  ;  and  al  his  flesh   shronk  up   like   withered 
flowres. 


VVhoine  when  his  lady  saw,  to  him  she  ran 
With  hasty  ioy  :   to  see  him  made  her  glad, 
A  iid  sad  to  view  his  visage  pale  and  wan  ; 
VVho  earst  in  ilowres  of  freshest  yonth  Was  clad. 
Tho,    when  her  well  of  teares  she  wasted  had, 
She  sad:  "  Ah,  dearest  lord  !  what  evil  starre 
Oi)  you  hath  frownd,  and  poured  his  influence  bad, 
That  of  your  selfe  ye  thus  berobbed  arre, 
Aud  tliis  misseeming  hew  your  manly  lookes  doth 
marre  ? 


"  But  welcome  now,  my  lord,  in  wele  or  woe  , 

Whose  presence  1  have  lackt  too  long  a  day  : 

And  fve  on  Fortune  mine  avowed  foe, 

Whose  wrathful  wreakes  themselves  doe  now  alay ; 

And  for  these  wronges  shall  treble  penaunce  pay 

Of  treble  good  :   good  growes  of  evils  priefe." 

The  chearlese  man,  whom  sorrow  did  dismay, 

Had  no  delight  to  treaten  of  his  griefe  ; 

His  lono-  endured  famine  needed  more  reliefe. 


"  Faire  lady,"  then  snid  that  victorious  knight, 
"  The  things,  that  grievous  were  to  doe,  or  bearc, 
Them  to  renew,  1  wote,  breeds  no  delight  ; 
Best  musicke  breeds  delight  in  Inathin^  eare  : 
But  th'  only  good,  that  grovves  of  passed  feare. 
Is  to  be  wise,  and  ware  of  like  agein. 
This  daies  eusample  hath  this  lesson  deare 
Deepe  written  in  my  heart  with  yron  pen. 
That  bUsse  may  not  abide  in  stateof  mortalL  men. 


"  Henceforth,  sir  knight,  take  to  you  wonted  strength, 
And  maister  these  mishaps  with  patient  might  : 
Loe,  where  your  foe  lies  stretcht  in  monstrous  length  ; 
And  lo,  that  wicked  woniiin  in  your  sight, 
The  roote  of  all  your  care  and  wretched  plight, 
Now  ill  your  powre,  to  let  her  live,  or  die." 
"To  doe' her  die,"  (pioth  Una,  "  were  despight. 
And  shame  t'avenge  so  weake  an  enimy  ; 
But  spoile  her  of  her  scarlet  robe^  and  let  I""-  fly." 


So,  as  she  bad,  that  witch  they  disaraid. 

And  ri>bd  of  roiall  robes,  and  purple  pall. 

And  ornaments  that  richly  were  displaid  ,• 

JVe  spared  thej'  to  strip  her  naked  all. 

Then,  when  they  had  despoyled  her  tire  and  call, 

Such,  as  she  was,  their  eies  might  her  behuld. 

That  her  misshaped  parts  did  them  appall ; 

A  loathv,  wriuckled  hag,  ill  f\ivoured,  old, 

Wliose  secret  filth  o-ood  manners  biddeth  not  be  told. 


Her  crafty  head  was  altogether  bald. 
And,  as  in  hate  of  lionorable  eld. 
Was  overgrowne  with  scurfe  and  filthy  scald  ; 
Her  teeth  out  of  her  rotten  guiumes  v*-ere  feld, 
And  her  sowre  breath  abhomiiiably  smeld  ; 
Her  dried  dugs,  lyke  bladders  lacking  wind, 
Hong  downe,  and  filthy  matter  from  them  weld  ; 
Her  wrizled  skin,  as  rough  as  maple  rind, 
So  scabby    was,  that  would  have  loathd  all  woman- 
kind. 


Her  neather  parts,  the  shame  of  all  her  kind, 

Rly  chaster  Muse  for  shame  doth  blush  to  write  : 

But  at  her  rompe  she  growing  had  behind 

A  foxes  taile,  with  dong  all  fowly  dight : 

And  eke  her  feete  most  monstrous  were  in  sight ; 

For  one  of  them  was  like  an  eagles  claw. 

With  griping  talaunts  arnid  to  greedy  fight ; 

The  other  like  a  beares  uneven  paw  : 

More  ugly  shape  yet  never  living  creature  saw. 


Which  when  the  knights  heheld,  amazd  they  were; 

And  wondred  at  so  fowle  deformed  wight. 

"  Such  then,"  said  Una,  "  as  she  seemeth  here. 

Such  is  the  face  of  Falsehood  ;  such  the  sight 

Of  fowle  Uuessa,  when  her  borrowed  light 

Is  laid  away,  and  counterfesaunce  knowne." 

Thus  when  they  had  the  witch  disrobed  quight. 

And  all  her  filthy  feature  open  showne. 

They  let  her  goe  at  will,  and  wander  waies  unknowne. 


Shee,  flying  fast  from  heavens  hated  face. 
And  from  the  world  that  her  discovered  wide. 
Fled  to  the  wastfuU  wikhrnesse  apace. 
From  living  eies  her  open  shame  to  hide  ; 
And  lurkt  in  rocks  and  caves,  long  unespide. 
But  tliat  faire  crew  of  knights,  and  Una  faire. 
Did  in  that  castle  afterwards  abide. 
To  rest  themselves,  and  weary  powres  repaire  ; 
Where  store  tbey  fownd  of  al,  that  dainty  was  and 
rare. 


Canto  IX. J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


CANTO  IX 

His  loves  and  licjnage  Arthure  tells  : 
The  knights  knitt  friendly  bands  : 

Sir  Trevisan  flies  from  Despeyre, 
Whom  Redcros  knisrht  withstands. 


45 


O  !  GOODLY  golden  chayne,  wherewith  yfere 
The  vertues  linked  are  in  loveh'  wize  ; 
And  noble  mindes  of  yore  allyed  were, 
In  brave  poursuitt  of  chevalrous  emprize, 
That  none  did  others  safety  despize, 
Nor  aid  envy  to  liim,  in  need  that  stands  ; 
But  friendly  each  did  otliers  praise  devize, 
How  to  advaunce  with  favourable  hands, 
As  this  good  prince  redeemd  the  Redcrosse  knight 
from  bands. 


Who  when  their   powres,  empa^Td   through   labor 
With  dew  repast  tliey  had  recured  well,  [long, 

And  that  weake  captive  wight  now  wexed  strong  ; 
Them  list  no  lenger  there  at  leasure  dwell. 
But  forward  fare,  as  their  adventures  fell : 
But,  ere  tliey  parted,  Una  faire  besought 
That  straunger  knight  his  name  and  nation  tell  ; 
Least  so  great  good,  as  he  for  her  had  wrought, 
Should  die  unknown,  and   buried   be  in    thankles 
thought. 


"  Faire  virgin,"  said  the  prince,  "  yee  me  require 

A  thing  without  the  compas  of  my  witt  : 

For  both  the  Ugnage,  and  the  certein  sire. 

From  which  I  sprong,  from  mee  are  hidden  yitt. 

For  all  so  soone  as  life  did  me  admitt 

Into  this  world,  and  shewed  hevens  light. 

From  mother's  pap  I  taken  was  iinfitt, 

And  streight  deliver'd  to  a  Fary  kniglit,  [might. 

To   be   upbrought   in   gentle   thewes   and   raartiall 


"  Unto  old  Timon  he  me  brought  by  live  ; 

Old  Timon,  who  in  youthly  yeares  hath  beene 

In  warlike  feates  th'  expertest  mnn  alive, 

And  is  the  wisest  now  on  earth  I  weene  : 

His  dwelhng  is,  low  in  a  valley  greene, 

Under  the  foot  of  I>auran  mossy  bore, 

From  wlience  the  river  Dee,  as  silver  cleene. 

His  tombling  billowes  rolls  with  gentle  rore  ; 

There  all  ray  daies  he  traind  me  up  in  vertuous  lore. 


"  Thether  the  great  magicien  Rlerlin  came, 

As  was  his  use.  ofttimes  to  visitt  mee  : 

For  he  had  charge  my  discipline  to  frame. 

And  tutors  nouriture  to  oversee. 

Him  oft  and  oft  I  askt  in  privity. 

Of  what  loines  and  what  lignage  I  did  sprinsr, 

Whose  aunswere  bad  me  still  assured  bee, 

That  I  was  sonneand  heireunto  a  king,         [hrincr." 

As  time  in  her  iust  terra  the  truth  to  light  should 


"  Well  worthy  impe,"  said  then  the  lady  gent, 
"  And  pupil  fitt  for  such  a  tutors  hand  ! 
But  what  adventure,  or  what  high  intent, 
Hath  brought  you  hether  into  Fary  land, 
Aread,  Prince  Arthure,  crowne  of  martiall  band  ?" 
"  Full  hard  it  is,"  quoth  he,  "  to  read  aright 
The  course  of  heavenly  cause,  or  understand 
Thi?  secret  meaning  of  th'  Eteruall  flight, 
That  rules  mens   %vaies,  and  rules  the  thoughts  of 
livin?  wisht. 


"  For  whether  He,  through  fatal  deepe  foresight, 
Me  hither  sent,  for  cause  to  me  unghest  ; 
Or  that  fresh  bleeding  wound,  which  day  and  night 
Whilome  doth  rancle  in  my  riven  brest. 
With  forced  fury  following  his  behest, 
We  hether  brought  by  wayes  yet  never  found  ; 
You  to  have  helpt  I  hold  myself  yet  blest."  [wound 
"Ah  !  courteous  knight,"  quoth  she,  "  what  secret 
Could    ever   find    to    grieve   the    gentlest   hart   on 
ground  ?" 


"  Deare  dame,"   quoth  he,  "  you   sleeping  sparkea 

awake. 
Which,  troubled  once,  into  Luge  flames  will  grow  ; 
Ne  ever  will  their  fervent  fury  slake, 
Till  living  moysture  into  smoke  do  flow. 
And  wasted  life  doe  lye  in  ashes  low. 
Yet  sithens  silence  lesseneth  not  my  fire, 
But,  told,  it  flames  ;  and,  hidden,  it  does  glow; 
I  will  revele  what  ye  so  much  desire  :         [respyre. 
Ah  !  Love,   lay  down  thy  bow,  the  whiles  I  may 


"  It  was  in  freshest  flowre  of  youthly  yeares, 

When  corage  first  does  creepe  in  manly  chest ; 

Then  first  that  cole  of  kindly  heat  appeares 

To  kindle  love  in  every  living  brest : 

But  me  had  warnd  old  Timons  wise  behest, 

Those  creeping  flames  by  reason  to  subdew. 

Before  their  rage  grew  to  so  great  unrest, 

As  miserable  lovers  use  to  rew,  [new. 

Which  still  wex  old  in  woe,  whiles  woe  still  weseth 


"  That  ydle  name  of  love,  and  lovers  life. 

As  losse  of  time,  and  vertues  enimy, 

I  ever  scorn'd,  and  ioyde  to  stirre  up  strife, 

In  middest  of  their  mournfuU  traged}'  ; 

Ay  wont  to  laugh,  when  them  I  heard  to  cry. 

And  blow  the  fire,  which  them  to  ashes  brent : 

Their  god  himselfe,  grievd  at  my  libertie, 

Shott  many  a  dart  at  me  with  fiers  intent ; 

But  I  them  warded  aU  with  wary  government. 


46 


THE  FAERIE  QUEKNE. 


[Book  I. 


"  But  all  in  vaine ;  no  fort  can  bt  so  strong, 
Ne  fleshly  brest  can  armed  be  so  sowiid, 
But  will  at  last  be  wonne  with  battrie  long, 
Or  unawares  at  disadvantage  fownd  : 
Nothing  is  sure  that  growes  on  earthly  gro\vnd. 
And  wiio  most  trustes  in  arme  of  fleshly  might. 
And  boastes  in  beauties  chaine  not  to  he  bownd, 
Doth  soonest  fall  in  disaventrous  fight, 
And    yeeldes  his    caytive    neck    to  victours    most 
despight. 

xir. 
"  Ensample  make  of  him  your  haplesse  ioy, 
And  of  my  selfe  now  mated,  as  ye  see  ; 
Whose  prouder  vaunt  that  prouil  avenging  boy 
Did  soone  pluck  downe,  and  curbd  my  libertee. 
For  on  a  day,  prickt  forth  with  ioUitee 
Of  looser  life  and  heat  of  hardiment, 
Raunging  the  forest  wide  on  courser  free, 
The  fields,  the  floods,  the  heavens,  with  one  consent, 
Did  seeme  to  laugh  on  me,  and  favour  mine  intent. 


"  Forwearied  with  my  sportes,  I  did  alight 
From  loftie  steed,  and  downe  to  sleepe  me  layd ; 
The  verdant  gras  my  couch  did  goodly  dight, 
And  pillow  was  my  helmett  fayre  displayd  : 
Whiles  every  sence  the  humour  sweet  embayd. 
And  slombring  soft  my  hart  did  steale  away, 
Me  seemed,  by  my  side  a  royall  mayd 
Her  daintie  limbes  full  softly  down  did  lay  : 
So  fayre  a  creature  yet  saw  never  sunny  day. 


"  Most  goodly  glee  and  lovely  blandishment 

She  to  me  made,  and  badd  me  love  her  deare  ; 

For  dearely  sure  her  love  was  to  me  bent. 

As,  when  iust  time  expired,  should  appeare. 

But,  whether  dreames  delude,  or  true  it  were. 

Was  never  hart  so  ravisht  with  delight, 

Ne  living  man  like  wordes  did  ever  heare. 

As  she  to  me  delivered  all  that  night ; 

And  at  her  parting  said,  she  Queene  of  Faries  hight. 


"  When  I  awoke,  and  found  her  place  devoyd. 
And  nought  hut  pressed  gras  where  she  had  lyen, 
I  sorrowed  all  so  mucli  as  earst  I  ioyd, 
And  washed  all  her  place  with  watry  eyen. 
From  that  day  forlh  1  lov'd  that  fsice  divyne; 
From  that  day  forth  I  cast  in  carefuU  mynd, 
To  seek  her  out  with  labor  and  long  tyne, 
And  never  vowd  to  rest  till  her  I  fynd  : 
Nyne  uionethes  I   seek  in  vain,  yet  ni'll  that  vow 
unbynd." 

XVI. 

Thus  as  he  spake,  liis  visage  wexed  pale. 
And  cliaunge  of  hew  great  passion  did  bewray; 
Yett  still  he  strove  to  cloke  his  inward  bale. 
And  hide  the  smoke  that  did  his  (Ire  display  ; 
Till  gentle  Una  thus  to  him  gan  say  ; 
"  O  happy  Queene  oi'  Fiiries,  tliat  hast  fownd, 
Mongst  many,  one  tliat  with  Jiis  prowesse  may 
Defend  thine  honour,  r.iul  ihy  foes  coufownd  ? 
True   loves   are   often   sovvi,  but   seldom  j;row   on 
grow-»d." 


"  Thine,  O !  then,"  said  the  gentle  Redcrosse  kuigbt, 

"  Next  to  that  ladies  love,  shall  be  the  place, 

O  fayrest  virgin,  full  of  heavenly  light, 

Whose  wondrous  faith  exceeding  earthly  race. 

Was  firmest  fixt  in  myne  extremest  case. 

And  you,  my  lord,  the  patrone  of  my  life, 

Of  that  great  queene  may  well  gaine  worthie  grace 

For  onlie  worthie  you  through  prowes  priefe, 

Yf  living  man  mote  worthie  be,  to  be  her  liefe." 


So  diversly  discoursing  of  their  loves. 

The  golden  sunne  his  glistring  head  gan  shew. 

And  sad  remembraunce  now  the  prince  amoves 

With  fresh  de>ire  his  voyage  to  pursew  : 

Als  Una  earnd  her  traveill  to  renew. 

Then  those  two  knights,  fast  friendship  for  to  bynd 

And  love  establish  each  to  other  trew, 

Gave  goodly  gifts,  the  signes  of  gratefuU  mynd. 

And  eke,  as  pledges  firme,  right  hands  together  ioynd. 


Prince  Arthur  gave  a  boxe  of  diamond  sure, 
Embowd  with  gold  and  gorgeous  ornament. 
Wherein  were  closd  few  drops  of  liquor  pure. 
Of  wondrous  worth,  and  vertue  excellent, 
That  any  wownd  could  heale  incontinent. 
WHiich  to  requite,  the  Redcrosse  knight  him  gave 
A  booke,  wherein  his  Saveours  Testament 
Was  writt  with  golden  letters  rich  and  brave  ; 
A  worke  of  wondrous  grace,  and   hable   &oules  to 
save. 


Thus  beene  they  parted  ;  Arthur  on  his  way 
To  seeke  his  love,  and  th'  other  for  to  fight 
With  Unaes  foe,  that  all  her  realme  did  pray. 
But  she,  now  weighing  the  decayed  plight 
And  shrunken  synewes  of  her  chosen  knight. 
Would  not  a  while  her  forward  course  pursew, 
Ne  bring  him  forth  ni  face  of  dreadfuU  fight, 
Till  he  recovered  had  his  former  hew: 
For  him  to  be  yet  weake  and  wearie  well  she  knew 


So  as  they  traveild,  lo  !  they  gan  espy 
An  armed  knight  towards  them  gallop  fast, 
That  seemed  from  some  feared  foe  to  fly. 
Or  other  griesly  tiling,  that  him  aghast. 
Still,  as  he  fiedd,  his  eye  was  backward  cast, 
As  if  his  fearo  still  followed  him  behynd  : 
Als  flew  his  steed,  as  he  his  bandes  "had  brast, 
And  with  his  winged  heeles  did  tread  the  wynd. 
As  he  had  been  a  fole  of  Pegasus  his  kynd. 


Nigh  as  he  drew,  he  might  perceive  his  head 
To  be  unarmd,  and  curld  uncombed  heares 
Upstaring  stifle,  dismaid  with  uncouth  dread  : 
Nor  drop  of  blood  in  all  his  face  appeares, 
Nor  life  in  linibe  ;  and  lo  increase  his  feares. 
In  fowle  reproach  of  kiiighthoodes  fayre  degree, 
About  his  neck  an  hempen  rope  he  weares, 
That  with  his  glistring  amies  does  ill  agree  : 
But  Jie  of  rope,  or  armes,  has  now  no  memoree. 


Canto  IX.] 


THE  FAEKIE  QUEENE. 


47 


Tne  Redcrosse  knight  toward  him  crossed  fast, 
To  weet  what  mister  wight  was  so  dismayd  : 
Tliere  him  he  (indes  all  senceless  and  aghast, 
That  of  himselfe  he  seemd  to  be  afrayd  ; 
Whom  hardly  he  from  flying  forward  stayd. 
Till  he  these  wordes  to  him  deliver  might ; 
"  Sir  knight,  aread  who  hath  ye  thus  arayd. 
And  eke  from  whom  make  ye  this  hasty  flight? 
For  never  knight  I  saw  in  such  misseeming  plight. 


He  answerd  nought  at  all  ;  but  adding  new 
Fear  to  his  first  amazment,  staring  wyde 
With  stony  eyes  and  hartlesse  hollow  hew, 
Astonisht  stood  as  one  that  had  aspyde 
lufernall  Furies  with  their  chaines  untyde. 
Him  yett  againe,  and  >ett  againe,  bespake 
nie  gentle  knight:  who  nought  to  him  replyde  ; 
But  trembling  every  ioint  did  inly  quake, 
And  i'oltring  tongue  at  last  these  words  seemd  forth 
to  shake  J 


"  For  Gods  deare  love,  sir  knight  doe  me  not  stay  j 
For  loe  !  he  conies,  he  comes  fast  after  mee  ! 
Eft  looking  bac  k  would  faine  have  runne  away  : 
But  lie  him  forst  to  stay,  and  tellen  free 
The  secrete  cause  of  his  perplexitie  : 
Yet  nathemore  by  liis  bold  hartie  speach 
Could  his  blood-Crosen  heart  eniboldned  bee. 
But  through  his  boldnes  rather  feare  did  reach  ; 
Yett,  forst,  at  last  he  made  through  silence  suddein 
breach  : 


"  And  am  I  now  in  safetie  sure,"  quoth  he, 

"  From  him,  that  would  have  forced  me  to  dye  1 

And  is  the  point  of  death  now  turnd  fro  mee, 

That  I  may  tell  this  haplesse  history  V 

"  Fear  nought,"  quoth  he,  "  no  daunger  now  is  nye,' 

"  Then  shall  I  you  recount  a  ruefull  cace," 

Said  he,  "  the  which  with  this  unlucky  eye 

I  late  beheld  ;  and,  had  not  greater  grace 

Me  reit  from  it,  had  bene  partaker  of  the  place. 


"  I  lately  chaunst  (would  I  had  never  chaunst !) 
With  a  fayre  knight  to  keepen  companee. 
Sir  Terwin  hight,  that  well  himselfe  advaunst 
In  all  aft'ayres,  and  was  both  bold  and  free  ; 
But  not  so  happy  as  mote  happy  bee  : 
lie  lov'd,  as  was  liis  lot,  a  lady  gent. 
That  him  againe  lov'd  in  the  least  degree  ; 
For  she  was  j>rou(l,'anil  of  too  high  intent, 
And  iovd  to  see  her  lover  languish  and  lament : 


"  From  whom  retourning  sad  and  comfortlesse, 
As  on  the  way  together  we  did  fare. 
We  met  that  villen,  (God  from  him  me  blesse  !) 
1  hat  cursed  wight,  from  whom  I  scapt  whyleare, 
A  man  of  hell,  that  calls  himselfe  Dapai/re  ; 
\Vl,o  tirst  us  greets,  and  after  fayre  areedes 
Of  tydinges  straunge,  and  of  a-dventures  rare  : 
So  creeping  close,  as  snake  in  hidden  weedes, 
laquireth  of  our  states,  and  of  our  knightly  deedes. 


"  Which  when  he  knew,  and  felt  our  feeble  harts 
Embost  with  bale,  and  bitter  byting  griefe, 
Which  Love  had  launched  with  his  deadly  darts  ; 
With  wounding  words,  and  termes  of  foiile  repriefe, 
He  pluckt  from  us  all  hope  of  dew  reliefe, 
That  erst  us  held  in  love  of  lingring  life  : 
Then  hopelesse,  hartlesse,  gan  the  cunning  thiefe 
Perswade  us  dye,  to  stint  all  further  strife  ; 
To  me  he  lent  this  rope,  to  him  a  rusty  knife : 


"  W^ith  which  sad  instrument  of  hasty  death, 

That  wofuU  lover  loathing  lenger  light, 

A  wyde  way  made  to  let  forth  living  breath. 

But  I,  more  fearfull  or  more  lucky  wight, 

Dismayd  with  that  deformed  dismall  sight, 

Fledd  faste  away,  half  dead  with  dying  feare  ; 

Ne  yet  assur'd  of  life  by  you,  sir  knight, 

W'hose  like  infirmity  like  clKuince  may  beare  : 

But  God  you  never  let  his  cl.>anned  speaches  heare  !" 


"  How  may  a  man,"  said  he,  "  with  idle  speach 
Be  wonne  to  spoyle  the  castle  of  his  health  ?" 
"  I  wote,"  (]U()th  he,  '•  whom  triall  late  did  teach. 
That  like  would  not  for  all  this  worldiis  wealth. 
His  subtile  tong,  like  dropping  honny,  meaj*'h 
Into  the  heart,  and  searcheth  every  vaine  ; 
That,  ere  one  be  aware,  by  secret  stealth 
His  powre  is  reft  and  weaknes  doth  remaine. 
O  never,  sir,  desire  to  try  his  guilefull  traine  !" 


"  Certes,'  sayd  he,  "  hence  shall  I  never  rest, 

Till  I  that  treachours  art  have  heard  and  tryde  : 

And  you,  sir  knight,  whose  name  mote  I  request. 

Of  grace  do  me  unto  his  cabin  guyde." 

"  I,  that  hight  Trevisan,"  quoth  he  "  will  ryde, 

Against  my  liking,  backe  to  doe  you  grace  : 

But  not  for  gold  nor  glee  will  I  abvde 

By  you,  when  ye  airive  in  that  same  place  ; 

For  lever  had  I  die  then  see  his  deadly  face." 


Ere  long  they  come,  where  that  same  wicked  wight 
His  dwelling  has,  low  in  an  hollow  cave. 
Far  underneath  a  craggy  cliff  vpight, 
Darke,  dolefuU,  dreary,  like  a  greedy  grave. 
That  still  foi  carrion  carcases  doth  crave  : 
On  top  whereof  ay  dwelt  the  ghastly  owlc, 
Shriekir.g  his  balefull  note,  which  ever  drave 
Far  from  that  haunt  all  other  chearefull  fbwle  ; 
And  all  about  it  wandring   gliostes  did  -s^ayla 
howle  : 


And  all  about  old  stockes  and  stubs  of  trees. 
Whereon  nor  fruit  nor  leafe  was  ever  seen, 
Did  hang  upon  the  rai;ged  rocky  knees  ; 
On  which  had  many  wretches  hanged  beene. 
Whose  carcases  were  scattred  on  the  greene. 
And  throwne  about  the  cliffs.     Arrived  there. 
That  bare-head  knight,  for  dread  and  dolel'uli  teene, 
Would  faine  have  fled,  ne  durst  aprochen  neare; 
But  th'  other  forst  him  stay e,  and  comforted  in  feare 


48 


E  faekip:  queene. 


[Boor  L 


That  darksome  cave  they  enter  where  tlie}-  find 

'J'hat  ciirsed  man,  low  sitting  on  tlie  ground, 

Musing  full  sadly  in  his  sullein  mind  : 

His  griesie  lockes,  long  growen  and  unbound 

Disordred  hong  about  his  shoulders  round. 

And  hi'l  his  face  ;  throui;h  which  his  hollow  eyne 

Looki  deadly  dull,  and  stared  as  astound  ; 

His  raw-bone  cheekes, through  penurie  and  pine, 

Were  shrouke  into  his  iawes,  as  he  hid  never  dine. 


His  gannent,  nought  but  many  ragged  clouts, 

^Vith  thonies  together  pind  and  patched  was, 

The  which  his  naked  sides  he  wrapt  abouts  ; 

And  him  beside  there  lav  upon  tlie  gras 

A  drenrv  corse  whose  life  away  did  pas, 

All  wallowed  in  his  own  yet  luke-warme  blood, 

That  from  his  wound  yet  welled  fresh,  alas  ! 

In  which  a  rust)'  knife  fast  fixed  stood, 

And  made  an  open  passage  for  the  gushing  flood. 


AVhich  piteous  spectacle,  approving  trew 
The  wofull  tale  that  Trevisan  had  told, 
Wlienas  the  gentle  Redcrosse  knight  did  vew  ; 
AVith  fierie  zeale  he  burnt  in  courage  bold 
Him  to  avenge,  before  his  blood  v.-ere  cold  ; 
And  to  the  villein  sayd  ;  ''  Thou  damned  wight. 
The  authour  of  this  fact  we  here  behold, 
\\  hat  iustice  can  but  iudge  against  thee  right, 
U'ith  thine  owne  blood  to  price  his  blood,  here  sLed 
in  sight  1" 


The  knight  much  wondred  at  his  suddeine  wit, 

And  sayd  ;  "  1  he  temie  of  life  is  limited, 

Ne  may  a  man  prolong,  nor  shorten,  it : 

I'he  souldier  mav  not  move  from  watchfull  sted. 

Nor  leave  his  stand  untill  liis  captaine  bed." 

"  \\'lio  life  did  limit  by  Ahnightie  doome." 

Quoth  he,  "  knowes  best  the  termes  established  ; 

And  he,  that  points  the  centonell  his  roome. 

Doth  license  him  depart  at  sound  of  morning  droome. 


"  Is  not  His  deed,  what  ever  thing  is  donne 
In  heaven  and  eartli  ?     Did  not  He  all  create 
To  die  againe  ?     All  ends,  that  was  begonne  : 
Their  times  in  His  eteraall  booke  of  fate 
Are  written  sure,  and  have  their  certein  date. 
Who  then  can  strive  with  strong  necessitie, 
That  holds  the  world  in  his  still  chaunging  state  ; 
Or  slmnne  the  death  ordayiul  b}-  destinie '! 
When  houre  of  death  is  come,  let  none  aske  whence, 
nor  why. 

XLIII. 

"  The  lenger  life,  I  wote  the  greater  sin  ; 

The  greater  sin,  the  greater  punishment : 

All  those  great  battels,  which  thou  boasts  to  win 

Through  strife,  and  blood-shed,  and  avengement, 

Now  pravs>i,  hereafter  deare  thou  shalt  repeat: 

For  life  must  life,  and  blood  must  blood,  repay. 

Is  not  enough  thv  evill  life  forespent? 

For  he  that  once  hatli  missed  the  right  way, 

The  further  he  doth  goe,  the  further  he  doth  stray. 


"  What  franticke  fit,"quothhe,  "hath  thus  distraught 
Thee,  foolish  man,  so  rash  a  doome  to  give  ? 
^^'hat  iustice  ever  other  iudgement  taught, 
liut  he  should  dye,  who  merices  riot  to  live  ? 
None  els  to  death  this  man  despayring  drive 
But  his  owne  guiltie  mind,  deserving  death. 
Is  then  uniust  to  each  his  dew  to  give? 
Or  let  him  dye,  that  loatheth  living  breath? 
Or  let  him  die  at  ease,  that  liveth  here  uneath  ? 


"  Who  travailes  by  the  wearie  wandring  way, 

To  come  unto  his  wished  home  in  haste. 

And  meetes  a  flood,  that  dotli  his  passage  stay ; 

Is  not  great  grace  to  helpe  him  over  past, 

Or  free  his  feet  that  in  the  myre  sticke  fast? 

INIost  envious  man,  that  grieves  at  neighbours  good  ; 

And  fond,  that  ioyest  in  the  woe  thou  hast  ; 

Why  wilt  not  let  him  passe,  that  long  hath  stood 

Upon  the  bancke,  yet  wilt  thy  selfe  not  pas  the  flood  ? 


''  He  there  does  now  enioy  eternal!  rest 

A  nd  happy  ease,  which  thou  dost  want  and  crave, 

And  further  from  it  daily  wanderest  ; 

What  if  some  little  paynfe  the  passage  have, 

That  makes  frayle  flesh  lo  feare  the  bitter  wave  ; 

Is  not  .short  jiayne   well   borne,  that  bringes   long 

And  layes  the  soule  to  sleepe  in  quiet  grave  ?   [ease, 

Sleepe  after  toyle,  port  after  stormie  seas. 

Ease  after  warre,  death  after  life,  does  greatly  please." 


"  Then  doe  no  further  goe,  no  further  stray  j 

Hut  here  ly  dowr.e,  and  to  thy  rest  betake, 

Th'  ill  to  prevent,  that  life  ensewen  may. 

For  what  hath  life,  that  may  it  loved  make, 

And  gives  not  rather  cause  it  to  forsake  ? 

Feare,  sicknesse,  age,  losse,  labour,  sorrow,  strife, 

Payne,  hunger,  cold  tliat  makes  the  heart  to  quake, 

And  ever  fickle  fortune  rageth  rife;  [life. 

All  which,  and  thousands  mo,  do  make  a  loathsome 


"  Thou,  wretched  man,  of  death  hast  greatest  need, 
If  in  true  balhmnce  thou  wilt  weigh  thy  state; 
For  never  knight,  tliat  dared  warlike  deed, 
I\Ioi-e  luckless  disadventures  did  amate  : 
Witnes  the  dungeon  deepe,  wherein  of  late 
Thv  life  shutt  up  for  death  so  oft  did  call  ; 
And  though  good  Incke  jindonged  hath  thy  date, 
Yet   death  then  would  the  like  mishap  forestall, 
Into  the  which  hereafter  thou  maist  liappen  fall. 


"  Why  then  doest  thou,  O  man  of  sin,  desire 

To  draw  thv  dayes  forth  to  their  last  degree? 

Is  not  the  measure  of  liiy  .-infull  hire 

High  heaped  up  with  huge  iiiiquitee. 

Against  the  day  of  wrath,  to  burden  thee  ? 

Is  not  enough,  that  to  his  lady  mild 

Thou  falsed  hast  thy  faith  with  jieriuree, 

And  sold  thyselfe  to  serve  Duessa  vild.. 

With  whom  in  all  abuse  thou  hast  thyselfe  defild  ! 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


49 


'  Is  not  he  i?ist,  that  all  this  doth  hehold 
From  higliest  he\^en,  and  beares  an  equall  eie  ? 
Shall  he  tliv  sins  up  in  his  knowledge  fold, 
Aui  guilty  be  of  thine  impietie  ? 
Is  not  his  law.  Let  every  sinner  die, 
Die  shall  all  flesh  ?  What  then  must  needs  be  donne, 
Is  it  not  better  to  doe  willinglie. 
Then  linger  till  the  glas  be  all  out  ronne  ? 
Death   is  the  end  of  woes  :   Die  sooue,   O   Faries 
Sonne." 


The  knight  was  much  enmoi^ed  with  his  speach, 
That  as  a  swords  poynt  through  his  hart  did  perse, 
And  in  his  conscience  made  a  secrete  breach. 
Well  knowing  trew  all  that  he  did  reherse, 
And  to  his  fresh  remembraunce  did  reverse 
The  ugly  vew  of  his  deformed  crimes  ; 
That  all  his  manly  powres  it  did  disperse, 
As  he  were  charmed  with  inchaunted  rimes  ; 
That  oftentimes  he  quakt,  and  famted  oftentimes. 


In  which  amazement  when  the  miscreaunt 
Perceived  him  to  waver  weake  and  fraile, 
W^hiles  trembling  horror  did  his  conscience  daunt, 
And  liellish  anguish  did  his  soule  assaile  ; 
To  drive  him  to  despaire,  and  quite  to  quaile, 
Hee  shewd  him  painted  in  a  table  plaine 
The  damned  ghosts,  that  doe  in  torments  waile. 
And  thousand  feends,  that  doe  them  eiidlesse  patne 
W'ith    fire    and    b   mstoue,    which   for   ever    shall 
remaine. 


The  sight  whereof  so  throughly  him  dismaid. 
That  nought  but  death  before  his  eies  he  saw, 
And  ever  burning  wrath  before  him  laid, 
By  righteous  sentence  of  th'  Almighties  law. 
Then  gan  the  villein  him  to  overcraw. 
And  brought  unto  him  swords,  ropes,  poison,  fire. 
And  all  that  might  him  to  perdition  draw  ; 
And  bad  him  choose,  what  death  he  would  desire  : 
For  death  was  dew  to  him,  that  had  provokt  Gods 
ire. 


But,  whenas  none  of  them  he  saw  him  take. 
He  to  him  raught  a  dagger  sharpe  and  keene. 
And  gave  it  him  in  hand  :  his  hand  did  quake 
And  tremble  like  a  leafe  of  aspin  greene, 
/And  troubled  blood  through  his  pale  face  was  seene 
jTo  come  and  goe,  with  tidings  from  the  heart, 
■As  it  a  ronning  messenger  had  heene. 
At  last  resolv'd  to  work  his  finall  smart, 
He  lifted  up  his  hand,  that  bucke  againe  did  start. 


Which  whenas  Una  saw,  through  every  vaine 

The  crudled  cold  ran  to  her  well  of  life. 

As  in  a  swowne  :   but,  sooue  reliev'd  againe. 

Out  of  his  hand  she  snatcht  tlie  cursed  knife, 

And  threw  it  to  the  grownd,  enraged  rife. 

And  to  him  said  ;  "  Fie,  fie,  faint-hearted  knight, 

What  meanest  thou  by  tbis  reprochfull  strife. 

Is  this  the  battaile,  which  thou  vauntst  to  tight 

AVith  that  fire-mouthed  dragon,  horrible  and  bright? 


"  Come  ;  come  away,  fraile,  feeble,  fleshly  wight, 

Ne  let  vaine  words  bewitch  thy  manly  hart, 

Ne  divelish  thoughts  dismay  thy  constant  spright : 

In  heavenly  mercies  hast  thou  not  a  part  ? 

Why  shouldst  thou  then  despeire,  that  chosen  art  ? 

AVhere  iustice  growes,  there  grows  eke  greater  grace. 

The  which  doth  quench  the  brond  of  hellish  smart. 

And  that  accurst  hand-writing  doth  deface  : 

Arise,  sir  knight ;  arise,  and  leave  this  cursed  place.' 


So  up  he  rose,  and  thence  amounted  streight. 
Which  when  the  carle  beheld,  and  saw  his  guest 
Would  safe  depart,  for  all  his  subtile  sleight ; 
He  chose  an  halter  from  among  the  rest. 
And  with  it  hong  himselfe,  unbid,  unblest. 
But  death  he  could  not  worke  himselfe  thereby  j, 
For  thousand  times  lie  so  himselfe  had  drest. 
Yet  natheless  it  could  not  doe  him  die. 
Till  he  should  die  his  last,  that  is,  eternally. 


CANTO  X. 

Her  faithfull  knight  faire  Una  brings 

To  house  of  Holinesse  : 
Where  he  is  taught  repentaunce,  and 

The  way  to  hevenly  blesse. 


What  man  is  he,  that  boasts  of  fleshly  might 

And  Faine  assurance  of  mortality. 

Which,  all  so  soone  as  it  doth  come  to  fight 

Against  spirituall  foes,  yields  by  and  by, 

Or  from  the  fielde  most  cowardly  doth  fly! 

Ne  let  the  man  ascribe  it  to  his  skill. 

That  thorough  grace  hath  gained  factory : 

If  anv  strength  we  have,  it  is  to  ill  ; 

But  all  the  good  is  Gods,  both  power  and  eke  will. 


By  that  which  lately  hapned,  Una  saw- 
That  this  her  knight  was  feeble,  and  too  faint  j 
And  all  his  sinewes  woxen  weake  and  raw. 
Through  long  enprisonment,  and  hard  constniint, 
Which  he  endured  in  his  late  restraint. 
That  yet  he  was  unfitt  for  bloody  fight. 
Therefore  to  cherish  him  with  diets  daint. 
She  cast  to  bring  him,  where  he  chearen  might. 
Till  he  recovered  had  his  late  decayed  plight. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


['Book  1 


There  was  an  auncient.  house  not  far  away, 

Renowmd  throughout  the  world  for  sacred  lore 

And  pure  unspotted  life  :   so  well,  they  say, 

It  i;overnd  was,  and  guided  evermore, 

Tliroui;li  wisedome  of  a  matrone  o;-rave  and  bore  ; 

Wliose  onely  icy  was  to  relieve  the  needes 

Of  wretched  soules,  and  helpe  the  helpelesse  pore  : 

All  nisrht  she  spent  in  biddins^  of  her  bedes, 

Aud  all  the  day  in  doing  good  and  godly  deedes. 


Dame  Ca?lia  men  did  her  call,  as  thought 

From  heaven  to  come,  or  thetber  to  arise  ; 

The  mother  of  three  daughters  well  upbrought 

In  goodly  thewes,  and  godly  exercise  : 

The  eldest  two,  most  sober,  chast,  and  wise, 

Fidelia  and  Speranza,  virgins  were  ; 

Though  spousd,  3-et  wanting  wedlocks  solemnize ; 

But  faire  Charissa  to  a  lovely  fere 

Was  liucked,  and  by  Jiim  had  many  pledges  dere. 


Arrived  there,  the  dore  they  find  fast  lockt ; 
For  it  was  warely  watched  night  and  dav. 
For  feare  of  manv  foes  ;  but,  when  they  knockt, 
The  porter  opened  unto  them  streight  way. 
He  was  an  aged  syre,  all  hory  gray, 
With  lookes  full  lowly  cast,  and  gate  full  slow, 
Wnnt  on  a  staffe  bis  feeble  steps  to  stay, 
Higbt  Humilta.     They  passe  in,  stouping  low  ; 
Fo:   streight  and  narrow  was  the  way  which  be  did 
show. 


Each  goodly  thing  is  hardest  to  begin  ; 

But,  entred  in,  a  spatious  court  they  see, 

Botli  phiine  and  pleasaunt  to  be  walked  in  ; 

Where  them  does  meete  a  franckliu  faire  and  free. 

And  entertaines  with  comely  courteous  glee  ; 

His  name  was  Zele,  that  liim  right  well  became : 

For  in  bis  speacbes  and  behaveour  bee 

Did  labour  lively  to  expresse  the  same. 

And  gladly  did  them  guide,  till  to  the  hall  they  came. 


There  fayrely  them  receives  a  gentle  squyre. 
Of  mild  demeaiiure  and  rare  courtesee. 
Right  flpaniv  clad  in  comely  sad  attyre  ; 
In  word  and  deede  that  sbewd  great  modeslee, 
And  knew  his  good  to  all  of  each  degree  ; 
night  Reverence:   be  them  with  speacbes  meet 
Does  faire  entreat  ;  no  courting  nicetee, 
jijiut  simple,  trew,  and  eke  unfained  sweet. 
As  might  become  a  squyre  so  great  persons  to  greet. 


And  afterwardes  them  fo  bis  daiue  be  leades, 

'I'liat  i}<xe(\  dame,  the  l:ulv  of  the  place, 

W'h  I  all  this  while  was  ))us\'  at  her  beades  ; 

Wbirb  doen,  slie  up  arose  with  seemely  grace, 

Atid  toward  them  full  matronely  did  pace. 

Where,  when  that  fairest  Una  she  beheld. 

Whom  well  she  knew  to  spring  from  lievenly  race. 

Her  heart  with  ioy  unwonted  inlv  sweld, 

As  feeling  ivondrous  comfort  ir>  her  weaker  eld  ; 


And,  her  embracing,  said  ;  "  O  happy  earth, 
W^hereon  thy  innocent  feet  doe  ever  tread  ! 
JMost  veituous  virgin,  borne  of  hevenly  berth. 
That,  to  redeerae  thy  woefull  parents  head 
From  t\rans  rage  and  ever-dying  dread. 
Hast  wandred  through  the  world  now  long  a  dav, 
Yett  ceassest  not  thy  weary  soles  to  lead  ; 
What  grace  bath  thee  now  hether  brought  this  wa , 
Or  doen  thy  feeble  feet  unweeting  hether  stray  1 


"  Straunge  thing  it  is  an  errant  knight  to  see 

Here  in  this  place  ;  or  any  other  wight, 

That  hether  turnes  his  steps  :   so  few  there  bee. 

That  chose  the  narrow  path,  or  seeke  the  right  ! 

All  keepe  the  broad  high  way,  and  take  delight 

With  many  rather  for  to  goe  astray. 

And  be  partakers  of  their  evill  plight, 

Then  with  a  few  to  walke  the  rightest  way  : 

O  !  foolish  men,  why  hast  ye  to  your  own  decay '(' 


'  Thy  selfe  to  see,  and  tyred  limbes  to  rest. 
O  matrone  sage,"  quoth  she,  "  1  hether  came  ; 
And  this  good  knight  his  way  with  me  addrest, 
Ledd  with  ti)y  prayses,  and  broad-blazed  fame, 
That  up  to  heven  is  blowne."     The  auncient  dame 
Him  goodlv  greeted  in  her  modest  guyse. 
And  eiiferteynd  them  both,  as  best  became. 
With  all  the  court'sies  that  she  could  devyse, 
Ne  wanted  ought  to  shew  her  bounteous  or  wise. 


Thus  as  they  gan  of  sondrie  thinges  devise, 

Loe  !  two  most  goodlv  virgins  came  in  place, 

Ylinked  arme  in  arn)e  in  lovelv  wise  ; 

With  countenance  demure,  and  modest  grace. 

They  numbred  even  stej)s  and  equall  pace  : 

Of  which  the  eldest,  that  Fidelia  hit;bt. 

Like  sunnv  beames  threw  from  her  christall  face 

That  could  have  dazd  the  rash  beholders  sight. 

And  round  about  her  head  did  shine  like  hevens  lierht. 


She  was  araied  all  in  lillv  white. 
And  in  her  right  hand  bore  a  cup  of  gold, 
With  wine  and  water  fihl  uj)  to  the  liight, 
In  which  a  serpent  did  bimselfe  enfold. 
That  horrour  made  to  all  that  did  behold  ; 
But  she  no  wbitt  did  ch::unge  her  constant  mood  • 
And  in  her  other  hand  she  fast  did  hold 
A  booke,  that  was  both  signd  and  seald  with  blood  ; 
Wherein  darke  things  were  writt.  hard  to  be  under- 
stood. 


Her  younger  sister,  that  Speranza  bight. 

Was  clad  in  blew,  that  her  beseemed  well  ; 

Not  all  so  cbearefull  seemed  she  of  sight. 

As  was  her  sister  ;  whether  dread  did  dwell 

Or  anguish  in  her  hart,  is  hard  to  tell : 

Upon  her  arme  a  silver  anchor  lay, 

Whereon  she  leaned  ever,  as  befell; 

And  ever  up  to  heven,  as  she  did  pray. 

Her  stedfast  eyes  were  bent,  ne  swarved  other  way. 


Cavto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


Thev,  seeing  Una,  towardes  her  gan  wend, 
Who  them  encounters  with  like  courlesee  ; 
IVlanv  kind  speeches  they  betweene  them  spend, 
And  greatly  iov  each  other  for  to  see  : 
Then  to  tlie  knight  wiih  shamefast  modestie 
'J'hey  turne  themselves,  at  Unaes  raeeke  request, 
And  him  salute  with  well  beseeming  glee  ; 
Who  faire  them  quites,  as  him  beseemed  best, 
And  goodly  gan  discourse  of  many  a  noble  gest. 


'llien  Una  thus  ;  "  But  she,  your  sister  deare, 

The  deare  Charissa,  where  is  she  become  ? 

Or  wants  she  health,  or  busie  is  elswhere?" 

"  Ah  !  no,"  said  they,  "  but  forth  she  may  not  come  ; 

For  she  of  late  is  lightned  of  her  wombe. 

And  hath  encreast  the  world  with  one  sonne  more, 

That  her  to  see  should  be  but  troublesome." 

"  Indeed,"  quoth  she,  "  that  should  her  trouble  sore  ; 

But  tliankt  be  God,  and  her  encrease  so  evermore  !" 


Then  said  the  aged  Cslia  :  "  Deare  dame, 
And  you,  good  sir,  I  wote  that  of  youre  toyle 
And  labors  long,  through  which  ye  hether  came, 
Ve  both  forwearied  be  :  therefore  a  whyle 
I  read  you  rest,  and  to  your  bowres  recoyle," 
Then  called  she  a  groonie,  that  forth  him  ledd 
Into  a  goodly  lodge,  and  gan  despoile 
Of  puissant  armes,  and  laid  in  easie  bedd  : 
His  name  was  meeke  Obedience  rightfully  aredd. 


Now  when  their  wearie  limbes  with  kindly  rest, 
And  bodies  were  refresht  with  dew  repast, 
Fa\re  Una  gan  Fidelia  favre  request. 
To  have  her  knight  into  her  schoolehous  plaste, 
That  of  her  heavenly  learning  he  might  tasie. 
And  heare  the  wisedom  of  her  wordes  divine. 
She  graunted  :  and  that  knight  so  much  agraste 
Tliat  she  him  taught  celestiall  discipline, 
And   opened  his  dull  eyes,  that  light  mote  in  them 
shine. 


And  that  her  sacred  booke,  with  blood  ywritt, 
Ihat  none  could  reade  except  she  did  them  teach. 
She  unto  him  disclosed  every  whitt  ; 
And  heavenly  documents  thereout  did  preach, 
That  weaker  witt  of  man  could  never  reach  ; 
OfOod;  of  Grace;  of  lustice  ;  of  Free-will  ; 
1  hat  wonder  was  to  heare  her  goodly  speach  : 
For  she  was  hable  with  her  wordes  to  kill,  . 
And  rayse  againe  to  life  the  hart  diat  she  did  thrill. 


And,  when  she  list  poure  out  her  larger  spright, 
Slie  would  commaund  the  hasty  sunne  to  stay, 
Or  bai  kward  turne  his  course  from  hevens  hight : 
Sometimes  great  bostes  of  men  she  could  dismay  ; 
Dry-shod  to  passe  she  parts  the  flouds  in  tway , 
And  eke  huge  mountaines  from  their  naiive  seat 
She  would  commaund  themselves  to  heare  away. 
Anil  throw  in  raging  sea  with  roaring  threat  ■ 
Almightie  God  her  gave  such  powre  and  puissaunce 
great. 


The  faitlifuU  knight  now  grew  in  little  space. 

By  hearing  her,  and  by  her  sisters  lore. 

To  such  perfection  of  all  hevenly  grace, 

That  wretclied  world  he  gan  for  to  abhore, 

And  mortall  life  gan  loath  as  thing  forlore, 

Greevd  with  remembrance  of  his  wicked  weveS; 

And  prickt  with  anguish  of  his  sinnes  sc  sore. 

That  he  desirde  to  end  his  wretched  dayes  : 

So  much  the  dart  of  sinfuU  guilt  the  soule  dismayes 


But  wise  Speranza  gave  him  comfort  sweet, 

And  taught  him  liow  to  take  assured  hold 

Upon  her  silver  anchor,  as  was  meet  ; 

Els  had  bis  sinnes  so  great  and  manifold 

Made  him  forget  all  that  Fidelia  told. 

In  this  distressed  doubtfull  agon)'. 

When  him  his  dearest  Una  did  behold 

Disdeining  li;e,  desiring  leave  to  dye. 

She  found  her  selfe  assayld  with  great  perplexity 


And  came  to  Cselia  to  declare  her  smart ; 

AVho  well  acquainted  with  that  commune  plight, 

W  hich  sinfull  horror  wurkes  in  wounded  hart. 

Her  wisely  comforted  all  that  she  might, 

With  goodly  counsel!  and  advisement  right  ; 

And  streightway  sent  with  carefuU  diligence, 

To  fetch  a  leach,  the  which  had  great  insight 

In  tliat  disease  of  grieved  conscience,         [Patienc& 

Aud    well    could   cure   the    same ;  his    name   was 


W'ho,  comming  to  that  sowle-diseased  knight, 
Could  hardly  him  intreat  to  tell  his  grief : 
\Vhich  knowne,  and  all,  that  noyd  hisheavie  spright, 
Well  searcht,  eftsoones  he  gau  apply  relief 
Of  salves  and  med'cines,  wliich  had  passing  prief ; 
And  thereto  added  wurdes  of  wondrous  might  : 
By  which  to  ease  he  him  recured  brief. 
And  much  aswag'd  the  passion  of  his  plight, 
That  he  his  paine  endur'd,   as  seeming  now   more 
light. 

XXV. 

But  yet  the  cause  and  root  of  all  his  ill. 

Inward  corruption  and  infected  sin, 

Not  purg'd  nor  lieald,  behind  remained  still, 

And  festring  sore  did  ranckle  yett  within, 

Close  creeping  twixt  the  marow  and  the  skin 

Which  to  extirpe,  he  laid  him  privily 

Dowri«  in  a  darksome  lowly  place  far  in, 

W  iiereas  he  meant  his  corrosives  to  apply. 

And  with  streight  diet  tame  his  stubborne  malady 


In  ashes  and  sackcloth  he  did  array 
Mis  daintie  corse,  proud  humors  to  abate  ; 
And  dieted  with  fasting  every  da}', 
The  swelling  of  his  vv-oundes  to  mitigate  ; 
And  made  him  prav  both  earelv  and  eke  late  : 
And  ever,  as  sujjertluous  Hesh  did  rott. 
Amendment  readie  still  at  hand  did  wayt 
To  pluck  it  out  with  pincers  fyrie  whott 
That  soone  in  him  was  lefte  no  one  corrupted  iott. 

£  2 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  L 


And  bitter  Penaunce,  with  an  yorn  -whip, 

Was  wont  him  once  to  disple  every  day  : 

And  sharp  Remorse  his  hart  did  prick  and  nip, 

That  drops  of  blood  thence  like  a  well  did  play  : 

And  sad  Repentance  used  to  embay 

His  body  in  salt  water  smarting  sore, 

The  filthy  blottes  of  sin  to  wash  away. 

So  in  short  space  they  did  to  health  restore       [dore. 

The  man  that  would  not  live,  but  erst  lay  at  deathes 


Tn  which  his  torment  often  was  so  great, 

That,  like  a  lyon,  he  would  cry  and  rore  ; 

And  rend  his  flesh  ;  and  his  owne  synewes  eat. 

His  owne  deare  Una,  hearing-  evermore 

His  ruefull  shriekes  and  gronings,  often  tore 

Her  guiltlesse  garments  and  her  golden  heare, 

For  pitty  of  his  payne  and  anguish  sore  : 

Yet  all  with  patience  wisely  she  did  heare  ; 

For  well  she  wist  his  cryme  could  els  be  never  cleare 


Whom,  thus  recovered  by  wise  Patience 

And  trew  R,epentaunce,  they  to  Una  brought ; 

Who,  ioyous  of  his  cured  conscience, 

Him  dearely  kist,  and  fayrely  eke  besought, 

Himselfe  to  chearish,  and  consuming  thought 

To  put  away  out  of  his  carefull  brest. 

By  this  Charissa,  late  in  child-bed  brought, 

W^-as  woxen  strong,  and  left  her  fruitful!  nest : 

To  her  fayre  Una  brought  this  unacquainted  guest. 


She  was  a  woman  in  her  freshest  age. 
Of  wondrous  beauty,  and  of  bounty  rare, 
W^ith  goodly  grace  and  comely  personage. 
That  was  on  earth  not  easie  to  compare  ; 
Full  of  great  love  ;  but  Cupids  wanton  snare 
As  hell  she  hated  ;  chaste  in  worke  and  will  ; 
Her  necke  and  brests  were  ever  open  bare. 
That  ay  thereof  her  babes  might  sucke  their  fill  : 
The  rest  was  all  in  yellow  robes  arayed  still. 


A  multitude  of  babes  about  her  hong, 
Playing  their  sportes,  that  ioyed  her  to  behold  ; 
Whom  still  she  fed ,  whiles  they  were  weake  and  young, 
But  thrust  them  forth  still  as  they  wexed  old  : 
And  on  her  head  she  wore  a  tyre  of  gold, 
Adornd  with  gemmes  and  owches  wondrous  fayre, 
Whose  passing  price  uneath  was  to  be  told  : 
And  bv  her  syde  there  sate  a  gentle  payre 
Of  turtledoves,  she  sitting  iu  an  yvory  chayre. 


The  knight  and  Unaentring  fayre  her  greet, 

And  bid  her  ioy  of  that  her  hapjjy  brood  ; 

Who  them  requites  wilh  court'sies  seeming  meet, 

And  entertaynes  with  friendly  chearefull  mood. 

'I'hen  Una  her  besought,  to  be  so  good 

As  in  her  veituous  rules  to  schoole,  her  knight, 

Now  after  all  his  torment  well  withstood 

In  that  sad  house  of  Penannce,  where  his  spright 

had  past  the  paines  of  htli  aud  long-enduring  night. 


She  was  right  ioyous  of  her  iust  request ; 
And,  taking  by  the  hand  that  faeries  sonne, 
Gan  him  instruct  in  everie  good  behest. 
Of  love  ;  and  righteousness  ;  and  well  to  donne , 
And  wrath  and  hatred  warely  to  shonne. 
That  drew  on  men  gods  hatred  and  his  wrath. 
And  many  soules  in  dolours  had  fordonne  : 
In  which  when  him  she  well  instructed  hath, 
From  thence  to  heaven  she  teacheth  him  the  ready 
path. 

XXXIV. 

Wherein  his  weaker  wandring  steps  to  guyde, 

An  auncient  matrone  she  to  her  does  call. 

Whose  sober  lookes  her  wisedcme  well  descryde ; 

Her  name  was  mercy  ;  well  knowne  over  all 

To  be  both  gratious  and  eke  liberall : 

To  whom  the  carefull  charge  of  him  she  gave, 

To  leade  aright,  that  he  should  never  fall 

In  all  his  waies  through  this  wide  worldes  wave  ; 

That  mercy  in  the  end  his  righteous  soule  might  save 


The  godly  matrone  by  the  hand  him  beares 

Forth  from  her  presence,  by  a  narrow  way, 

Scattred  with  bushy  thornes  and  ragged  breares. 

Which  still  before  him  she  remov'd  away. 

That  nothing  might  his  ready  passage  stay  : 

And  ever  when  his  feet  encombred  were. 

Or  gan  to  shrinke,  or  from  the  right  to  stray, 

She  held  him  fast,  and  firmely  did  upbe^re  ; 

As  carefull  nourse  her  child  from  falling  oft  does  reare. 


Estsoones  unto  an  holy  hospital!. 

That  was  foreby  the  wa}',  she  did  him  bring ; 

In  which  seven  btad-men,  that  had  vowed  all 

Their  life  to  service  of  hij;!i  heavens  king. 

Did  spend  their  dales  in  doing  godly  thing : 

Their  gates  to  all  were  open  evermore. 

That  by  the  wearie  way  were  traveiling; 

And  one  sate  wayting  ever  them  before. 

To  call  in  commers-by,  that  needy  were  and  pore. 


The  first  of  them,  that  eldest  was  and  best. 
Of  all  the  house  had  charge  and  governement. 
As  guardian  and  steward  of  the  rest: 
His  office  was  to  give  entertainem^nt 
And  lodging  unto  all  that  came  and  went ; 
Not  unto  such  as  could  him  feast  againe. 
And  double  quite  for  that  he  on  them  spent ; 
]5ut  such,  as  want  of  harbour  did  constraine  : 
Those  for  Gods  sake  his  dewty  was  to  entertaine. 


The  second  was  as  almner  of  the  place  • 

His  office  was  the  hungry  for  to  feed. 

And  thirsty  give  to  drinke  ;  a  worke  of  grace  : 

He  feard  not  once  himselfe  to  be  in  need, 

Ne  car'd  to  hoord  for  those  whom  he  did  breede : 

'J'he  grace  of  God  he  layd  np  still  in  store. 

Which  as  a  stocke  he  left  unto  his  seede  : 

He  had  enough  ;  what  need  him  care  for  more  ? 

And  had  he  lesse,  yet  some  he  would  give  to  the  pore. 


Canto  X.] 


THE   FAKR[E  QUF,E\E. 


53 


The  tliird  had  of  their  wardrobe  custody, 

la  which  were  not  rich  tyres,  nor  garments  ga}^, 

The  plumes  of  pride,  and  witiges  of  vanity, 

Rut  clothes  meet  to  keep  keene  cold  away, 

And  naked  nature  seemely  to  aray  ; 

With  which  bare  wretche-d  wights  he  dayly  clad, 

The  images  of  God  in  earthly  clay  ; 

And,  if  that  no  spare  clothes  to  give,  he  had. 

His  owne  cote  he  would  cut,  and  it  distribute  glad. 


The  fourth  appointed  by  his  office  was 
I'oore  prisoners  to  relieve  with  gratious  avd, 
And  caj)tives  to  redeems  with  price  of  bras 
From  Turkes  and  Sarazins,  which  them  had  stayd  ; 
And  though  they  faulty  were,  yet  well  lie  wayd. 
That  God  to  us  forgiveth  e^-ery  havire 
Much  more  then  that  why  they  in  bands  were  layd  ; 
And  he,  that  harrowd  hell  with  heavie  st^)wre. 
The  faulty  soules  from  thence  brought  to  his  hea- 
venly bowre. 

The  fift  had  charge  sick  persons  to  attend, 
And  comfort  those  in  jioint  of  death  which  lay  ; 
For  them  most  needeth  com'ort  in  tlie  end, 
When  Sin,  and  Hell,  and  Death,  doe  moit  dismay 
The  feeble  soule  departing  hence  away, 
All  is  but  lost,  that  living  we  bestow. 
If  not  well  ended  at  our  dying  day. 
O  man !  have  mind  of  that  last  bitter  throw  ; 
For  as  the  tree  does  fall,  so  lyes  it  ever  low. 


The  sixt  had  charge  of  ihem  now  being  dead, 

Tn  seemelv  sort  their  corses  to  engrave. 

And  deck  with  dainty  fiowres  their  brvdall  bed. 

That  to  their  heavenly  Spouse  both  sweet  and  brave 

Thev  might  appeare,  when  he  their  soules  shall  save. 

The  wondrous  workmanship  of  Gods  owne  mould. 

Whose  face  he  made  all  beastes  to  feare,  and  gave 

All  in  his  hand,  even  drad  we  honour  sliould. 

Ah,  dearest  God,  me  graunt,  I  dead  be  not  defould  ! 


The  seventh,  now  after  death  and  buriall  done. 

Had  charge  the  tender  orjihans  of  the  dead 

And  wydowes  ayd,  least  they  should  be  undone  : 

In  face  of  iudgement  he  their  right  would  plead, 

Ne  ought  the  powre  of  mighty  men  did  dread 

In  their  defence;  nor  wou.d  for  gold  or  fee 

Be  wonne  their  rightfuU  causes  downe  to  tread : 

And,  when  they  stood  in  most  necessitee. 

He  did  supply  their  want,  and  gave  them  ever  free. 


There  when  the  elfin  knight  arrived  was. 
The  first  and  chiefest  of  the  seven,  whose  cure 
Was  guests  to  welcome,  towardes  him  did  jras  : 
Where  seeing  IMercie,  that  his  steps  upbare 
And  alwaies  led,  to  her  with  reverence  rare 
He  humbly  louted  in  met-ke  lowlinesse. 
And  seemel)-  welcome  for  her  did  prepare  : 
For  of  their  order  she  was  patronesse, 
Albe  Charissa  were  their  ciiiefest  foundere.sse. 


There  she  awhile  him  stayes,  himselfe  to  rest, 

That  to  the  rest  more  hable  he  might  bee 

During  which  time,  in  every  good  behest, 

And  godly  worke  of'almes  and  charitee, 

Shee  him  instructed  with  great  induscree. 

Sliortly  therein  so  perfect  he  became. 

That,  from  the  first  unto  the  last  degree, 

His  mortall  life  he  learned  had  to  frame 

In  holy  righteousnesse,  without  rebuke  or  blame. 


Thence  forward  by  that  painfull  way  thev  pas 
Forth  to  an  hill,  that  was  both  steepe  and  hy^ 
On  top  whereof  a  sacred  ihapel  was. 
And  eke  a  little  hermitage  thereby. 
Wherein  an  aged  lioly  man  did  lie. 
That  day  and  inght  said  his  devotion, 
Ne  other  worldly  busines  did  apply  : 
His  name  was  llevenly  Contemplation  ; 
Of  God  and  goodness,  was  his  meditation. 


Great  grace  that  old  man  to  Inm  given  had  ; 
For  God  he  often  saw  from  heavens  bight : 
All  were  his  earthly  eien  both  blunt  and  bad. 
And  through  great  age  had  lost  their  kindly  sight. 
Yet  wondrous  ([uick  and  persauut  was  his  sprigbt, 
As  eagles  eie,  that  can  behold  the  suune. 
That  hill  they  scale  with  all  their  powre  and  might, 
That  his  fraile  ihighes,  nigii  weary  and  fordonne, 
Gan  faile;  but,  by  her  helpe,  the  top  at  last  he  woune, 


There  they  doe  finde  that  godly  aged  sire, 

With  snowy  lockes  adowne  his  slioulders  shed  j 

As  hoary  frost  witli  spangles  doth  attire 

The  mossy  braunehes  of  an  oke  halfe  ded. 

Each  bone  might  through  his  body  well  be  red. 

And  every  sinew  seene,  tlirough  his  long  fast : 

For  nought  he  car'd  his  carcas  long  unfed ; 

His  mind  was  full  of  spirituall  repast. 

And  pyn'd  his  flesh  to  keep  his  body  low  and  chast. 


Who,  when  these  two  ajjproaching  he  aspide. 
At  their  first  j)r(  sence  grew  agrie"ed  sore. 
That  forst  him  lay  his  hevenly  thoughts  aside  , 
And  had  he  not  that  daine  respected  more, 
^Vhom  higlily  he  did  reverence  and  adore, 
He  would  not  once  have  moved  for  the  knight. 
They  him  saluted,  standing  far  afore  ; 
Who,  well  them  greeting,  humbly  did  requisfht. 
And  asked,  to  what  end  they  clomb  that  tedious  hight, 


"What  end,"  quoth  she,  "should  cause  us  take  such 

paine. 
But  that  same  end,  which  every  living  wight 
Siiould  make  his  iiiarke,  high  heaven  to  attaine  ? 
Is  not  from  hence  the  way,  that  leadeth  right 
To  that  most  glorious  house,  that  glistreth  bright 
With  burning  starres  ami  everiiving  fire. 
Whereof  the  keies  are  to  thy  hand  behight 
By  wise  Fid(  lia  .'  She  doth  ihee  require. 
I'o  shew  it  to  tliis  knidit,  accordin"-  his  desire." 


THE  FAKRIE  QUi^RN' 


[Book  I 


"  Tlirise  happy  man,"  said  then  the  father  jrrave, 

"  U  hose  stao:o-ering  steps  thy  steady  hand  doth  lead, 

Arul  sliewes  the  way  his"  sinfull  soule  to  save  ! 

Who  better  can  the  wav  to  heaven  ar^ad 

'llii'ii  tliou  thvselfe,  that  was  both  borne  and  bred 

In  lievenlv  throne,  where  thousand  angels  shine  1 

Thou  doest  tlie  praiers  of  the  righteous  sead 

Present  before  the  jMajesty  Divine, 

And  his  avenging  wrath  to  clemency  incline. 


"  Yet,  since  thou  hidst,  thy  pleasure  shal  he  donne. 

Then  come,  thou  man  of  earth,  and  see  the  way, 

'Ihsit  never  yet  was  seene  of  Faries  sonne  ; 

'I'liat  never  leads  the  trai  eiler  astray. 

But,  after  labors  long  and  sad  delay, 

Jirings  them  to  ioyous  rest  and  endlesse  blis. 

l?iit  first  thou  must  a  season  fast  and  prav. 

Till  from  her  bands  the  spright  assoiled  is, 

And  have  her  strength  recur'd  from  fraile  infirmitis." 


Tliat  done,  lie  leads  him  to  the  highest  mount ; 

Such  one,  as  that  same  mighty  man  of  God, 

That  blood-red  bdlowes  like  a  walled  front 

On  either  side  disparted  with  his  rod. 

Till  tliat  his  army  di-y-foot  through  them  yod, 

Dwelt  forty  daies  upon  ;  where,  writt  in  stone 

With  bloodv  letters  by  the  hand  of  God, 

The  bitter  doome  of  death  and  balefull  mone 

He  did  i-eceive,  whiles  flashing  fire  about  him  shone: 


Or  like  that  sacred  hill,  whose  head  full  hie, 
Adornd  with  fruitfull  olives  all  arownd, 
Is,  as  it  were  for  endlesse  memory 
Of  that  deare  Lord  who  oft  thereon  was  fownd. 
For  ever  with  a  flo wring  girlond  crownd  ; 
Or  like  that  pleasaunt  mount,  that  is  for  ay 
Through  famous  poets  verse  each  wbere  renown d, 
On  which  the  thrise  three  learned  ladies  play 
Their  hevenly  notes,  and  make  full  many   a  lovely 
lay. 


From  thence,  far  off  he  unto  him  did  shew 
A  little  path,  that  was  both  steepe  and  long, 
Which  to  a  goodly  citty  led  his  vew  ;  [strong 

Whose  wals  and    towres  were    builded   high   and 
Of  perle  and  precious  stone,  that  earthly  tong 
Cannot  describe,  nor  wit  of  man  can  tell  ; 
Too  high  a  ditty  for  my  simple  song  ! 
The  citty  of  the  Create  King  bight  it  well, 
Wherein  eternall  peace  and  hai)pinesse  doth  dwell. 


As  he  thereon  stood  gazing,  he  might  see 

The  blessed  Angels  to  and  fro  descend 

From  highest  heven  in  gladsome  companee, 

And  with  great  ioy  into  that  citty  wend. 

As  cotiiniordy  as  frend  does  with  his  frend, 

Wliereat  he  wondred  much,  and  gan  enquere, 

Whiit  stalely  building  durst  so  hij;h  extend 

Jler  l.if'iy  towres  unto  the  sttirry  sphere. 

And  what  uiiknowen  nation  there  empeopled  were. 


"  Faire  knight,"  quoth  he,  "  Hierusalem  that  is, 
The  New  Hierus-.ilem,  that  God  has  built 
For  those  to  dwell  in,  that  are  chosen  his, 
His  chosen  people  purg'd  from  sinful  guilt 
With  pretious  blood,  which  cruelly  was  spilt 
On  cursed  tree    of  thai  unspotted  Lam, 
That  for  the  sinnes  of  al  the  world  was  kilt  : 
Now  are  they  saints  all  in  that  citty  sam. 
More  dear  unto  their  God  than  younglings   to  their 
dam." 


"  Till  now,"  said  then  the  knight,  "  I  weened  well. 
That  great  Cleopolis  where  1  have  beene, 
In  which  that  fairest  Fary  Queene  doth  dwell. 
The  fairest  cittv  was  that  might  be  seene  ; 
And  that  bright  towre,  all  built  of  christall  clene, 
Panthea,  seemd  die  brightest  thing  that  was  : 
But  now  by  proofe  all  otherwise  I  weene  ; 
For  this  great  citty  that  does  far  surpas, 
And  this  bright  Angels  towre  quite  dims  that  towr* 
of  el  as." 


"  Most  trew,"  then  said  the  holy  aged  man  ; 
"  Yet  is  Cleopolis,  for  earthly  frame. 
The  fairest  peece  that  eie  beholden  can  ; 
And  '•ve.L  beseeraes  all  knights  of  noble  name. 
That  covett  in  th'  immortall  booke  of  fame 
To  be  eternized,  that  same  to  haunt. 
And  doen  their  service  to  that  soveraigne  dame. 
That  glory  does  to  them  for  guerdon  graunt : 
For  she  is  hevenly  borne,   and  heaven  may  iustly 
vaunt. 


"  And  thou,  faire  ymp,  sprong  out  from  English  race, 
How  ever  now  accompted  I-llfins  sonne, 
Well  worthy  doest  thy  service  for  her  grace. 
To  aide  a  virgin  desolate  fordonne. 
But  when  thou  famous  victory  ha-t  wonne, 
And  high  emongst  all  knights  hast  hong  thy  shield. 
Thenceforth  the  suitt  of  eartlily  contjucst  shonne. 
And  wash  thy  hands  from  guilt  of  bloody  field  : 
For  blood  can  nought  but  sin,  and  wars  but  sorrows 
yield. 

I.XI. 

"  Then  seek  this  patli  that  I  to  thee  presage, 

Which  after  all  to  heaven  shall  thee  send  ; 

Then  peaceably  thy  painefuU  pilgrimage 

To  yonder  same  Hierusalem  doe  bend. 

Where  is  for  thee  ordaiiid  a  blessed  end  : 

For  thou  emongst  those  saints,  whom  thou  doest  see 

Shalt  be  a  saint,  and  thine  owne  nations  frend 

And  patrone  :  thou  Saint  Geintie  shalt  called  bee. 

Saint  George  of  mery  l:7i^land,  the  signe  of  victoree.* 


"  LTnworthy  wretch,"  quoth  he,  "  of  so  great  grace, 
How  dare  I  tliinke  such  glory  to  attaiiie  '" 
"  1  liese,  that  have  itattaviul.  were  in  lik'i  ■•ace," 
Quuth  he,  "  as  wretched,  ami  liv'd  in  like  paine." 
"  But  deeds  of  armes  must  J  at  last  be  faine 
And  ladies  love  to  leave,  so  dearely  bought?" 
"  \\  hai  need  of  armes,  wbere  jieaie  doth  iiyremaine. 
Said  he,  "  and  battailes  none  are  to  !io  f'  ught? 
As  for  loose  loves,    they 'are   vaine,  and    vanish   into 
nousfht." 


Canto  XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


55 


'*  O  let  me  not,"  quoth  he,  "  then  turne  ag^aine 

Backe  to  the  world,  whose  ioyes  so  fruitlesse  are  ; 

13ut  let  me  here  for  aie  in  peace  remaine, 

Or  streightvvay  on  that  lust  long  voinge  fare. 

That  nothing  may  my  present  hope  enipare." 

"  That  may  not  he,"  sail  he,  "  ne  maist  thou  yitt 

f  orgoe  that  royal  maides  heqiieathed  care. 

Who  did  her  cause  into  thy  hand  committ, 

Till  from  her  cursed  foe  thou  have  her  freely  quitt." 


"  Then  shall  I  soone,"  (]uotli  he,  "  so  God  me  grace, 

Abett  that  virgins  cause  disconsolate. 

And  shortly  back  returne  unto  this  place. 

To  walke  this  way  in  pilgrims  poore  estate. 

But  novr  aread,  old  father,  why  (.f  late 

Didst  thou  behight  me  borne  of  Ei.glish  blood. 

Whom  all  a  Faeries  sonne  doen  nominate  I" 

"  That  word  shall  1,"  said  he,  "  avounthen  good, 

Sith  to  thee  is  unknowne  the  cradle  of  tliy  brood. 


"  For  well  I  wote  thou  springst  from  ancient  race 
Of  Saxon  tinges,  that  have  with  miglitie  hand. 
And  many  bloody  battailes  fought  ir  place. 
High  reard  their  royall  throne  in  Britane  land, 
And  vanquisht  them,  unable  to  withstand  : 
From  ihence  a  Faery  thee  unweeting  reft, 
There  !js  thou  slepst  in  tender  swadling  band, 
And  her  base  Elfin  brood  there  for  thee  left : 
Such,   men   do  chaungelings  call,   so  chaung'd   by 
Faeries  theft. 


"  Thence  she  thee  broutjht  into  this  Faery  lond, 
And  in  an  heaped  furrow  did  thee  hyde  ; 
Where  thee  a  ploughman  all  unweeting  fond. 
As  he  his  toylesome  teine  that  way  did  guyde, 
And  brought  thee  up  in  ploughiiians  state  1o  byde, 
Whereof  Georgos  he  thee  gave  to  name  ; 
Till  prickt  with  courage,  and  thy  forces  pr>de. 
To  Fary  court  thou  cam'st  to  seek  for  fame. 
And  prove    thy  puissant  armes,  as  seemes  thee  best 
became." 


"  O  holy  sire,"  quoth  he,  "  how  shall  I  quight 

The  many  favours  1  with  thee  have  fownd. 

That  hast  my  name  and  nation  redd  aright. 

And  taught  the  way  that  does  to  heaven  bovrnd  !" 

This  saide,  adowne  he  looked  to  the  grownd 

To  have  reiurnd,  but  dazed  were  his  eyne 

Through  passing  brightnes,  which  did  ipjite  confouno 

His  feeble  sence,  and  too  e::ceeding  shyne. 

So  darke  are  earthly  thinges  compard  to  things  divine  • 


At  last,  whenas  himselfe  he  gan  to  fynd. 

To  Una  back  he  cast  him  to  retyre  ; 

Who  him  awaited  slid  with  pensive  mynd. 

Great  thankes,  and  goodly  meed,  tu  that  good  syre 

He  thens  departing  gave  for  his  paynes  byre. 

8o  tame  to  Una,  who  him  ioyd  to  see  ; 

And,  after  little  rest,  gan  him  desyre 

Of  her  adventure  mvndfuU  for  to  bee. 

So  leave  they  take  of  Cffilia  and  her  daughters  three 


CANTO  xr. 

The  knight  with  that  old  dragon  fights 

Tw  1  dayes  incessaiitly  : 
The  third,  him  overthrowes  ;  and  gayns 

Most  glorious  victory. 


High  time  now  gan  it  wex  for  Una  fayre 

To  thinke  of  those  her  captive  parents  deare, 

And  their  forwasted  kingdom  to  repay  re  : 

Whereto  whenas  they  now  approched  neare, 

With  hartie  wordes  her  knight  she  gan  to  cheare. 

And  in  her  modest  manner  thus  bespake  ; 

"  Deare  knight,  as  deare  as  ever  knight  was  deare. 

That  all  these  sorrows  suffer  for  my  sake. 

High  beven  behold  the  te4ious  toyle,  ye  for  me  take ! 


"  Now  are  we  come  unto  my  native  soyle. 
And  to  the  place  where  all  our  perilles  dwell ; 
Here  hauntes  that  feend,  and  does  his  daily'  spoyle  ; 
Therefore  henceforth  bee  at  your  keeping  well, 
And.  ever  ready  fo'  your  foeman  fell  : 
Tlie  spark  of  noble  corage  now  awake. 
And  strive  your  excellent  selfe  to  excell : 
That  shall  ye  evermore  renowmed  make 

ove  all  knights  on  earth,  tliat  batteiJl  undertake." 


And  pointing  forth,  "  Lo  I  yonder  is,"  said  she, 

"  The  brasen  towre,  in  which  my  parents  deare 

For  dread  of  that  huge  feend  emprisond  be; 

Whom  I  from  far  see  on  the  walls  appeare, 

Whose  sight  my  feeble  soule  doth  greatly  cheare ; 

And  on  the  top  of  all  I  do  espye 

The  watchman  wa\ting  tvdings  glad  to  heare  , 

That,  O  my  parents,  might  I  happily 

Unto  you  bring,  to  ease  you  of  your  misery  1' 


With  that  thev  heard  a  roaring  hideous  sownd, 
That  all  the  ayre  with  terror  hlled  wyde, 
And  seemd  uneath  to  shake  the  stedfast  ground. 
Efisoones  that  dreadful  dragon  they  espyde, 
\Vhere  stretcht  he  lay  upon  the  sunny  side 
Of  a  great  hill,  himselfe  like  a  great  hill  : 
J3ut,  all  so  soone  as  he  from  far  descry de 
Those  glistring  armes  that  heven  with  light  did  fill, 
He   rousd   himselfe   full    blyth,   and   hastned    them 
untai. 


56 


THE  FAERIE  QUFuKXE. 


[Book  I. 


Then  badd  the  knight  liis  huly  yede  aloof, 

And  to  an  hill  herselfe  -withdraw  asvde  : 

From  whence  she  might  behold  that  battailles  proof, 

And  eke  be  safe  from  daunger  for  descryde  : 

She  him  obayd,  and  turnd  a  little  wyde. — 

Now,  O  thou  sacred  ?iluse,  most  learned  dame, 

Favre  ympe  of  Phtubus  and  his  aged  bryde, 

The  nourse  of  time  and  everlasting-  fame, 

That  warlike  handes  ennoblestwith  immortall  name  ; 


O,  gently  come  into  my  feeble  brest, 

Come  gently  ;  but  not  with  that  mightie  rage. 

Wherewith  the  martiall  troupes  thou  doest  infest. 

And  hartes  of  great  heroes  doest  enrage, 

That  nought  their  kindled  corage  may  aswage  : 

Soone  as  thy  dreadfuU  tromjie  begins  to  sownd, 

Tlie  god  of  warre  with  his  liers  equipage 

Thou  doest  awake,  sleepe  never  he  so  sownd  ; 

Aiid  scared  nations  doest  with  hoiTor  sterne  astownd. 


Favre  goddesse,  lay  that  furious  fift  asyde, 
Till  I  of  warres  and  l)loodv  INIars  doe  sing. 
And  Brvton  iieldes  with  Sarazin  blood  bedyde, 
Twixt  that  great  Faery  Queene,  and  Paynim  king, 
That  with  their  horror  heven  and  earth  did  ring  ; 
A  worke  of  labour  long  and  endlesse  prayse: 
Hut  now  a  while  lett  downe  that  haughtie  string 
And  to  my  tunes  thy  second  tenor  ra3'se, 
That  I  this  man  of  God  his  godly  amies  may  blaze. 


By  this,  the  dreadful  beast  drew  nigh  to  hand, 
Halfe  flying  and  halfe  footing  in  his  haste. 
That  with  his  largenesse  measured  much  land, 
And  made  wide  shadow  under  his  huge  waste  ; 
As  mountaine  doth  the  valley  overcasie. 
Approchmg  nigh,  he  reared  high  afore 
His  body  monstrous,  horrible,  and  vaste  ; 
VVhich,  to  increase  his  wondrous  greatnes  more, 
Was  swoln  with  wrath  andpoyson,  and  with  bloody 
gore; 


\nd  over  all  with  brazen  scales  was  armd, 
^ike  plated  cote  of  Steele,  so  couched  neare  [harnid 
That    nought  mote  perce  ;  ne    mi-ht  his   corse  be 
With  dint  of  suerd,  nor  push  of  pointed  speare  : 
Which,  as  an  eagle,  seeing  pray  apjieare. 
His  aery  plumes  doth  rouze  full  rudely  dight ; 
So  shaked  he,  that  horror  was  to  heare  : 
For,  as  the  clash  ng  of  an  armor  bright, 
Such  noyse  his  rouzed   scales   did  send   unto  the 
knijit. 


His  flaggy  winges,  when  forth  he  did  display, 
Were  like  two  sayles,  in  which  the  hollow  wynd 
Is  gathered  full,  and  worketh  speedy  way  : 
And  eke  the  fKunes,  that  did  Ids  pineons  bynd. 
Were  like  mayne-yardcs  with  flying  canvas  lynd  ; 
V\  ith  which  whenas  him  list  the  ayre  to  beat, 
And  there  by  force  unwonted  {)assage  fynd, 
'I  he  cloudes  before  him  flcdd  lor  terror  great. 
And  all  the  hevens  stood  still  amazed  vi-ith  liis  tlireat. 


His  huge  lonij  tayle,  wownd  up  in  hundred  foldes. 
Does  oyerspred  his  long  bras-scaly  back, 
Wiiose  wreathed  boughtes  when  ever  he  unfoldes, 
And  thick-entangled  knots  adown  does  slack, 
Bespotted  as  with  shieldes  of  red  and  blacke. 
It  swee])eth  all  the  land  behind  him  farre, 
And  of  three  furlongs  does  but  litle  lacke  ; 
And  at  the  point  two  stinges  infixed  arre. 
Both  deadly    sharp,   that  sharpest  Steele  exceeden 
farre. 


But  stinges  and  sharpest  Steele  did  far  exceed 
Tlie  sharpnesse  of  his  cruell  rending  clawes  : 
Dead  was  it  sure,  as  sure  as  death  indeed, 
^Vhat  ever  thing  does  touch  his  ravenous  pawes. 
Or  what  wiihin  his  reach  he  ever  drawes. 
But  his  most  hideous  head  my  tongue  to  tell 
Does  tremble  ;  for  his  deepe  devouring  iawes 
Wyde  gaped,  like  the  griesly  mouth  of  hell. 
Through  which  into  his  darke  abysse  all  ravin  fell. 


And.  that  more  wondrous  was,  in  either  iaw 
Three  ranckes  of  yron  teeth  enraunged  were. 
In  which  yett  trickling  blood,  and  gobbets  raw. 
Of  late  devoured  bodies  did  appeare  •, 
That  sight  thereof  bredd  cold  congealed  feare  : 
^Miiih  to  increase,  and  all  at  once  to  kill, 
A  cloud  of  smoothering  smoke,  and  sulphure  seare 
Out  of  his  stinking  gorge  forth  steemed  still, 
That  all  the  ayre  about  with  smoke  and  stench  did 
fill. 


His  blazing  eyes,  like  two  bright  shining  shieldes, 
Did  burne  with  wrath,  and  sparkled  living  fyre : 
As  two  broad  beacons,  sett  in  open  fieldes, 
Send  forth  their  flumes  far  off"  to  every  shyre. 
And  warning  give,  that  enemies  conspyre 
With  fire  and  sword  the  region  to  invade  ; 
So  flam'd  his  eyne  with  rage  and  rancorous  yre : 
But  fitr  within,  as  in  a  hoi  ow  glade, 
Those  glaring  lampes  were  sett,  that  made  a  dreadful! 
shade. 


So  dreadfully  he  towardes  him  did  pas, 

Forelifting  up  aloft  his  >peckled  brest. 

And  often  bounding  on  the  brused  gras, 

As  for  ^reat  ioyance  of  his  new  tome  guest. 

Eftsoones  he  ^^an  advanie  his  haugiity  crest; 

As  chaufted  bore  his  bristles  doth  upreare  ; 

And  shoke  bis  scales  to  battaile  ready  drest,  [feare,) 

(That  made  the  Bedcrosse   knight  nigh   quake  for 

As  bidding  bold  defyaunce  to  his  foeman  neare. 


The  knight  gan  fayrely  couch  his  steady  speare, 
And  fiersly  ran  at  him  with  rigorous  might : 
The  ])oinfed  Steele,  arriving  rudely  theare. 
His  harder  liyde  would  nether  perce  nor  bight, 
But,  glauncing  by,  fo'irth  pa-sed  forward  right: 
Yet,  sore  amoved  with  so  puissaunt  push, 
The  vvrathfull  beast  about  him  turned  light. 
And  him  so  rudely,  passing  by,  did  brush 
\\  itii  his  long  tayle,  that  horse  and  man  to  ground 
did  rush. 


Canto  XL] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


57 


Both  liorse  and  man  up  lightly  rose  af::ame, 
And  fresh  encounter  towardes  him  addrest  ; 
But  th'  ydle  stroke  yet  backe  recoyld  in  vaine, 
And  found  no  place  his  deadly  point  to  rest. 
Exceeding-  rage  enflam'd  the  furious  beast. 
To  be  avenged  of  so  great  d^spight ; 
For  never  felt  his  imperceable  brest 
So  wondrous  force  from  hand  of  living  wight ; 
Vet  had  he  prov'd  the  powre  of  many  a   puissant 
knight. 


Tlien,  with  his  waving  wings  displayed  w^-de, 
Himselfe  up  high  he  lifted  from  the  ground, 
And  with  strong  flight  did  forcibly  divyde 
The  yielditig  avre,  which  nigh  too  feeble  found 
Her  flitting-  parts,  and  element  unsound, 
To  beare  so  great  a  weight  :   He,  cutting  way 
With  his  broad  sayles,  about  him  soared  round  ; 
At  last,  low  stouping  with  unweldy  sway, 
Snatcht  up  both  horse  and  man,  to  beare  them  quite 
away. 

XIX. 

Long  he  them  bore  above  the  subject  plaine, 
So  far  as  ewghen  bow  a  shaft  may  send  ; 
Till  struggling  strong  did  him  at  last  constraine 
To  let  them  downe  before  his  flightes  end  : 
As  hagard  hauke,  presuming  to  contend 
With  hardy  fowle  above  his  liable  might, 
His  wearie  pounces  all  in  vaine  doth  spend 
To  trusse  the  pray  too  heavy  for  his  flight ; 
Which,  comming  down  to  ground,  dors  free  itselfe 
by  fight. 


He  so  disseized  of  his  gryping  grosse. 
The  kniglit  his  thrillant  speare  again  assayd 
In  his  bras-plated  body  to  embosse, 
And  tliree  mens  strength  unto  the  stroake  he  layd ; 
Wherewith  the  stiffe  beame  quaked,  as  affrayd. 
And  glauncing  from  his  scaly  necke  did  glyde 
Close  under  his  left  wing,  then  liro-ad  displayd  : 
The  percing  Steele  there  wrought  a  wownd  full  wyde , 
That  with  the  uncouth   smart   the  monster  lowdly 
cryde. 


He  cryde,  as  raging  seas  are  wont  to  rore, 

AVhen  wintry  stomie  his  wrathful  wreck  does  threat 

The  rolling  billowes  beate  the  ragged  shore, 

As  they  the  earth  would  shoulder  from  her  seat ; 

And  greedy  gulfe  does  gape,  as  lie  would  eat 

His  neighbour  element  in  his  revenge  : 

Then  gin  the  blustring  brethren  boldly  threat 

To  move  the  world  from  off  his  stedfast  henge, 

And  boystrous  battaile  make,  eacli  other  to  avenge. 


His  hideous  tayle  then  hurled  he  about, 
And  therewith  all  enwrapt  the  nimble  thyes 
Of  his  froth-fomy  steed,  whose  courage  stout 
Striving  to  loose  the  knot  that  fast  him  tyes, 
Himselfe  in  streighter  bandes  too  rash  implyes. 
That  to  the  ground  he  is  perforce  constravnd 
To  throw  his  ryder ;  who  can  quickly  ryse 
Fiom  ofi  the  earth,  with  durty  blood  distaynd. 
For  that  reprochfull  fall  right  fowly  he  disdaynd  ; 


And  fercely  tooke  his  trenchard  blade  in  hand, 
With  which  he  stroke  so  furious  and  so  fell, 
That  nothing  seemd  the  puissaunce  could  withstand 
Upon  his  crest  the  hardned  yron  fell  ; 
But  his  more  hardned  crest  was  armd  so  well, 
That  deeper  dint  therein  it  would  not  make  ; 
Yet  so  extremely  did  the  bufie  him  quell, 
That  from  thenceforth  he  shund  the  like  to  take, 
But,  when  he  saw  them  come,  he  did  them  still 
forsake. 


The  knight  was  wroth  to  see  his  stroke  beguyld, 
And  smot  againe  with  more  outrageous  might  ; 
But  baeke  againe  the  sparcling  Steele  recoyld, 
And  left  not  any  marke  where  it  did  light, 
As  if  in  adamant  rocke  it  had  beene  piglit. 
The  beast,  impatient  of  his  smarting  wound 
And  of  so  fierce  -.md  forcible  des|iiglit, 
Tliouglit  with  his  winges  to  stye  above  the  giouud ; 
But  his  late  wounded  wing  unserviceable  found. 


Tlien,  full  of  grief  and  anguish  vehement, 

He  lowdly  brayd,  that  like  was  never  heard  , 

And  from  his  wide  devouring-  oven  sent 

A  flake  of  lire,  that,  flashing  in  his  beard, 

Hi;n  all  amazd,  and  almost  made  afeard  : 

The  scorching  flame  sore  swinged  ail  his  face. 

And  through  his  armour  all  his  body  seard, 

That  he  could  not  endure  so  cruell  cace, 

But  thought  liis  armes  to  leave,  and  helmet  to  unlace. 


Not  that  great  champion  of  the  antique  world, 
Whom  famous  pnetes  verse  S')  much  doth  vaunt, 
And  hath  for  twelve  huge  labouis  high  extokl, 
So  many  furies  ;ind  sharpe  tits  did  haunt, 
When  him  the  poysond  garment  did  eiichaunt. 
With  Centaures  blood  and  bloody  verses  charmd  ; 
As  did  tliis  knight  twelve  thousand  dolours  daunt. 
Whom  fyrie  Steele  now  burnt,  that  erst  him  armd  ; 
That  erst  him  goodly   armd,  now  most  of  all  him 
harmd. 


The  steely  head  stuck  fast  still  in  his  flesh 
'lill  with  his  ci-uell  clawes  lie  snarcht  the  wood. 
Ana  quite  asunrler  broke  ;   forth  flowed  fr^sh 
A  gushing  river  of  blacke  gory  blood, 
That  drowned  all  the  land,  whereon  he  stood  ; 
'I'he  stream-  thereof  would  drive  a  water-mill  : 
Trebly  augmented  was  his  furious  mood 
With  bitter  sence  of  his  deepe  rooted  ill. 
That  flames  of  fire  he  threw   for'h  from   his   lame 
nosethrill. 


Faynt,  wearie,  sore,  emboyled,  grieved,  brent,  [fire 
I  Witli  heat,  toyle,  wounds,  armes,  smart, ;  nd  inward 
!   TVt  n?ver  man  such  mischiefes  did  torment  ; 

.Oeatn  better  were  ;  ueath  did  he  oft  desiie  ; 

But  death  will  never  come,  when  needi^s  require. 

Whom  so  dismavd  when  that  his  foe  beheld. 

He  cast  to  suffer  liim  no  more  respire. 

But  gan  his  .stuidy  stenie  about  to  weld. 

And  him  so  strongl>  stroke,  that  to  the  ground  him 
feld. 


58 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I. 


It  tbrtuned,  (as  fayre  it  then  befell,) 
])eh\-nd  his  bac  ke,  unweeting  where  he  stood, 
Of  auncient  time  there  was  a  spring-ing  well. 
From  which  fast  trickled  forth  a  silver  flood, 
Full  of  great  vertties,  and  for  med'cine  good  : 
Whylonie,  before  that  cursed  dragon  got 
That  ha])py  land,  and  all  with  innof-ent  blood 
Defyld  those  sacred  waves,  it  rightly  hot 
The  Well  of  Life  ;  ne  yet  his  vertues  had  forgot  : 


For  unto  life  the  dead  it  could  restore, 

And  guilt  of  sinfull  crimes  cleane  wash  away  ; 

Those,  tliat  with  sickncsse  were  infected  sore, 

It  could  recure  ;  and  aged  long  decay 

Renew,  as  one  were  born  that  very  day. 

Both  Silo  this,  and  Jordan,  did  excell, 

And  th'  English  Bath,  and  eke  the  German  Spau ; 

Ne  can  Cephise,  nor  Hebrus,  match  this  well  : 

Into  the  same  the  knight  back  overthrowea  fell. 


Now  gan  the  golden  Phoebus  for  to  steepe 
His  fierie  iiice  in  billowes  of  the  west, 
And  his  faint  steedes  watred  in  ocean  deepe. 
Whiles  from  their  iournall  labours  they  did  rest ; 
When  that  infernall  monster,  having  kest 
His  wearie  foe  into  that  living  well. 
Can  high  advaunce  his  broad  discoloured  brest 
Above  his  wonted  pitch,  with  countenance  fell. 
And  clapt  his  yron  wings,  as  victor  he  did  dwell. 


Which  when  his  pensive  lady  saw  from  farre, 

Great  woe  and  sorrow  did  her  soule  assay. 

As  weening  Uiat  the  sad  end  of  the  warre  ; 

And  gan  to  highest  God  entirely  pray 

That  feared  cliaunce  from  her  to  turne  away  : 

With  folded  hands,  and  knees  full  lowly  bent, 

All  night  she  watcht;  ne  once  adowne  would  lay 

Her  dainty  limbs  in  her  sad  dreriment. 

But  praying  still  did  wake,  and  waking  did  lament. 


The  morrow  next  gan  early  to  appeare, 
'I'liat  Titnn  rose  to  runne  his  daily  race  ; 
But  carely,  ere  the  morrow  next  gan  reare 
Out  of  the  sea  faire  Titans  deawy  face, 
Up  rose  the  gentle  virgin  fr^m  her  place, 
And  looked  all  about,  if  she  might  spy 
Her  loved  knight  to  move  Lis  manly  pace  : 
For  she  had  great  doubt  of  his  safety, 
Since  late  she  saw  him  fall  before  his  enimy. 


At  last  she  saw,  where  he  upstarted  brave 

Out  of  the  well  wherein  he  drenched  lay  : 

As  eagle,  fresh  out  of  the  ocean  wave, 

Wliert  he  hath  lefte  his  plumes  all  hory  gray, 

Ahd  deckt  hiuiselfe  witli  fetliers  youthly  gay, 

T-ike  eyas  hauke  up  mounts  unto  the  skies/ 

His  newly-budded  pinoons  to  assay. 

And  marveiles  at  himselfe,  stil  as  he  flies  : 

So  new  this  new-borne  knight  to  battell  new  did  rise. 


Whom  when  the  damned  foend  so  fresh  did  spy, 
No  wonder  if  he  wondred  at  the  sight. 
And  doubted  whether  his  late  eniiny 
It  were,  or  other  new  supplied  knight. 
lie  now,  to  prove  his  late-renewed  might. 
High  brandishing  his  bright  deaw-burning  blade, 
Upon  his  crested  scalp  so  sore  did  smite. 
That  to  the  scull  a  yawning  wound  it  made  : 
The  deadly  dint  his  dulled  sences  all  dismaid. 


I  wote  not,  whether  the  revenging  Steele 

Were  hardned  with  that  holy  water  dew 

Wherein  he  fell ;  or  sharper  edge  did  feele  ; 

Or  his  baptized  hands  now  greater  grew  j 

Or  other  secret  vertue  did  ensew  ; 

Els  never  could  the  force  of  fleshly  amie, 

Ne  molten  mettall,  in  his  blood  embrew  : 

For,  till  that  stownd,  could  never  wight  him  harme 

By  subtilty,  nor  slight,  nor  might,  nor  mighty  charme. 


The  cruell  wound  enraged  him  so  Eore, 

That  loud  he  yelled  for  exceeding  paine  ; 

As  hundred  ramping  lions  seemd  to  rore, 

Whom  ravenous  hunger  did  thereto  constraine. 

Then  gan  he  tosse  aloft  his  stretched  traine, 

And  therewith  scourge  the  bvixome  aire  so  sore, 

That  to  his  force  to  yielden  it  was  faine ; 

Xe  ought  his  sturdy  strokes  might  stand  afore, 

I'hat  high  trees  overthrew,  and  rocks  in  peeces  tore: 


Tlie  same  advauncing  high  above  his  head. 

With  sharpe  intended  sting  so  rude  him  smott. 

That  to  the  earth  him  drove,  as  stricken  dead  ; 

Ne  living  wight  would  have  him  life  behott: 

The  mortall  sting  his  angry  needle  shott 

Quite  through  his  shield,  and  in  his  shoulder  seasd, 

Where  fast  it  stucke,  ne  would  thereout  be  gott : 

The  grief-  thereof  him  wondrous  sore  diseasd, 

Ne  might  his  rancling  paine  with  patience  be  appeasd. 


But  yet,  more  mindfull  of  his  honour  deare 
Then  of  the  grievous  smart  which  liim  did  wring, 
From  loathed  soile  be  can  him  lightly  reare, 
And  strove  to  loose  the  far  infixed  sting  : 
Which  when  in  vaine  he  tryde  with  strugi;'eling. 
InHam'd  with  wrath,  his  ra;;ing  blade  lie  heCte, 
And  strooke  so  strongly,  that  the  knotty  string 
Of  Ids  huge  taile  he  quite  asonder  clefte  ;  [lefte. 

Five  ioints  thereof  he  hewd,  and  but  the  stump  him 


Hart  cannot  thinke,  what  outrage  and  what  cries, 

With  fowle  enfouldred  smoake  and  liasliing  tire, 

The  hell-bred  beast  thrrw  forth  unto  the  skies. 

That  all  was  covered  with  darknesse  dire  : 

Then  fraught  with  rancour,  and  engorged  yre, 

lie.  cast  at  once  him  to  avenge  for  all  ; 

And,  gathering  up  himselfe  out  of  the  mire 

With  his  uneven  wings,  did  iiercely  fall 

Upon  his  sunne-bi  ight  sliield,  and  grypt  it  fast  withall. 


Canto  XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


59 


Much  was  the  man  encombred  with  his  hold, 

In  feare  to  lose  his  v/eapon  in  his  paw, 

Ne  wist  yett,  how  his  talaunts  to  unfold  ; 

Nor  liarder  was  from  Cerberus  greedy  iaw 

To  pliicke  a  bone,  tlien  from  his  cruell  claw 

'J'o  reave  by  strength  the  griped  gage  away  : 

Thrise  he  assavd  it  from  his  foote  to  draw. 

And  thrise  in  vaine  to  draw  it  did  assay  ; 

It  booted  nought  to  thinke  to  robbe  him  of  his  pray. 


The,  when  he  saw  no  power  might  prevaile. 

His  trustv  sword  he  cald  to  his  last  aid, 

AV herewith  he  fiersly  did  his  foe  assaile. 

And  double  blowes  about  him  stoutly  laid. 

That  glauncing  fire  out  of  tlie  yron  plaid  ; 

As  sparckles  from  the  andvile  use  to  fly, 

When  heavy  hammers  on  the  wedg  are  swaid ; 

Therewith  at  last  he  forst  him  to  unty 

One  of  his  grasping  feete,  him  to  defend  thereby. 


The  other  foote,  fast  fixed  on  his  shield, 

Whenas  no  strength  nor  stroks  mote  him  constraine 

To  loose,  ne  yet  the  warlike  pledg  to  yield  ; 

He  smott  thereat  with  all  his  might  and  maine. 

That  nought  so  wondrous  puissaunce  might  sustaine: 

Upon  the  ioint  the  lucky  Steele  did  light. 

And  made  such  way,  that  hewd  it  quite  in  twaine ; 

1'he  paw  yett  missed  not  his  minisht  might. 

But  hong  still  on  the  shield,  as  it  at  first  was  pight. 


For  griefe  thereof  and  divelish  despight, 
From  liis  infernall  fournace  fourth  he  threw, 
Hu^e  flames,  that  dimmed  all  the  hevens  light, 
Knrold  in  duskish  smoke  and  brimstone  blew  : 
As  burning  Aetna  from  Iris  bovling  stew 
Doih  belch  out  flames,  and  rockes  in  peeces  broke. 
And  ragged  ribs  of  mountaines  molten  new, 
Eiiwrapt  in  coleblacke  clowds  and  fildiy  smoke, 
That  al  the  land  with  stench,  and  heven  with  horror 
choke. 


Tlie  heate  whereof,  and  harmefull  pestilence. 

So  sore  him  noyd,  that  forst  him  to  retire 

A  litde  backeward  for  his  best  defence. 

To  save  his  body  from  the  scorching  fire. 

\\  hich  he  from  hellish  entrailes  did  expire. 

It  chaunst,  (  Eternall  God  that  chaunce  did  guide,) 

As  he  recoiled  backeward,  in  tiie  mire 

His  nigh  forwearied  feeble  feet  did  slide, 

And  downe  he  fell,  with  dread  of  shame  sore  terrifide. 


There  grew  a  goodly  tree  him  faire  beside, 

Loaden  with  fruit  and  apples  rosy  redd. 

As  they  in  pure  veimiUon  had  been  dide. 

Whereof  great  vertues  over  all  were  redd  : 

For  liappy  life  to  all  whic  h  thereon  fedd. 

And  life  eke  everlasting  did  befall  : 

Great  God  it  planted  in  that  blessed  stedd 

With  his  Almighty  hand,  and  did  it  call 

The  Tree  of  Life,  the  crime  of  our  first  fathers  faU. 


In  all  the  world  like  was  not  to  be  fownd. 
Save  in  that  soile,  where  all  good  things  did  grow, 
And  freely  sprong  out  of  theVruitfull  grownd" 
As  incorrupted  Nature  did  them  sow, 
Till  that  dredd  dragon  all  did  overthrow. 
Another  like  faire  tree  eke  grew  thereby. 
Whereof  whoso  did  ea.t,  eftsoones  did  know 
Both  good  and  ill  :   0  niournfull  meniorv  ! 
That  tree  through  one  mans  fault  hath  doen  us  all  ;o 
dy! 

XLVIII. 

From  that  first  tree  forih  flowd,  as  fiora  a  well, 

A  trickling  streame  of  balme,  most  soveraine 

And  dainty  deare,  which  on  the  ground  still  fell. 

And  overflowed  all  the  fertile  plaine. 

As  it  had  deawed  bene  wilh  timely  raine  : 

Life  and  long  health  tliat  gracious  cdntment  gave  ; 

And  deadly  wounds  could  heale  ;  and  reare  agaiiie 

The  sencelesse  corse  ajipointed  for  the  grave  :" 

Into  that  same  he  fell,  which  did  from  death  him  save. 


For  nigh  thereto  the  ever-damned  beast 

Durst  not  ajjproch,  for  he  «  as  deadly  made, 

And  al  that  life  preserved  did  detest ; 

Yet  he  it  oft  adventur'd  to  invade. 

By  this  the  drouping  Day-light  gan  to  fade, 

And  yield  his  rowme  to  sad  succeeding  Night, 

Who  with  her  sable  mantle  gan  to  shade 

Tlie  face  of  earth  and  wayes  of  living  wiglit, 

And  high  her  burning  torch  set  up  in  heaven  hrighu 


When  gentle  Una  saw  the  second  fall 
Of  her  deare  knight,  who,  wearv  of  long  fight 
And  faint  through  losse  of  blood,  moov'd  not  at  all. 
But  lay,  as  in  a  dreame  of  deepe  deliglit, 
Besmeard  with  pretious  balme,  wliose  vertuous  mioht 
Did  heale  his  woundes,  and  scorcliing  heat  alay  ; 
Againe  she  stricken  was  witli  sore  affright. 
And  for  his  safetie  gan  devoutly  pray. 
And  watch  the   noyous  night,  and  wait  for  ioycus 
day. 


The  ioyous  day  gan  early  to  appeare  ; 
And  fayre  Aurora  from  the  deawy  bed 
Of  aced  Tithone  gan  herselfe  to  reare 
With  rosy  cheekes,  for  shame  as  blushing  red . 
Her  golden  locks,  for  hast,  were  loosely  shed 
About  her  eares,  when  Una  her  did  marke 
Clymbe  to  her  cbaret.  all  with  flowers  si>red. 
From  heven  high  to  chace  the  chearelesse  darke  ; 
With  mery  note  her  lowd  salutes  the  mountain  larke. 


Then  freshly  up  arose  the  doughty  knight, 
All  healed  of  his  hurts  and  woundes  wide. 
And  did  hiniselfe  to  battaile  ready  dight ; 
Whose  early  foe  awaiting  him  beside 
To  have  devourd,  so  soone  as  day  he  spyde. 
When  now  he  saw  himselfe  so  freshly  reare, 
As  if  late  fight  had  nought  him  damnifyde. 
He  woxe  dismaid,  and  gan  his  fate  to  feare  ; 
Nathlesse    with   wonted    rage   he   him   adyaunced 
ueare  ; 


60 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  I. 


And  in  his  first  encounter,  gaping  wyde, 

He  thougbt  aitonce  him  to  have  swallowd  quight, 

And  rusht  upon  him  with  outragious  pryde  ; 

Wlio  liim  rencounting  fierce  as  liauke  in  flight, 

Periorce  rebutted  back  :   the  weapon  bright. 

Taking  advantage  of  his  open  iaw, 

Ran  through  his  mouth  with  so  importune  might, 

That  deepe"  emperst  liis  darksome  hollow  maw, 

And,  back  retyrd,  his  life  blood  forth  withall  did  draw, 


So  downe  he  fell,  and  forth  his  life  did  breath. 
That  vanisht  into  smoke  and  cloudes  swift ; 
So  dovs'ne  he  fell,  that  th'  earth  him  underneath 
Did  grone,  as  feeble  so  great  load  to  lift ; 
So  downe  he  fell,  as  an  huge  rocky  clift, 
Whose  false  foundacion  waves  have  washt  away. 
With  dreadfull  poyse  is  from  the  mayneland  rift. 
And,  rolling  downe,  great  Neptune  doth  dismay  : 
So  downe  he  fell,  and  like  an  heaped  mountaine  lay 


The  knight  himselfe  even  tiembled  at  his  fall 

So  huge  and  horrible  a  masse  it  seemd  ; 

And  his  deare  lady,  that  beheld  it  all. 

Durst  not  approcb  for  dread  which  she  misdeemd  ; 

But  yet  at  last,  whenas  the  direfuU  teend 

She  saw  not  stirre,  oft-shaking  vaine  aff"right 

She  nigher  drew,  and  saw  that  ioyous  end  : 

Then  God  she  praysd,  and  thanki  her  faitbfuU  knight, 

That  had  atchievde  so  great  a  conquest  by  his  might. 


CANTO  XII. 

Fayre  Una  to  the  Redcrosse  knight 
Betrouthed  is  with  ioy  : 

Though  false  Duessa,  it  to  barre. 
Her  false  sleightes  doe  imploy. 


Behold  I  see  the  haven  nigh  at  hand. 

To  which  I  meane  my  wearie  course  to  bend  ; 

Vere  the  maine  shete,  and  beare  up  with  the  land. 

The  wjiich  afore  is  fayrly  to  be  keud, 

And  seemetb  safe  from  storms  that  may  offend  : 

There  this  fayre  virgin  wearie  of  her  way 

Must  landed  bee,  now  at  her  iourneyes  end  ; 

There  eke  my  feeble  barke  a  while  may  stay. 

Till  mery  wynd  and  weather  call  her  thence  away. 


Scarselv  had  Phoebus  in  the  glooming  east 

Vett  harnessed  his  fyrie-footed  teeme, 

Ne  rea.'d  above  the  earth  his  flaHuns'  creast ; 

When  the  la>t  deadlv  smoke  aloft  did  steeme, 

That  signe  of  last  outbreathed  life  did  seeme 

^Jrito  tiie  watchman  on  the  castle-wall. 

Who  thereby  dead  that  balefiill  beast  did  deeme. 

And  to  liis  lord  and  lady  lowd  gan  call, 

To  tell  how  he  had  seene  the  dragons  fatall  fall. 


Then  gan  triumphant  trompets  sownd  on  hye. 

That  sent  to  heven  the  ecchoed  report 

Of  their  new  ioy,  and  happie  victory 

Ciainst  him,  that  had  them  long  opprest  with  tort, 

And  fast  imprisoned  in  sieged  fort. 

Then  all  the  people,  as  in  solemiie  feast. 

To  him  assembled  with  one  full  contort, 

]\eioyciug  at  the  fall  of  that  great  beast, 

From  whose  eternall  bondage  now  they  were  releast. 


Forth  came  that  auncient  lord,  and  aged  queene, 
Arayd  in  antiaue  robes  downe  to  the  grownd, 
And  sad  habiliments  right  well  beseene  : 
A  noble  crew  ;ibout  them  waited  rownd 
Of  sage  and  sober  ])eres.  all  gravely  gownd  ; 
Whom  far  before  did  march  a  goodly  band 
Of  tall  young  men,  all  hable  amies  to  sownd. 
But  now  tliev  lanrell  braunclies  bore  in  hand  ; 
Glad  signe  of  victory  and  peace  iu  all  tlieir  land. 


Uprose  with  hasty  ioy,  and  feeble  speed, 
That  aged  syre,  the  lord  of  all  that  land. 
And  looked  forth,  to  weet  if  trew  indeed 
TTinse  tvdinges  were,  as  he  did  unders,tand : 
Which  whenas  trew  by  trvall  he  out  fond. 
He  b:idd  to  open  wyde  his  brazen  gate, 
Willi  li  long  time  had  bcene  shut,  and  out  (if  bond 
Proclavmed  ioy  and  ]ie;ice  ilirough  all  his  state  ; 
For  dead   now  was  their  foe,  which  them  forrayed 
luie. 


Unto  that  doughtie  conquerour  they  came. 
And,  him  before  tliemselves  prostrating  low, 
Their  lord  and  patrone  loud  did  him  proclame, 
And  at  his  feet  their  lawiell  boughes  did  throw. 
Sooiie  after  tliem,  all  dauncmg  on  a  row. 
The  comely  virgins  came,  with  girlands  dight. 
As  fresh  as  fl  nvres  in  medow  i;reeiie  doe  grow. 
When  morning  draw  ujwii  their  leaves  doth  light; 
And  in   their  harides  sweet  timbrells  all  upheld  on 
hiirht. 


Canto  XII.] 


THE  FALRIF.  QIJP:ENL-. 


61 


And,  them  before,  the  fry  of  children  yons^ 
Their  wanton  sportes  and  childish  mirth  did  play, 
And  fo  the  maydens  sownding  tymbrels  song 
In  well  attuned  notes  a  ioyous  lay, 
And  made  delightful  musick  all  the  way, 
Untill  tliej"^  came,  where  that  faiie  Virgin  stood  : 
As  fayre  Diana  in  fresh  sommers  day 
Beholdes  hei  nymphes  enraung'd  in  shady  wood, 
Some  wrestle,  some  do  run,  some  bathe  in  christall 
flood  ; 


So  she  beheld  tliose  maydens  meriment 

With  chearefull  vew  ;  who,  when  to  her  they  came. 

Themselves  to  ground  with  gracious  humblesse  bent, 

And  her  ador'd  by  honorable  name. 

Lifting  to  heven  her  everlasting  fame  : 

Then  on  her  head  they  sett  a  girlond  greene. 

And  crowned  her  twixt  earnest  and  tviixt  game 

Wlio,  in  her  self-resemblance  well  beseene. 

Did  seeme,such  as  she  was,  a  goodly  maiden  queene. 


And  after  all  the  raskall  many  ran. 

Heaped  together  in  rude  rablement, 

To  see  the  face  of  that  victorious  man. 

Whom  all  admired  as  from  heaven  sent, 

And  gaz'd  upon  with  gaping  wonderment. 

But  when  they  came  where  that  dead  dragon  lay, 

Stretcht  on  the  ground  in  monstrous  large  extent. 

The  sight  with  ydle  feare  did  them  dismay, 

Ne  durst  approch  liim  nigh,  1o  touch,  or  once  assay. 


Some  feard.and  fledd ;  some  feard,  and  well  it  faynd  : 

One,  that  would  wiser  seeme  tl)en  all  the  rest, 

Warnd  him  not  touch,  for  yet  perhaps  remaynd 

Some  lingring  life  within  his  hollow  brest, 

Or  in  his  wombe  might  lurke  some  hidden  nest 

Of  many  dragonettes,  his  fruitful!  seede  ; 

Another  saide,  that  in  his  eyes  did  rest 

Yet  sparckling  fyre,  and  badd  thereof  take  heed  ; 

Another  said,  he  saw  him  move  his  eyes  indeed. 


One  mother,  whenas  her  foolehardy  chyld 

Did  come  too  neare,  and  with  his  talants  play, 

Halfe  dead  through  feare,  her  litle  babe  revyld. 

And  to  her  gossips  gan  in  counsel  1  say  ; 

"  How  can  I  tell,  but  that  his  talants  may 

Yet  scratch  my  Sonne,  or  rend  Iiis  tender  hand?" 

So  diversly  themselves  in  vaine  they  fray  ; 

Whiles  some  more  bold  to  measure  him  "nigh  stand, 

'Jo  prove  how  many  acres  be  did  spred  of  land. 


Thus  flocked  all  the  folke  him  rownd  about ; 

ihe  whiles  that  boarie  king,  with  all  his  traine, 

Being  arrived  where  that  champion  stout 

After  his  foes  defeasaunce  did  remaine. 

Him  goodly  greetes,  and  fayre  does  entertayne 

With  princely  gifts  of  yvorj-  and  gold. 

And  thousand  thankes  him  yeeldes  for  all  his  paine. 

Then  when  his  daughter  deare  he  does  behold, 

Her  dearely  doth  imbrace,  and  kisseth  manifold. 


And  after  to  his  pallace  he  them  bringes. 

With  shaumes.and  trompets,  and  with  clarions  sweet ; 

And  all  the  way  the  ioyous  people  singes, 

And  with  their  garments  strowes  the  paved  street , 

Whence  mounting  up,  they  fynd  purveyaunce  meet 

Of  all,  that  royall  princes  court  became  ; 

And  all  the  floore  was  underneath  their  fe^t 

Bespredd  with  costly  scarlott  of  great  name. 

On  which  they  lowly  sitt,  and  fitting  purpose  frame; 


What  needes  me  tell  their  feast  and  goodly  guize. 

In  which  was  nothing  riotous  nor  vaine  ? 

What  needes  of  dainty  dishes  to  devize. 

Of  comely  services,  or  courtly  trayne. 

My  narrow  leaves  cannot  in  them  contayne 

The  large  discourse  of  roiall  princes  state. 

Yet  was  their  manner  then  but  bare  and  pJayne  : 

For  th'  iinticiue  world  excesse  and  prj'de  did  hate 

Such  proud  luxurious  pompe  is  swollen  up  but  late. 


Then,  when  with  meates  and  drlnkes  of  every  kinde 

Their  fervent  appetite  they  quenched  had. 

That  auncient  lord  gan  fit  occasion  finde, 

Of  straunge  adventures,  and  of  perils  sad 

Which  in  his  travell  him  befallen  had, 

For  to  demaund  of  his  renowmed  guest  : 

Who  then  with  utt'rance  grave,  and  count'nance  sad. 

From  poynt  to  ])oynt,  as  is  before  exprest, 

Discourst  his  voyage  long,  according  his  request. 


Great  pleasure,  mixt  with  pittiful  regard. 
That  godly  kini;  and  queene  did  passionate, 
Whyles  they  his  pittifuU  adventures  heard  ; 
That  oft  they  did  lament  his  lucklesse  state, 
And  often  blame  the  too  importune  fate 
'i'hat  heaped  on  him  so  many  wrathfull  wreakes  , 
(For  never  gentle  knight,  as  he  of  late. 
So  tossed  was  in  fortunes  cruell  freakes ;) 
And  all  the  while  salt  teares  bedeawd  the   hearers 
cheaks. 


Then  sayd  that  royall  pere  in  sober  wise ; 

"  Deare  sonne  great  beene  tiie  evils  which  ye  bore 

From  first  to  last  in  your  late  enterprise, 

That  I  no'te  whether  praise  or  pitty  more  : 

For  never  living  man,  I  weene,  so  sore 

In  sea  of  deadly  daungeis  was  distrest : 

But  since  now  safe  ye  seised  have  the  shore. 

And  well  arrived  are  (high  God  be  blest !) 

Let  us  devize  of  ease  and  everlasting  rest." 


"  Ah,  dearest  lord,"  said  then  that  doughty  knight, 
"Of  ease  or  rest  I  may  not  yet  devize  ; 
For  by  the  faith,  which  I  to  armes  have  plight, 
I  bownden  am  streight  after  this  emprize. 
As  that  your  daughter  can  ye  well  advize, 
Backe  to  retourne  to  that  great  Faery  Queene, 
And  her  to  serve  sixe  yeares  in  warlike  wize, 
Gainstthat  proud  Paynim  kingthat  works  her  teene. 
Therefore  1  ought  crave  pardon,  till   I  thors  have 
beene." 


62 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  I. 


"  Unhappy  falls  that  hard  necessity," 

Quoth  he,  "  the  troubler  of  mv  happy  peace, 

And  vowed  foe  of  my  felicity  ; 

Ne  I  as^ainst  the  same  can  justly  preace. 

But  since  that  band  ye  cannot  now  release, 

Nor  doen  undo,  (for  vowes  may  not  be  vayne,) 

Soone  as  the  temie  of  tliose  six  yeares  shall  cease. 

Ye  then  shall  hether  back  retourne  agayne, 

The  marriage  to  accomplish  vowd  betwixt  you  twayn: 


"  WTiich,  for  my  part,  I  covet  to  performe, 

In  sort  as  tlirouofh  the  world  I  did  proclame, 

That  wlioso  kild  tliat  monster  most  deforme, 

And  him  in  hardy  battayle  overcame, 

Should  have  mine  onely  daughter  to  his  dame, 

And  of  my  kingdome  heyre  apparaunt  bee: 

Therefore  since  now  to  thee  perteynes  the  same. 

By  dew  desert  of  noble  chevalree, 

Both  daughter  and  eke  kingdome  lo !  I  yield  to  thee." 


Then  forth  he  called  that  his  daughter  fayre, 

The  fairest  Un',  his  onely  daughter  deare, 

His  onely  daughter  and  his  onelv  hayre  ; 

Who  forth  proceeding  with  sad  sober  cheare, 

As  bright  as  doth  the  morning  starre  appeare 

Out  of  the  east,  with  flaming  lockes  bedight, 

To  tell  that  dawning  day  is  drawing  neare, 

Anil  to  the  world  does  bring  lontj-wished  light 

So  faire  and  fresh  tliat  ladv  sbewd  heraelfe  in  sight : 


So  fiiire  and  fresh,  as  freshest  flowre  in  May  ; 
For  she  had  layd  her  mournefull  stole  aside, 
And  widow-like  sad  wimple  throwne  away, 
Wherewith  her  lieavenly  beautie  she  did  hide, 
Whiles  on  her  wearv  iournev  she  did  ride  ; 
And  on  her  now  a  garment  she  did  weare 
All  lilly  white,  withoutten  spot  or  pride, 
That  seemd  like  silke  and  silver  woven  neare  ; 
But  neither  silke  nor  silver  therein  did  appeare. 


The  blazing  brightnesse  of  her  beauties  beame, 

And  glorious  light  of  her  sunshyny  face. 

To  tell,  were  as  to  strive  against  the  streame : 

Mv  ragued  rimes  are  all  too  rude  and  bace 

Her  heavenly  lineaments  for  to  encliace. 

Ne  wonder  ;  for  her  own  deare  loved  knight. 

All  were  she  dailv  with  himselfe  in  place. 

Did  wonder  much  at  lier  celestial  sight : 

Oft  Iiud  he  s^ene  her  faire,  but  never  so  faire  dight. 


So  fairelv  dight  when  she  in  presence  came, 

She  to  her  svre  made  humble  reverence, 

And  bowed  low,  that  her  right  well  became, 

And  added  grace  untn  her  excellence  : 

WIio  vvith  great  wisedome  and  grave  eloquence 

Tlius  gan  to  say — But,  care  lie  thus  liad  sayd, 

Willi  flvin;;  speede,  and  seeming  great  jtretence, 

(-'ame  running  in,  much  like  a  man  dismayd, 

A  messe^er  with  letteis  which  liis  message  sayd. 


All  in  the  open  hall  amazed  stood 

At  suddeinnesse  of  that  unwary  sieilit, 

And  wondred  at  his  breathlesse  hasty  mood  : 

But  he  for  nought  would  stay  his  passage  right. 

Till  fast  before  the  king  he  did  alight ; 

Where  falling  flat  great  humblesse  he  did  make, 

And  kist  the  ground  whereon  his  foot  was  pight  ; 

Then  to  his  handes  that  writt  he  did  betake, 

Which  he  disclosing,  read  thus  as  the  paper  spake 


"  To  thee,  most  mighty  king  of  Eden  fayre. 
Her  greeting  sends  in  thf  se  sad  lines  addrest 
The  wofuU  daughter  and  forsaken  heyre 
Of  that  j^reat  emperour  of  all  the  west ; 
And  bids  thee  be  advized  for  the  best, 
Ere  thou  thy  daughter  linck  in  holy  band 
Of  wedlocke,  to  that  new  unknowen  guest : 
For  he  already  plighted  his  right  hand 
Unto  another  love^  and  to  another  land. 


*'  To  me  sad  mayd,  or  rather  widow  sad, 

He  was  aff"yaunced  long  time  before, 

And  sacred  pledges  he  both  gave,  and  had, 

Fnlse  erraunt  knight,  infamous,  and  forswore '. 

Witnesse  the  burning  altars,  which  he  swore. 

And  guilty  heavens  of  his  bold  periury  ; 

Wliich  though  he  hath  polluted  oft  of  yore, 

Yet  I  to  them  for  iudgnient  iust  doe  fly. 

And  them  coniure  t'  avenge  this  shameful!  iniurv  ! 


"  Therefore  since  mine  he  is,  or  free  or  bond, 
Or  false  or  trew.  or  living  or  else  dead, 
Withhold,  O  soveravne  prince,  your  hastv  bond 
From  knitting  league  with  him,  1  you  aread  ; 
Ne  weene  mv  riirht  with  stren.th  adowne  to  tread. 
Through  weaknesse  of  my  widowlied  or  woe  ; 
For  Truth  is  strong  her  rightl'ull  cause  to  plead, 
And  shall  iinde  friends,  if  need  requireth  soe. 
So  bids  thee  well  to  fare,  thy  neither  friend  nor  foe, 

"  Fides'ni.'' 


When  he  these  bitter  by  ting  wordes  had  red, 

The  tydin^s  straunge  did  him  abashed  make, 

That  still  he  sate  lon:i  time  astonished. 

As  in  great  nnise,  ne  word  to  creatun^  spake. 

At  last  liis  solemn  silence  tlius  he  t)ral;f, 

A\'itli  douhtiiill  eyes  fast  (ixed  on  his  guest; 

'   Redoubted  knight,  that  for  myne  only  sake 

Thy  life  and  litmor  late  adventurest ; 

Let  nought  be  hid  from  nie,  tliat  ough',  to  be  exprest 


"  What  ineane  these  bloody  vowes  and  idle  threats, 

'I'lirowiie  out  from  womanish  impatient  mvnd  ? 

What  hevens  ?   what  altars  I  what  enraged  lieates. 

Here  heaped  up  witli  terines  of  love  unkynd. 

My  ( onsc  icnce  cle  n-e  with  guiltv  hands  would  bynd? 

High  God  he  wiinesse,  th;u  1  guiltle--3e  ame  ! 

But  it  ynursi'lfe,  sir  knight,  ye  faulty  fynd, 

Or  wrapped  be  in  loves  of  former  dame, 

With  cry  me  doe  nut  it  euver,  but  disclose  tlie  same  " 


Canto  XIl.j 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


]'o  whom  the  Redcrosse  knis'lit  this  answere  sent ; 
'  JMv  lord,  my  kinj^  ;  be  nouglit  hereat  dismayd. 
Till  well  ye  wote  by  orave  intendiment, 
What  woman,  and  wherefore,  doth  me  upbrayd 
With  breach  of  love  and  loialty  betrayed. 
It  was  in  niv  mishaps,  as  hitlierward 
I  lately  traveild,  th.at  unawares  I  strayd 
Out  of  my  wav,  through  perils  straunge  and  hard  ; 
That  day  should  faile  me  ere  1  had  them  all  declard. 


"  There  did  I  find,  or  rather  I  was  fownd 
Of  this  false  woman  vhat  Fidessa  hight, 
Fidessa  hight  the  falsest  dame  on  grownd, 
I\!ost  false  Duessa,  royall  richly  dight, 
That  easy  was  t'  inveigle  weaker  sight : 
Who  bv  her  wicked  arts  and  wiely  skill, 
Too  false  and  strong  (or  earthly  skill  or  might, 
Unawares  me  wrought  utito  her  wicked  will, 
And  to  my  foe  betray  d,  when  least  I  (eared  ill. 


Then  steppeth  forth  the  goodly  royall  mayd, 
And,  on  the  ground  herselfe  pro^,trating  low, 
W'ltii  sober  countenaunce  thus  to  him  sayd  ; 
"  0  pardon  me,  w.y  soveraine  lord,  to  show 
The  secret  treasons,  which  of  late  I  know 
To  have  bene  wrought  bv  that  false  sorceresse  : 
Shee,  onely  she,  it  is,  that  erst  did  throw 
This  gentle  knig'it  into  so  great  distresse, 
That  death  him  did  awaite  in  daily  wretchedi;es£)e. 

XXXIV. 

'  And  now  it  seemcs,  that  she  suborned  hath 
This  crafty  messenger  with  letters  vaine. 
To  worke  new  woe  and  unprovided  scath, 
By  breaking  of  the  band  betwixt  us  twaine  ; 
Wherein  she  used  hath  ihe  practicke  paine 
Of  this  false  footman,  clokt  with  simpleiiesse, 
Whome  if  ye  please  for  to  discover  plaine, 
Ye  shall  him  Archimago  find,  I  ghesse, 
The  falsest  man  alive  ;  who  tries,  shall  find  no  lesse.'' 


The  kinar  was  greatly  nidveil  at  her  speach  ; 
And,  all  with  suddein  indignation  fraight. 
Bad  on  that  messenger  rude  hands  to  reach. 
P^fisoones  the  gard,  which  on  his  state  did  wait, 
Attacht  that  faytor  falsr,  and  bound  him  strait  : 
Who  seeming  sorely  chaufli  d  at  his  band, 
As  cliiiined  beare  wh<im  cruell  dogs  doe  bait, 
^Vi•h  ydle  force  did  (kine  them  to  withstand  ; 
And  often  semblauace   made  to  scape  out  of  their 
hand. 


But  they  him  layd  full  i./w  i:.  dungeon  deepe. 
And  bound  him  hand  and  fnnte  with  yroii  chains  : 
And  with  continual  watch  did  warely  keepe. 
\^  ho  then  would  fhinke,  that  by  his  subtile  I  rains 
lie  could  escape  fowle  d-aih  or  deadly  pains  ? 
'ihus.  when  that  princes  wra'h  was  paciiide. 
He  gan  renew  the  late  forbidden  bains. 
And  to  the  knight  his  daughter  dear  he  tyde 
Widi  sacred  rites  and  vowes  for  ever  to  abyde. 


His  owne  two  hands  the  holv  knotts  did  knitt. 
That  none  but  death  for  ever  can  divide  ; 
His  owne  two  hands,  (or  such  a  tunie  most  fitt. 
The  housling  fire  did  knidle  and  provide, 
And  holy  water  thereon  sprinckled  wide  ; 
At  which  the  bushy  teade  a  groorae  did  light, 
And  sacred  lamp  in  secret  chamber  hide, 
Where  it  should  not  be  quenched  day  nor  ni^lit, 
For  feare  of  evil  fates,  but  bumen  ever  bright. 


Then  gan  they  sprinckle  ;dl  tL-^prs's  witli  wine. 
And  made  great  least  to  solemj  izb  that  day  : 
They  all  perfumde  with  frankincense  divine, 
And  precious  odours  fetcht  from  far  away, 
'I'hat  all  the  house  did  sweat  with  great  aray 
And  all  the  while  sweete  musicke  did  apply 
Her  curious  skill  the  warblin,  notes  to  play, 
To  drive  away  the  dull  melancholy  ; 
The  whiles  one  sung  a  song  of  love  and  ioUity. 


During  the  which  there  was  an  heavenh^  noise 
Heai'd  sow  nd  through  all  tlie  pallace  pleasantly. 
Like  as  it  hail  bene  manv  an  angels  voice 
Singing-  before  th'  Eternall  i\laiesty, 
In  their  trniall  trijdicities  on  hye  : 
Vett  wist  no  creature  wlience  that  hevenly  sweet 
Proceeded,  yet  each  one  felt  secretly 
Himselfe  therebv  reite  of  his  sences  meet, 
And  ravished  with  rare  impression  in  his  sprite. 


Great  ioy  was  made  that  day  of  young  and  old. 
And  solemne  feast  proclaynid  throughout  the  land^ 
'I'hat  their  exceeding  merth  may  not  be  told  : 
Suffice  ii  heare  by  signes  to  understand 
'i'he  usual  I  ioyes  a    knitting  of  loves  band. 
Thrise  happy  man  the  knight  himselfe  did  hold, 
Possessed  of  his  ladies  hart  and  hand  ; 
And  ever,  when  his  eie  did  her  behold. 
His  heart  did  seeme  to  melt  in  pleasures  manifold. 


Her  ioyous  presence,  and  sweet  company. 

In  full  content  he  there  did  long  enioy  ; 

Ne  wii  ked  envy,  ne  vile  geoiosy, 

His  deare  deliglits  were  liable  to  annoy : 

Yet,  swimmnig  in  that  sea  ■  f  blissfull  ioy, 

He  nought  forgoti  how  he  whilome  had  sworne, 

In  ca>e  he  could  th;it  monstrous  beast  destroy. 

Unto  his  Kaerv  Queene  backe  to  retourne  ; 

The  which  he  shortly  did  ;  and  Una  left  to  mourne. 


Now,  strike  your  sailes,  vee  iolly  mariners. 

For  vi-e  be  come  unto  a  tjuiet  rode, 

Where  we  must  land  s  me  of  our  passengers. 

And  light  this  wearv  vessell  of  her  lode. 

Here  she  a  v.hile  may  m-.dce  her  safe  abode, 

Till  she  repaired  have  her  tackles  spent. 

And  wants  supplide  ;  and  then  againe  abroad 

On  the  long  voiaue  whereto  she  is  bent  : 

Well  may  the  speede,  and  (airely  finish  her  intent! 


64 


THE  Faerie  queeni,. 


[Book  II, 


THE  SECOND  BOOK 


THE   FAERIE  QUEENE, 


CONTAYNING 


THE  LEGEND  OF  SIR  GUYON,  OR  OF  TEMPERAUNCE. 


Right  well  I  wote,  most  mighty  soveraiiie. 

That  all  this  famous  Antique  history 

Of  some  th'  aboundance  of  an  ydle  braine 

Will  iudged  be,  and  painted  forgery, 

Rather  then  matter  of  iust  memory  : 

Sith  none  that  breatheth  living  aire  doth  know 

Where  is  that  happy  land  of  Faiiry, 

Whicli  1  so  much  doe  vaunt,  yet  no  where  show  ; 

But  vouch  antiquities,  which  no  body  can  know 


Hut  let  that  man  with  better  sence  advize, 
Ttiat  of  the  world  least  part  to  us  is  red  ; 
And  daily  how  through  hardy  enterprize 
Many  great  regions  are  discovered. 
Which  to  late  age  were  never  mentioned. 
Who  ever  heard  of  th'  Indian  Peru  ? 
r  who  in  venturous  vessell  measured 
lie  Amazon  huge  river,  now  found  trew  ? 
r  fruitfuUest  Virsrinia  who  did  ever  vew  ? 


Yet  all  these  were,  when  no  man  did  them  know, 
Yet  have  from  wisest  ages  hidden  beene  ; 
And  later  times  thinges  more  unknowne  shall  show 
AVhy  then  should  witlesse  man  so  much  misweene. 
That  notliiii  ,:•  is,  but  that  which  he  hath  seene  ? 
What,  if  within  tlie  moones  fayre  shining  spheare, 
What,  if  in  every  other  starre  unseene 
Of  other  worldes  he  happily  should  heare  ? 
He  wonder  would  much  more  ;  yet  such   to  some 
appeare. 

IV. 

Of  Faery  lond  yet  if  he  more  inquyre. 
By  certein  signe.s,  liere  sett  in  sondrie  place. 
He  may  it  fynd  ;  ne  let  him  then  admyre, 
But  yield  his  sence  to  bee  too  blunt  and  bace, 
That  no'te  without  an  hound  fine  footing  trace. 
And  thou,  O  fayrest  princesse  under  sky, 
In  this  fayre  mirrhour  maist  behold  thy  face. 
And  thine  owne  realmes  in  lond  of  Faiiry, 
And  in  this  antique  ymage  thy  great  auncestry. 


The  which  0  !  pardon  me  thus  to  enfold 

In  covert  vele,  and  wra])t  in  shadowes  light. 

That  feeble  eyes  your  glory  may  behold. 

Which  ells  could  not  endure  those  beames  bright. 

But  would  bee  dazled  with  exceeding  liglit. 

O  !  pardon,  and  vouchsafe  with  patient  eare 

The  brave  adventures  of  this  Faery  knight, 

The  good  Sir  Guyon,  gratiously  to  heare  ; 

In  whom  great  rule  of  Temp'raunce  goodly  doth  appeare. 


Canto  l.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


65 


CANTO  I. 

Guyon,  by  Archimage  abusd, 
The  Redcrosse  knight  awaytes  ; 

Fyndes  Mordant  and  Amavia  slaine 
With  Pleasures  poisoned  bay  tes. 


That  conning  architect  of  cancred  guyle, 

Whom  princes  late  displeasure  left  in  bands. 

For  falsed  letters,  and  suborned  \vyle ; 

Scone  as  the  Redcrosse  knight  he  understands 

To  beene  departed  out  of  Eden  landes, 

To  serve  againe  his  soveraine  Elfin  queene  ; 

His  artes  he  moves,  and  out  of  caytives  handes 

Himselfe  he  frees  by  secret  meanes  unseene  ; 

His  shackles  emptie  lefte,  himselfe  escaped  cleene ; 


And  forth  he  fares,  full  of  malicious  mynd, 
To  worken  mischiefe,  and  avenging  woe, 
Whereever  he  that  godly  knight  may  fynd, 
His  onely  hart-sore  and  his  onely  foe  ; 
Sith  Una  now  he  algates  must  foregoe. 
Whom  his  victorious  handes  did  earst  restore 
To  native  cro\vne  and  kingdom  late  ygoe ; 
Where  she  enioyes  sure  peace  for  evermore, 
As  wetherbeaten  shiparryv'd  on  happie  shore. 


Him  therefore  now  the  obiect  of  his  spight 

And  deadly  food  he  makes  :  him  to  offend 

By  forged  treason,  or  by  open  fight, 

He  seekes,  of  all  his  drifte  the  aymed  end  : 

Thereto  bis  subtile  engins  he  does  bend, 

His  practick  witt  and  his  fay  re  fyled  tonge, 

With  tliousand  other  sleightes  ;  for  well  he  kend 

His  credit  now  in  doubtfull  ballaunce  hong  : 

For  hardly  could  bee  hurt,  who  was  already  stong. 


Still,  as  he  went,  he  craftie  stales  did  lay, 
With  cunning  traynes  him  to  entrap  unwares, 
\nd  privy  spyals  plast  in  all  his  way, 
To  weete  what  course  he  takes,  and  how  he  fares  ; 
To  ketch  him  at  a  vauntage  in  his  snares. 
But  now  so  wise  and  wary  was  the  knight 
By  tryall  of  his  former  harmes  and  cares, 
ITiat  he  descryde,  and  shonned  still,  his  slight : 
The  fish,  that  once  was  caught,  new  bayt  wil  hardly 
byte. 

V. 

Nath'lesse  th'  enchaunter  would  not  spare  his  payne. 

In  hope  to  win  occasion  to  his  will ; 

Which  when  he  long  awaited  had  in  vayne. 

He  chaungd  his  mynd  fi-om  one  to  other  ill : 

For  to  all  good  he  enimy  was  still. 

Upon  the  way  him  fortuned  to  meete, 

Fayre  marching  underneath  a  shady  bill, 

A  goodly  knight,  all  armd  in  harnesse  meete, 

ITiat  from  his  head  no  place  appeared  to  his  feete. 


His  carriage  was  full  comely  and  uprfght ; 
His  countenance  demure  and  temperate  ; 
Butyett  so  Sterne  and  terrible  in  sight, 
That  cheard  his  friendes,  and  did  his  foes  amate  ; 
He  was  an  Elfin  borne,  of  noble  state 
And  mickle  worship  in  his  native  land  ; 
Well  could  he  tourney,  and  in  lists  debate, 
And  knighthood  tooke  of  good  Sir  Huons  hand. 
When  with  king  Oberon  he  came  to  Fary  land. 


Him  als  accompanyd  upon  the  way 
A  comely  palmer,  clad  in  black  attyre. 
Of  rypest  yeares,  and  heares  all  hoarie  gray. 
That  with  a  staffe  his  feeble  steps  did  stire, 
Least  his  long  way  his  aged  limbes  should  tire  : 
And,  if  by  lookes  one  may  the  mind  aread. 
He  seemd  to  be  a  sage  and  sober  syre  ; 
And  ever  with  slow  pace  the  knight  did  lead. 
Who  taught  his  trampling  steed  with  equall  steps  to 
tread. 


Such  whenas  Archimago  them  did  view. 

He  weened  well  to  worke  some  uncouth  wyle  : 

Eftsoones,  untwisting  bis  deceiptfull  clew. 

He  gan  to  weave  a  web  of  wicked  guyle  ; 

And,  with  faire  countenance  and  flattring  style 

To  them  approching,  thus  the  knight  bespake  ; 

"  Fayre  sonneof  Wars,  that  seeke  with  warlike  spoyle, 

And  great  atchiev'ments,  great  yourselfe  to  make. 

Vouchsafe  to  stay  your  steed  for  humble  misers  sake." 


He  stayd  his  steed  for  humble  misers  sake. 
And  badd  tell  on  the  tenor  of  his  playnt : 
Who  feigning  then  in  every  limb  to  quake 
Through  inward  feare,  and  seeming  pale  and  faynt. 
With  piteous  mone  his  percing  speach  gan  paynt : 
"  Deare  lady  !  how  shall  I  declare  thy  cace. 
Whom  late  I  left  in  languorous  constraynt  ? 
Would  God  !  tliyselfe  now  present  were  in  place 
To  tell  this  ruefull  tale  :    thy  sight  could  win  the" 
grace  ; 


"  Or  rather  would,  O  !  would  it  so  had  chaunst. 
That  ycu,  most  noble  sir,  had  present  beene 
When  that  lewd  rybauld,  with  vyle  lust  advaunst. 
Laid  first  his  filthie  hands  on  virgin  cleene, 
To  spoyle  her  dainty  corps,  so  faire  and  sheene 
As  on  the  earth,  great  mother  of  us  all. 
With  living  eye  more  fayre  was  never  scene 
Of  chastity  and  honour  virgiuall :  [call  ! 

Witues,  ye  heavens,  whom  she  in  vaine  to  help  did 


66 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


"  How  mav  it  be,"  sayd  then  the  knight  halfe  wroth, 

That  kniojht  should  knightliood  ever  so  have  shent?" 

"  None  but  that  saw,"  quoth  he,  "  would  weene  for 

How  shamefully  that  ma\  d  he  did  torment  :     [troth, 

Her  looser  golden  lockes  he  rudely  rent, 

And  drew  her  on  the  ground  ;  and  his  sharpe  sword 

Against  her  snowy  brest  he  fiercely  bent, 

And  threatned  death  with  many  a  bloodie  word  ; 

Tounge  hates  to  teO  the  rest  that  eye  to  see  abhord." 


Therewith  amoved  from  his  sober  mood, 
"  And  lives  he  yet,"  said  he,  "  that  wrought  this  act  ? 
And  doen  the  heavens  afford  him  vitall  food  V 
"  He  lives,"  quoth  he,  "  and  boasteth  of  the  fact, 
Ne  yet  hath  any  knight  his  courage  crackt." 
"  W  here  may  that  treachour  then,"  sayd  he, "  be  found, 
Or  by  what  meanes  may  I  his  footing  tract  ?" 
"  That  shall  I  shew,"  said  he,  "  as  sure  as  hound 
The  stricken  deare   doth   chaleng  by  the  bleeding 
wound." 


He  stavd  not  lenger  talke,  but  with  fierce  yre 

And  zealous  haste  away  is  quickly  j^one 

To  seeke  that  knight,  where  him  that  crafty  squyre 

Supposd  to  be.     They  do  aiTive  anone 

Where  sate  a  gentle  ladv  all  alone. 

With  garments  rent,  and  heare  discheveled. 

Wringing  her  handes,  and  making  piteous  mone  ; 

Her  swollen  eyes  were  much  disfigured, 

And  her  faire  face  with  teares  was  fowly  blubbered. 


The  knight,  approcbing  nigh,  thus  to  her  said  ; 

"  Faire  lady,  through  fowle  sorrow  ill  bedight. 

Great  pitty  is  to  see  you  thus  disraavd. 

And  marre  the  blossom  of  your  beauty  bright: 

Forthv  appease  your  griefe  and  heavy  plight, 

And  tell  the  cause  of  your  conceived  payne  ; 

For,  if  he  live  that  hath  you  doen  despight, 

He  shall  you  doe  dew  recompence  agay'ne. 

Or  els  his  wrong  with  greater  puissance  maintaine.' 


Which  when  she  heard,  as  in  despightfull  wise 
She  wilfully  her  sorrow  did  augment, 
And  offred  hope  of  comfort  did  despise  : 
Her  golden  lorkes  most  cruelly  she  rent, 
And  scratcht  her  face  with  ^ihastlv  dreriment , 
Ne  would  she  speake,  ne  see,  ne  vet  Kp  seene, 
But  hid  her  visage,  and  her  head  downe  bent, 
Either  for  grievous  shame,  or  for  great  teene, 
As  if  her  hart  with  sorrow  had  transfixed  beene  ; 


Till  her  that  squyre  bespake  ;  "  Madame,  my  liefe, 
For  Gods  deare  love  be  not  so  wilfuU  bent. 
But  doe  vouchsafe  now  to  receive  reliefe, 
The  which  good  fortune  doth  to  you  present. 
Yor  what  bootes  it  to  weepe  and  to  wayment 
\Vlien  ill  is  chaunst,  but  doth  the  ill  increase, 
And  the  weakeminde  with  double  woe  torment  ?" 
When  she  her  squyre  heard  speake,  she  gan  appease 
Her  voluntarie  paine,  and  feele  some  secret  ease. 


Eftsoone  she  said  ;  "  Ah  !  gentle  trustie  squyre, 
What  comfort  can  I,  wofull  wretch,  conceave ! 
Or  why  should  ever  I  henceforth  desyre 
To  see  faire  heavens  face,  and  life  not  leave, 
Sith  that  false  traytour  did  my  honour  reave  V 
"  False  traytour  certes,"  saide  the  Faerie  knight, 
"  I  read  the  man,  that  ever  would  deceave 
A  gentle  lady,  or  her  wrong  through  might  : 
Death  were  too  litle  paine  for  such  a  fowle  despight. 


"  But  now,  fayrre  ladye,  comfort  to  you  make, 

And  read  who  hath  ye  wrought  this  shamefull  plight, 

That  short  revenge  the  man  may  overtake, 

Whereso  he  be,  and  soon  upon  him  light." 

"  Certes,"  said  she,  "  I  wote  not  how  he  liight. 

But  under  him  a  gray  steede  he  did  wield. 

Whose  sides  with  dapled  circles  weren  dight  • 

Upright  he  rode,  and  in  his  silver  shield 

He  bore  a  bloodie  crosse,  that  quartred  all  the  field." 


"  Now  by  my  head,"  saide  Guyon,  "  much  I  muse. 

How  that  same  knight  should  doe  so  fowle  amis. 

Or  ever  gentle  damzell  so  abuse  : 

For  may  I  boldly  say,  he  surely  is 

A  right  good  knight,  and  trew  of  word  ywis  : 

I  present  was,  and  can  it  witnesse  well, 

When  amies  he  swore,  and  streight  did  enterpris 

Th'  adventure  of  the  errant  damozell ; 

In  which  he  hath  great  glory  wonne,  as  I  heare  tel.. 


"  Nathlesse  he  shortly  shall  againe  be  tryde. 

And  fairely  quit  him  of  th'  imputed  blame  ; 

Els,  be  ye  sure,  he  dearely  shall  abyde, 

Or  make  you  good  amendment  for  the  same  : 

All  wrongs  have  mendes,  but  no  amendes  of  shame 

Now  therefore,  lady,  rise  out  of  your  paine, 

And  see  the  salving  of  your  blotted  name." 

Full  loth  she  seemd  thereto,  but  yet  did  faine  ; 

For  she  was  inly  glad  her  purpose  so  to  gaine. 


Her  purpose  was  not  such  as  she  did  faine, 

Ne  yet  her  person  such  as  it  was  seene  ; 

Hut  under  simple  shew,  and  serablant  plaiue, 

Lurkt  false  Duessa  secretly  unseene, 

As  a  chaste  virgin  that  iiad  wronged  beene  ; 

l"'o  had  false  Archlmago  her  disguysd, 

'I  o  cloke  her  guile  with  sorrow  and  sad  teene  ; 

And  eke  himselfe  had  craftily  devisd 

To  be  lier  squire,  and  do  her  service  well  aguisd. 


Her,  late  forlorne  and  naked,  he  had  found 
\\'here  she  did  wander  in  waste  wildernesse. 
Lurking  in  rockes  and  caves  far  under  ground. 
And  with  greene  mosse  cov'ring  her  nakednesse 
I'o  hide  her  shame  and  loathly  filthinesse, 
Sith  her  Frince  Arthur  of  ])roud  ornaments 
And  borrowd  beauty  spovld  :   her  nathclesse 
Th'  enchaunter  finding  fit  for  his  intents 
Did  thus  revest,  and  deckt  with  dew  habiliments. 


Canto  I.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


67 


For  all  he  did  was  to  deceive  good  knights, 
And  draw  them  from  pursuit  of  praise  and  fame 
To  slug  in  slouth  and  sensuall  delights. 
And  end  their  daies  with  irrenowmed  shame. 
And  now  exceeding  griefe  him  overcame, 
To  see  the  Redcrosse  thus  advaunced  hye  ; 
Therefore  this  craftie  engine  he  did  frame. 
Against  his  praise  to  stirre  up  enmitye 
Of  such,  as  vertues  like  mote  unto  liim  allye. 


So  now  he  Guyon  guydes  an  uncouth  way  [last 

Through   woods  and  mountaines,  till  they  came  at 

'nto  a  pleasant  dale  that  lowly  lay 

Betwixt  two  hils,  whose  high  heads,  overplast, 

The  valley  did  with  coole  shade  overcast ; 

Through  midst  thereof  a  little  river  rold. 

By  which  there  sate  a  knight  with  helme  unlaste, 

Himselfe  refreshing  with  the  liquid  cold, 

After  his  travell  long  and  labours  manifold. 


"  Lo  !  yonder  he,"  cryde  Archimage  alowd, 
"  Tliat  wrought  the  shamefuU  fact  which  I  did  shew  ; 
And  now  he  doth  himselfe  in  secret  shrowd, 
To  fl}'  the  vengeaunce  for  his  outrage  dew  ; 
But  vaine  ;  for  ye  shall  dearely  do  him  rew  : 
(So  God  ye  speed  and  send  you  good  successe  !) 
Which  we  far  off  will  here  abide  to  vew." 
So  they  him  left  inflam'd  with  wrathfulnesse. 
That  streight  against  that  knight  his  speare  he  did 
addresse. 


AVho,  seeing  him  from  far  so  fierce  to  pricke, 
His  warlike  armes  about  him  gan  embraoe, 
And  in  the  rest  his  ready  speare  did  sticke  ; 
Tho,  whenas  still  he  saw  him  towards  pace. 
He  gan  rencounter  him  in  equall  race. 
They  bene  ymett,  both  ready  to  affrap. 
When  suddeinly  tliat  warriour  gan  abace 
His  threatned  speare,  as  if  some  new  mishap 
Had  him  betide,  or  hidden  danger  did  entrap  ; 


And  cryde,  "  Mercie,  sir  knight !  and  mercie,  lord. 
For  mine  offence  and  heedelesse  hardiment. 
That  had  almost  committed  crime  abhord. 
And  with  reprochfuU  shame  mine  honour  shent. 
Whiles  cursed  steels  against  that  badge  I  bent, 
The  sacred  badge  of  my  Redeemers  death. 
Which  on  your  shield  is  set  for  ornament !" 
But  his  fierce  foe  his  steed  could  stay  uneath, 
Who,  prickt  with  courage  kene,  did  cruell   battell 
breath. 

XXVIII. 

But,  when  he  heard  him  speake,  streight  way  he  knew 

His  errour;  and,  himselfe  inclyning,  sayd  ; 

"  Ah  !  deare  Sir  Guyon,  well  becommetli  you. 

But  me  behoveth  rather  to  upbrayd, 

Whose  hastie  hand  so  far  from  reason  strayd, 

That  almost  it  did  haynous  violence 

On  that  fayre  ymage  of  that  hevenly  mayd, 

That  decks  and  armes  your  shield  with  faire  defence  : 

Your  court'sie  takes  on  you  anothers  dew  offence." 


So  beene  they  both  atone,  and  doen  upreare 
Their  bevers  bright  each  other  for  to  greet ; 
Goodly  comporfaunce  each  to  other  beare, 
And  entertaine  tliemselves  wifli  court'sies  meet. 
Then  said  the  Kedcrosse  kniglit ;  "  Now  mote  I  weet. 
Sir  Guyon,  why  with  so  fierce  saliaunce. 
And  fell  intent  ye  did  at  earst  me  meet ; 
For,  sith  I  know  your  goodly  gouvernaunce. 
Great  cause,  I  weene,  you  guided,  or  some  uncouth 
chaunce." 


''  Certes,"  said  he,  "  well  mote  I  shame  to  tell 
The  fond  encheason  that  me  hetlier  led. 
A  false  infamous  faitour  late  befell 
Me  for  to  meet,  that  seemed  ill  bested. 
And  playnd  of  grievous  outrage,  which  he  red 
A  knight  had  wrought  against  a  lady  gent ; 
Wliich  to  avenge,  he  to  this  place  me  led, 
Where  you  he  made  the  marke  of  his  intent, 
And  now  is  fled  :  foule  shame  him  follow  wher   he 
went!" 


So  can  he  turne  his  earnest  unto  game, 

Througli  goodly  handling  and  wise  temperaunce. 

By  this  his  aged  guide  in  presence  came  ; 

Who,  soone  as  on  tliat  knight  his  eye  did  glaunce, 

Eftsoones  of  him  had  perfect  cognizaunce, 

Sith  him  in  Faery  court  he  late  avizd  ;        [thaunce, 

And   said ;    "  Fayre   sonne,    God    give    you   happy 

And  that  deare  Crosse  uppon  your  shield  devizd. 

Wherewith  above  all  knights  ye  goodly  seeme  aguizd ! 


"  loy  may  you  Ijave,  and  everlasting  fame. 

Of  late  most  hard  atchiev'ment  by  you  donne. 

For  which  enrolled  is  your  glorious  name 

In  heavenly  registers  above  the  sunne, 

Where  you  a  saint  with  saints  your  sent  have  wonne  '. 

But  wretched  we,  wliere  ye  have  left  your  marke, 

JMust  now  anew  begin  like  race  to  ronne. 

God  guide  thee,  Guyon,  well  to  end  thy  warke. 

And  to  the  wished  haven  bring  thy  wearv  barke '.' 


"  Palmer,"  him  answered  the  Redcrosse  knight, 

"  His  be  the  praise,  that  this  atchiev'ment  wrought, 

Who  made  my  hand  the  organ  of  His  might  ! 

More  then  goodwill  to  me  attribute  nought ; 

For  all  1  did,  I  did  but  as  I  ought. 

But  you,  faire  sir,  whose  pageant  next  ensewes, 

Well  mote  yee  thee,  as  well  can  wish  your  thought, 

That  home  ye  may  report  thrise  happy  newes  ! 

For  well  ye  worthy  bene  for  worth  and  gentle  thewes  " 


So  courteous  conge  both  did  give  and  take, 
Witli  right  hands  plighted,  pledges  of  good  will. 
Tiien  Guyon  forward  gan  his  voyage  make 
With  his  blacke  palmer,  that  him  guided  still  : 
Still  he  him  guided  over  dale  and  hill, 
And  with  his  steedy  stall'e  did  point  his  way  ; 
His  race  witli  reason,  and  v>ith  words  his  will. 
From  fowle  intemperaunce  he  ofte  did  stay. 
And  suffred  not  in  wrath  his  hasty  steps  to  stray. 

r  '2 


fvS 


■J'lIE  FAEIIIE  QUEENL. 


[Be 


II. 


In  rliis  faire  ■wizp  thcv  trnveild  lonp;  yfere, 

'I  broiii'li  mnnv  h;ird  assaves  which  did  betide  ; 

()  '  which  he  hnnoiiv  still  away  did  hears, 

And  spred  Iris  ^lorv  tlirou<j-h  all  countryes  wide. 

At  lust,  as  chnur.st  tlipm  by  a  forest  side 

To  passe,  for  sudour  from  the  scorching  ray, 

Tlipv  heard  a  ruefiill  voice,  that  dearnly  cride 

With  percing  shriekes  and  many  a  dolefull  lay  ; 

VVhicli  to  attend,  awhile  their  forward  steps  they  stay. 


"  Rut  if  that  carelesse  hevens,"  quoth  she,  "  despise 

The  doome  of  iust  revenge,  and  take  delight 

To  see  sad  pageaunts  of  mens  miseries. 

As  hownd  by  them  to  live  in  lives  despight ; 

Yet  can  they  not  warne  Death  from  wretched  wight. 

Come,  then;  come  soone  ;  come,  sweetest  Death,  to 

And  take  away  this  long  lent  loathed  light  :        [me, 

Sliarpe  be  thy  wounds,  but  sweete  the  medicines  be. 

That  long  captived  soules  from  weary  thraldrome  free. 


"  But  thou,  sweete  babe,  whom  frowning  froward  fate 

Hath  made  sad  wituesse  of  thv  fathers  fall, 

Sith  heven  thee  deignes  to  hold  in  living  state. 

Long  maist  thou  live,  and  better  thrive  withall 

Then  to  thy  lucklesse  parents  did  befall ! 

Live  thou  !  and  to  thy  motlier  dead  attest, 

That  cleare  she  dide  from  blemish  oriminall  : 

Tliy  little  hands  embrewd  in  bleeding  brest 

Loe  !  I  for  pledges  leave !  So  give  me  leave  to  rest !" 


With  that,  a  deadly  shrieke  she  forth  did  throw 
That  through  the  wood  re-echoed  againe  ; 
And  after  gave  a  grone  so  deepe  and  low 
T'hat  seemd  her  tender  hart  was  rent  in  twaine. 
Or  thrild  with  point  of  thorough-piercing  paine  : 
As  gentle  hynd,  whose  sides  with  cruell  Steele 
Through  launched,  forth  her  bleeding  life  doesraine, 
Whiles  the  sad  ])ang  approching  shee  does  feele, 
Braies  out  her  latest  breath,  and   up  her  eies  doth 
seele. 

XXXIX. 

Which  when  that  warriour heard,  dismounting  straict 

From  his  tall  steed,  he  rusht  into  the  thick, 

And  snone  arrived  where  that  snd  pourtraict 

Of  death  and  dolour  lay,  halfe  dead,  halfe  ijuick  ; 

In  whose  white  alabaster  brest  did  stick 

A  cruell  knife,  that  made  a  griesly  wownd, 

From  which  forth  gushta  stream  of  gore-blood  thick, 

That  all  her  goodly  garments  staind  arownd. 

And  into  a  deep  sanguine  dide  the  grassy  grownd. 


Pitifull  spectacle  of  deadly  smart, 
Beside  a  bubling  fountaine  low  she  lay, 
Wliich  shee  increased  with  her  bleeding  hart, 
And  the  cleane  waves  with  purple  gore  did  ray  ; 
A  Is  in  her  lap  a  lovely  babe  did  i)lay 
f  lis  cruell  sport,  in  stead  of  sorrow  dew  • 
For  in  her  streaming  blood  he  did  embay 
His  litle  hands,  and  tender  ioints  embrew  : 
Pitii'uU  spectacle,  as  ever  eie  did  vew  ! 


Besides  them  both,  upon  the  soiled  gras 

The  dead  corse  of  an  armed  knight  was  spred, 

Whose  armour  all  with  blood  besprincled  was; 

His  ruddy  lips  did  smyle,  and  rosy  red 

Did  paint  his  chearefull  cheekes,  yett  being  ded  ; 

Seemd  to  have  beene  a  goodly  personage, 

Now  in  his  freshest  flowre  of  lustyhed, 

Fitt  to  inflame  faire  lady  with  loves  rage. 

But  that  fiers  fate  did  crop  the  blossome  of  his  age. 


WHiom  when  the  good  Sir  Guyon  did  behold. 
His  hart  gan  wexe  as  starke  as  marble  stone, 
And  his  fresh  blood  did  frieze  with  fearefull  cold,    ■ 
That  all  his  sences  seemd  berefte  attone  : 
At  last  his  mighty  ghost  gan  deepe  to  grone. 
As  lion,  grudging  in  his  great  disdaine, 
Mournes  inwardly,  and  makes  to  himselfe  moue  ; 
Til  ruth  and  fraile  affection  did  constraine 
His  stout  courage  to  stoupe,  and  shew  his  inward 
paine. 

xLiir. 

Out  of  her  gored  wound  the  cruell  steel 

He  lightly  snatcht,  and  did  the  floodgate  stop 

With  his  faire  garment :  then  gan  softly  feel 

Her  feeble  pulse,  to  prove  if  any  drop 

Of  living  blood  yet  in  her  veynes  did  hop  : 

Which  when  he  felt  to  move,  he  hoped  faire 

To  call  backe  life  to  her  forsaken  shop  : 

So  well  he  did  her  deadly  woui.ds  repaire. 

That  at  the  last  shee  gan  to  breath  out  living  aire. 


Which  he  perceiving,  greatly  gan  rejoice. 
And  goodly  counsell,  that  for  wounded  hart 
Is  meetest  med'cine,  tempred  with  sweete  voice ; 
"  Ay  me  I  deare  lady,  which  the  ymage  art 
Of  ruefull  pitty  and  impatient  smart, 
What  direfuU  chaunce  armd  with  avenging  fate. 
Or  cursed  hand,  hath  plaid  this  cruell  ])art, 
Thus  fowle  to  hasten  your  untimely  date? 
Speake,  O,  deai-  lady,  speake  j  help  never  comes  too 
late." 


Therewith,  her  dim  eie-lids  she  up  gan  reare, 
On  which  the  drery  death  did  sitt  as  sad 
As  lump  of  lead,  and  made  darke  clouds  appeare  : 
But  when  as  him,  all  in  bright  armour  clad, 
Before  her  standing  she  espied  had. 
As  one  out  of  a  deadly  dreame  affright. 
She  weakely  started,  yet  she  nothing  drad : 
Streight  downe  againo  herselfe  in  great  despight: 
She  groveling  threw  to  ground,  as   hating  life  and 
lisht. 


The  gentle  knight  her  soone  with  carefull  paine 

Uplifted  light,  and  softly  did  uphold : 
Thrise  he  her  reard,  and  thrise  she  sunck  againe, 
Till  he  his  armes  about  her  sides  gan  fold. 
And  to  her  said  ;  "  Yet,  if  the  stony  cold 
Have  not  all  seized  on  your  frozen  hart. 
Let  one  word  fall  that  may  your  grief  unfold, 
And  tell  the  secrete  of  your  mortall  smart  : 
Ho  oft  finds  present  belpe,   who    does  his  griefe 
impart." 


Canto  I.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


69 


Then,  casting-  up  a  deadly  looke,  full  low 
She  sigh't  from  bottome  of  her  wounded  brest ; 
And,  after  many  bitter  throbs  did  throw. 
With  lips  full  pale,  and  foltring;  tong-  opprest, 
These  words  she  breathed  fortii  from  riven  chest ; 
"  Leave,  ah  !  leave  off,  n  hatever  wight  thou  bee, 
To  lett  a  weary  wretch  from  her  dew  rest. 
And  trouble  dying  soules  tranquditee  ; 
Take  not  away  now  got,  which  none  would  give  to 
me." 


"  Ah  !  far  be  it,"  said  he,  "  dear  dame,  fro  mee, 

To  hinder  soule  from  her  ilesired  rest, 

Or  hold  sad  lil'e  in  long  captivitee  : 

For,  all  I  seeke,  is  but  to  have  redrest 

The  hitter  pangs  that  doth  your  heart  infest. 

Tell  then,  O  lady,  tell  what  fatall  priefe 

Hath  with  so  huge  misfortune  you  opprest; 

That  I  may  cast  to  compas  your  reliefe. 

Or  die  with  you  in  sorrow,  and  partake  your  griefe. 


With  feeble  hands  then  s  -etched  forth  on  hye,  ^ 
As  heven  accusini;  guilty  of  her  death. 
And  with  dry  drops  coiise.iied  in  her  eye, 
In  these  sad  wordes  she  s^.tnt  her  utmost  breath  ; 
"  Heare  then,  O  man,  the  sorrovves  that  uneath 
]\Iy  tong  can  tell,  so  far  all  seiice  they  pas  ! 
Loe  !  this  dead  corpse,  that  lies  jiere  underneath, 
The  gentlest  knight,  that  ever  on  greene  gras 
Gay  steed  with  spurs  did  pricke,  the  good  Sir  Mor- 
dant was: 


■*  Was,  (ay  the  while,  that  he  is  not  so  now!) 
My  lord,  my  love,  mj^  deare  lord,  my  deare  love, 
So  long  as  lievens  iust  witu  equal i  brow 
Vouchsafed  to  behold  us  from  above. 
One  day,  when  hmi  high  i  orage  did  emmove, 
(As  wont  ye  knightes  to  seeke  adventures  wilde,) 
He  pricked  forth  his  puissant  fore  e  to  prove, 
Me  then  h.e  lelt  enwombtd  of  this  thilde, 
This  lucklesse  childe,  whom  thus  ye  see  with  blood 
defild. 


"  Him  fortuned  (hard  fortune  ye  may  ghesse  !) 
To  come,  where  vile  Acrasia  does  wonne  : 
Acrasia,  a  false  enchaunteressr, 
That  many  errant  knightes  have  fowle  fordonne ; 
Within  a  wandring  island,  thai  doth  ronne 
And  stray  in  perilous  gulte,  her  dwelling  is; 
Fayre  sir,  if  ever  there  ye  travell,  shonne 
The  cursed  land  where  many  wend  amis. 
And  know  it  by  the  name  ;  it  bight  the   Bowre  of 
Blis. 


"  Her  blis  is  all  in  pleasure,  and  delight, 
Wherewith  she  makes  her  1  .vers  dronken  mad  ; 
And  then  with  words.and  wpnle:,,of  wondrous  might, 
On  them  she  workes  her  will  to  uses  bad : 
My  liefest  lord  she  thus  bej;uiled  had  ; 
For  he  was  tiesh  :   (all  flesh  doth  frayltie  breed  !) 
Whom  when  1  heard  to  beene  so  ill  ijestad, 
(Weake  wretcli,  i  1  wrapt  myselfe  in  palmers  weed. 
And  cast  to  seek  him  forth  through  danger  and  great 
dreed. 


"  Now  had  fayre  Cynthia  by  even  tournes 
Full  measured  three-quarters  of  her  yeare, 
And  thrice  three  tymes  had  fild  her  crooked  homes, 
W'henas  my  wornbe  her  burdein  would  forbeare. 
And  bad  me  call  Lucina  to  me  neare. 
Lucina  came  :   a  nianchild  forth  1  brouj;ht :   [weare. 
The  woods,  the  nymphes,  my  bowres,my  midwives, 
Hard  help  at  need  !   so  deare  thee,  babe,  I  bought ; 
Yet  nought  too  dear  I  deemd,  while  so  my  deare  I 
souo-ht. 


"  Him  so  I  sought ;  and  so  at  last  I  fownd. 

Where  him  that  witch  had  thralled  to  her  will. 

In  chaines  of  lust  and  lewde  desyres  ybownd. 

And  so  transformed  from  his  former  skill, 

That  me  he  knew  not,  nether  his  owne  ill ; 

Till,  through  wise  handling  and  faire  governaunce, 

I  him  recured  to  a  better  will. 

Purged  from  drugs  of  fowle  intemperaunce  : 

Then  meanes  I  gan  devise  for  his  deliverance. 


"  Which  when  the  vile  enchaunteresse  perceiv'd. 
How  that  my  lord  from  her  I  would  reprive. 
With  cup  thus  cliarmd  him  parting  she  deceivd; 
'  Sad  verse,  give  death  to  him  ihat  death  does  give, 
And  losse  of  love  lo  her  that  loves  to  live. 
So  soone  as  Bacchus  with  the  Nymphe  does  lincke  ! 
So  parted  we,  and  on  our  iourney  drive  ; 
Till,  coming  to  this  well,  he  stoupt  to  drincke : 
I    The  charme  fullild,  dead   suddeinly  he  downe  did 
sincke. 


"  Which  when  I,  wretch" — Not  one  word  more  sh« 

But  breaking  off  the  end  for  want  of  breath,   [sayd. 

And  sis  ding  soft,  as  downe  to  sleepe  her  layd, 

And  ended  all  her  woe  in  quiet  death. 

That  seeing,  good  Sir  Guyon  could  uneath 

From  teares  abstayne  ;  for  griefe  his  hart  did  grate, 

And  from  so  heavie  sight  his  head  did  wreath, 

Accusmg  fortune,  and  too  cruell  fate, 

Wiiich  plonged  had  faire  lady  in  so  wretched  state. 


Then,  turning  to  his  palmer,  said  ;  "  Old  syre, 
Behold  the  ymage  of  mortalitie. 
And  feeble  nature  cloth'd  with  fleshly  tyre  ! 
W'hen  raging  Passion  with  fierce  tyranny 
Robs  Reason  of  her  dew  regalitie, 
And  makes  it  servaunt  to  her  basest  part ; 
The  strong  it  weakens  with  iniirmitie. 
And  with  bold  furie  armes  the  weakest  hart : 
Ihe  strong  through  jdeasure  soonest  falles,  the  weak* 
through  smart." 

LVIII. 

"  But  Temperaunce,"  said  he,  "  with  golden  squire 
Betwixt  theni  both  can  measure  out  a  meane  ; 
Nether  to  melt  in  pleasures  whott  desvre. 
Nor  frye  in  hart, esse  griefe  and  dulel'ull  tene  : 
Thrise  hapjjy  man,  who  fares  them  both  atweene  ! 
But  sith  this  vi-retched  woman  overcome 
Ot  anguish,  rather  then  of  crime,  hath  bene, 
Reserve  her  cause  to  her  eternal  1  doome  ; 
And,  in  the  meane,  vouchsafe  her  honorable  toombe.'' 


70 


THE  FAKRIE  QUEENE. 


[B. 


"  Palmer,"  quoth  he,  "  death  is  an  equall  doome 
To  good  and  bad,  the  common  in  of  rest ; 
But  after  death  the  trvall  is  to  come, 
^Vhen  best  shall  bee  to  ihem  that  lived  best : 
But  both  alike,  wlien  death  liath  both  supprest, 
Relipous  reverence  doth  burial  teene  ; 
Wliich  whoso  wants,  wants  so  mucli  of  his  rest  : 
For  all  so  greet  shame  after  death  I  weene. 
As  selfe  to  dyen  bad,  unburied  bad  to  beene. 


So  both  agree  their  bodies  to  engrave  : 

The  gTeat  eartlies  wombe  thev  open  to  tlie  sky. 

And  with  sad  cypresse  seemelv  it  embrave  ; 

Then,  covering-  with  a  clod  their  closed  eye, 

Thev  lay  therein  their  corses  tenderly. 

And  hid  them  sleepe  in  everlasting  peace. 

But,  ere  they  did  their  utmost  obsequy, 

Sir  Guyon  more  aftection  to  increace, 

Bynempt  a  sacred  vow,  which  none  should  ay  releaee, 


The  dead  kniglits  sword  out  of  his  sheath  he  drew, 
Willi  which  he  cutt  a  lock  of  all  tlieir  heare. 
Which  medling  with  their  blood  and  earth  he  threw 
Into  the  grave,  and  gan  devoutly  sweare  ; 
"  Such  and  such  evil  God  on  Guyon  reaie, 
And  worse  and  worse,  young  orphane,  be  thy  payne, 
If  I,  or  tliou,  dew  vengeaunce  doe  forbrare. 
Till  guiltie  blood  her  guerdon  doe  obtayne  !" — 
So,  shedding  many  teares,they  closd  the  earth  agavne. 


CANTO  II. 

Babes  bloody  liandes  may  not  be  clensd. 

The  face  of  Golden  jMeane  : 
Her  sisters,  Two  Extremities, 

Strive  her  to  banish  cleane. 


This  when  Sir  Guvon  with  his  faithful  guyde 
Had  with  dew  rites  and  dolorous  lament 
The  end  of  their  sad  fragedie  uptyde, 
The  little  babe  up  in  his  armes  he  hent ; 
Who  with  sweet  pleasnunce,  and  bold  blandishment, 
Gan  smvle  on  them,  tliat  rather  ought  to  weepe, 
As  carelesse  of  his  woe,  or  innocent 
Of  th;it  was  doen  ;  that  ruth  emperced  deepe 
In  that  knightes  hart,  and  wordes  with  bitter  teares 
did  steepe  : 

II. 

"  Ah  !  lucklesse  babe,  home  under  cruell  starre. 
And  in  di'ad  parents  balefull  ashes  bred. 
Full  little  weenest  thou  what  sorrowes  are 
Left  thee  for  j)orcion  of  thy  livelvhed  ; 
I'oore  orpliane  !   in  the  wide  worhl  scattered, 
As  budding  braunch  rent  (iom  the  native  tree. 
And  throwen  forth,  till  it  be  witljered  ! 
Sucli  is  tlie  state  of  men  !    '1  lius  enter  we 
Into  this  life  with  woe,  and  end  with  miseree  !" 


Then,  soft  himselfe  inclyning  on  his  knee 

Downe  to  that  well,  did  in  the  water  weene 

(So  love  does  loath  disdainefuU  nicitee) 

His  guiltie  handes  from  bloody  gore  to  cleene : 

He  washt  them  oft  and  oft,  jet  nought  they  beene 

For  all  liis  washing  cleaner  :   still  he  strove  ; 

Yet  still  I  he  litle  hands  were  bloody  seene  : 

The  wliich  him  into  great  amaz'ment  drove. 

And  mto  diverge  doubt  his  wavering  wonder  clove. 


He  wist  not  whether  hlott  of  fowle  offence 
JMight  not  be  purgd  with  water  nor  with  bath  ; 
Or  that  High  God,  in  lieu  of  innocence. 
Imprinted  had  that  token  of  His  wrath. 
To  shew  how  sore  bloodguiltinesse  He  hat'th  ; 
Or  that  tlie  charme  and  veneme,  whicli  they  dronck, 
Their  blood  with  secret  tilth  infected  hath, 
]5eing  diffused  through  the  senceless  tronck 
That,  through  the  great  contagion,  direful  deadly 
St  one  k. 


Whom  thus  at  gaze  the  palmer  gan  to  bord 
With  goodly  reason,  and  thus  fayre  bespake  ; 
"  Ye  bene  right  hard  ainated,  gratious  lord, 
And  of  your  ignorance  great  merveill  make 
'\\'hiles  cause  not  well  conceived  ye  mistake. 
But  know,  that  secret  vertues  are  infusd 
In  every  founiaine,  and  in  everie  Ivike, 
Which,  who  hath  skill  them  rightly  to  have  chusd. 
To  proofe  of  passing  wonders  hath  full  often  usd  : 


"  Of  those,  some  were  so  from  their  sourse  indewd 
By  great  dame  Nature,  from  whose  fruitl'ull  pa]) 
Their  wellieads  spring,  and  are  with  moisture  deawd; 
Which  feeds  each  living  jilant  wiili  liquid  sap. 
And  fills  with  flowres  fayre  Florae*  painted  lap  : 
liul  other  some,  by  gnilte  of  later  grace 
Or  by  good  ])rayers,  or  by  other  hap. 
Had  veiiiie  ])ourd  into  their  waters  bace. 
And   tliiiicerorth  were  renowmd,  and  sought  from 
place  to  place. 


Canto  II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


71 


"  Such  is  this  well,  ■wrought  by  occasion  strauDge, 
Wliich  to  her  nymph  befell.     Upon  a  day, 
As  she  tlie  woodes  with  bow  and  shaftes  did  raunge. 
The  heai  tlesse  hynd  and  roebucke  to  dismay, 
Dan  Fauniis  chaunst  to  meet  her  by  the  way. 
And,  kindling  fire  at  her  faire-burning  eye, 
Inflamed  was  to  follow  beauties  chace. 
And  chased  her,  that  last  from  him  did  flv  ; 
As  hynd  from  her,  so  she  fled  from  her  enimy. 


"  At  last,  when  fayKng  breath  began  to  faint, 
And  saw  no  meaaes  to  scape  ;  of  shame  affrayd. 
She  set  lier  downe  to  weepe  for  sore  constraint ; 
And,  to  Diana  calling  lowd  for.ayde, 
Her  deare  besought  to  let  her  dir  a  mayd. 
The  goddesse  heard  ;  and  suddeine,  where  she  sate 
Welling  out  streames  of  teares,  and  quite  dismayd 
With  stony  feare  of  that  rude  rustick  mate, 
Transformd  her  to  a  stone   from  stedfast   virgins 
state. 


"  Lo  !  now  she  is  that  stone  ;  from  whose  two  heads, 
As  I'rom  two  weeping  eyes,  fresh  streames  do  flow, 
Yet  colde  through  feare  and  old  conceived  dreads  •. 
And  yet  the  stone  her  semblance  seemes  to  show, 
Shiipt  like  a  maide,  that  such  ye  may  her  know  ; 
And  vet  her  vertues  in  her  water  byde  : 
^or  it  is  chaste  and  pure  as  purest  snow, 
\'e  lets  her  waves  with  any  filth  be  dyde  ; 
3ut  ever,  like  herselfe,  unstayned  hath  beene  tryde. 


"  From  thence  it  comes,  that  this  babes  bloody  hand 

May  not  be  clensd  with  water  of  this  well : 

Ne  cerles,  sir,  strive  you  it  to  withstand. 

But  let  them  still  he  bloody,  as  befell, 

That  they  his  mothers  innocence  may  tell. 

As  she  bequeathd  in  her  last  testament ; 

That  as  a  sacred  symbole,  it  may  dwell 

In  her  sonnes  flesh,  to  mind  revengement. 

And  be  for  all  chaste  dames  anendlesse  moniment." 


He  hearkned  to  his  reason  ;  and  the  childe 
Uptakmg,  to  the  palmer  gave  to  beare ; 
But  his  sad  fathers  armes  with  blood  defilde. 
An  heavie  load,  himselfe  did  liglitly  reare  ; 
And  turning  to  that  place,  in  which  whyleare 
He  left  his  loftie  steed  with  golden  sell' 
And  goodly  gorgeous  barbes,  hnu  tound  not  theare  : 
By  other  accident,  that  earst  befell, 
He  is  convaide  ;  but  how,  or  where,  here  fits  not 
tell. 


W  hich  when  Sir  Guyon  saw,  all  were  he  wroth, 
Yet  algates  mote  he  soft  himselfe  appease. 
And  iairely  fare  on  foot,  however  loth  : 
His  double  burden  did  hnn  sore  disease. 
So,  long  they  travelled  with  little  ease. 
Till  that  at  last  they  to  a  castle  came, 
Built  on  a  roeke  aciioyning  to  the  seas  : 
It  was  an  auiicient  worke  of  antique  fame. 
And   wondrous  strcng   by   nature  and    by   skilful! 
irame. 


Therein  three  sisters  dwelt  of  sundry  sort. 

The  children  of  one  syre  by  mothers  three  i 

Who,  dying  whyloine,  did  divide  this  fort 

To  them  by  equall  shares  in  equall  fee  : 

But  stryfuU  mind  and  diverse  qualitee 

Drew  them  in  partes,  and  each  made  others  foe  : 

Still  did  they  strive  and  daily  disagree ; 

The  eldest  did  against  the  youngest  goe. 

And  both  against  the  middest  meant  to  worken  woc 


WTiere  when  the  knight  arriv'd,  he  was  right  well 

Receiv'd,  as  knight  of  so  much  worth  became. 

Of  second  sister,  who  did  far  excell 

The  other  two  ;  Medina  was  her  name, 

A  sober,  sad,  and  comely  courteous  dame  : 

Who  rich  arayd,  and  yet  in  modest  guize. 

In  goodly  garments  that  her  well  became, 

Fayre  marching  forth  in  honorable  wize. 

Him  at  the  threshold  mett  and  well  did  enterprize. 


She  led  him  up  into  a  goodly  bowre. 
And  comely  courted  with  meete  modestie  ; 
Ne  in  her  speach,  ne  in  her  haviour. 
Was  lightnesse  seene  or  looser  vanitie. 
But  gratious  womanhood,  and  gravitie, 
Above  the  reason  of  her  }outhly  yeares  : 
Her  golden  lockes  she  roundly  did  uptye 
In  breaded  tramels,  that  no  looser  heares 
Did  out  of  order  stray  about  her  daintie  eares. 


Whilest  she  her  selfe  thus  busily  did  frame 
Seemely  to  entertaine  lier  new-come  guest, 
Newes  hereof  to  her  other  sisters  came, 
U  ho  all  this  while  were  at  their  wanton  rest, 
Accourting  each  her  frend  with  lavish  fest  : 
They  were  two  knights  of  perelesse  puissaunce. 
And  famous  far  abroad  for  warlike  gest. 
Which  to  these  ladies  love  did  countenauiice. 
And  to  his  mistresse  each   iiimselfe   strove  to  ad- 
vaunce. 


He,  that  made  love  unto  the  eldest  dame. 
Was  bight  Sir  Huddibriis,  an  hardy  man  ;' 
Yet  not  so  good  of  deedes  as  great  of  name, 
Which  he  by  many  rash  adventures  wan. 
Since  errant  armes  to  sew  he  first  began. 
I\Iore  huge  in  strength  then  wise  in  workes  he  was 
And  reason  with  fbol-hardize  over-ran  ; 
Sterne  melancholy  did  his  courage  pas  ; 
And  was,  for  terrourmore,  all  armd  in  shyning  bras. 


But  he,  that  lov'd  the  youngest,  was  Sansloy ; 

He,  that  (aire  Una  late  ibwle  outraged, 

The  most  unruly  and  the  boldest  hoy 

That  ever  warlike  weapons  menaged. 

And  all  to  luwlesse  lust  encouraged 

Through  strong  opinion  of  his  matchlesse  might; 

Ne  ought  he  car'd  whom  he  endamaged 

By  tortious  wrong,  or  whom  bereav'd  of  right  j 

He,  now  this  ladies  cliampiou,  chose  for  love  to  fi^hi 


72 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENH 


fBooK  II. 


These  two  gay  knig-hts  vowd  to  so  diverse  loves, 

Each  other  does  envy  with  deadly  hate, 

And  daily  warre  against  his  foeraan  moves. 

In  hope  to  win  more  favour  with  his  mate. 

And  th'  others  pleasing-  service  to  abate, 

To  magiiifie  his  owne.     But  when  they  heard 

How  in  that  place  straunge  knight  arrived  late, 

Both  knights  and  ladies  forth  right  angry  far'd, 

And  fercely  unto  battell  sterne  themselves  prepar'd. 


But,  ere  they  could  proceeds  unto  the  place 
Where  he  abode,  themselves  at  discord  fell, 
And  cruell  combat  ioynd  in  middle  space  : 
With  horriljle  assault,  and  furv  fell. 
They  heapt  huge  strokes  the  scorned  life  to  quell. 
That  all  on  uprore  from  her  settled  seat 
The  house  was  raysd,  and  all  that  in  did  dwell ; 
Seemd  that  lowd  thunder  with  amazement  great 
Did  rend  the  railing  skyes  with  flames  of  fouldrins 
heat. 


The  noyse  thereof  cald  forth  that  straunger  knight, 
To  weet  what  dreadfull  thing  was  there  in  bond  ; 
Where  whenas  two  brave  knightes  in  bloody  fight 
With  deadlv  rancour  he  enraunged  fond. 
His  sunbroad  shield  about  his  wrest  he  bond, 
And  shyning-  blade  unsheathd,  with  which  he  ran 
Unto  that  stead,  their  strife  to  understond  ; 
And,  at  his  first  arrivall,  them  began 
With  goodly  meanes  to  pacifie,  well  as  he  can. 


But  they,  him  spying,  both  with  greedy  forse 
Attonce  upon  him  ran,  and  him  beset 
With  strokes  of  mortall  Steele  without  remorse, 
And  on  his  shield  like  yron  sledges  bet. 
As  when  a  beare  and  tj-gre,  being  met 
In  cruell  fight  on  Lvbicke  ocean  wide, 
Espye  a  traveller  with  feet  surbet. 
Whom  they  in  equall  pray  hope  to  divide. 
They  stint  their  strife  and   him  assayle   on  everie 
side. 

xxni. 

But  he,  not  like  a  wearie  traveilere, 
Their  sharp  assault  right  boldly  did  rebut, 
And  sulfred  not  their  blowes  to  byte  him  nere, 
But  with  redoubled  bufles  tliem  backe  did  put : 
Whose  grieved  miades,  which  choler  did  enj;]ut, 
Against  themselves  turning  their  wratlifuU  spight, 
Gan  with  new  rage  their  shieldes  to  hew  iind  <_ut. 
But  still,  when  (juyon  came  to  })art  their  fight, 
With  heavie  load  on  him  they  freshly  gan  to  smight. 


As  a  tall  ship  tossed  in  troublous  seas. 
Whom  raging  windes,  thieatning  to  make  the  pray 
Of  the  rough  rockes,  doe  diversly  disease, 
iNIeetes  two  contrarie  billowes  by  the  w-ay. 
That  her  on  either  side  doe  sore  assay. 
And  boast  to  swallow  her  in  greedy  grave  ;      [way, 
Shee,  scorning  both  their   spights,  ddes  make   wide 
And  with  her  brest  breaking  the  fomy  wave. 
Does  ride  on  both  their  backs,  and  faire  herself  doth 
save  : 


So  boldly  he  him  beares,  and  rusheth  forth 
Betweene  them  both,  by  conduct  of  his  blade. 
Wondrous  great  prowesse  and  heroick  worth 
He  shewd  that  day,  and  rare  ensample  made. 
When  two  so  inightie  warriours  he  dismade  : 
Attonce  he  wards  and  strikes  ;  he  takes  and  paies  ; 
Now^  forst  to  yield,  now  forcing  to  invade  ; 
Before,  behind,  and  round  about  him  laies  : 
So  double  was  his  paines,  so  double  be  his  praise. 

XXVI. 

Straunge  sort  of  fight,  three  valiaunt  knights  to  see 

Three  combates  ioine  in  one,  and  to  dan-aine 

A  triple  warre  with  triple  enmitee, 

All  for  their  ladies  froward  love  to  gaine. 

Which,  gotten,  was  but  hate.     So  Love  does  raine 

In  stoutest  minds,  and  maketh  monstrous  warre; 

He  maketh  wane,  he  maketh  peace  againe, 

And  yett  his  peace  is  but  continual  iarre  : 

O  miserable  men,  that  to  him  subject  arre ! 


Whilst  thus  they  mingled  were  in  furious  armes. 
The  faire  jMedina  with  her  tresses  tome 
And  naked  brest,  in  pitty  of  their  harmes, 
Emongst  them  ran  ;  and,  falling  them  beforne. 
Besought  them  by  the  womb  which  them  had  born, 
And  by  the  loves  which  were  to  them  most  deare. 
And  by  the  knighthood  which  they  sure  bad  sworn. 
Their  deadly  cruell  discord  to  forbeare. 
And  to  her  iust  conditions  of  faire  peace  to  beare. 


But  her  two  other  sisters,  standing  by, 

Her  lowd  gainsaiil  ;  and  both  their  champions  bad 

Pursew  the  end  of  their  strong  enmity. 

As  ever  of  their  loves  they  would  be  glad  : 

Yet  she  with  pitthy  words,  and  counsell  sad. 

Still  strove  their  stubborne  rages  to  revoke  ; 

That  at  the  last,  suppressing  fury  mad, 

They  gan  abstaine  from  dint  of  direfull  stroke, 

And  barken  to  the  sober  speaches  which  she  spoke 


"  Ah  !  puissant  lords,  what  cursed  evill  spright. 
Or  fell  Erinnys,  in  your  noble  harts 
Her  hellish  brond  liath  kindled  with  despight. 
And  stird  vou  uj)  to  worke  your  wili'ull  smarts  ? 
Is  this  the  ioy  of  ainie>  ?  he  these  the  jiarts 
Of  glorious  kniglithood,  atier  blood  to  thrust. 
And  not  regard  dew  riglit  and  iust  de.sarts  ? 
Vaine  is  the  vaunt,  and  vict(jry  uniust. 
That  more  to  mighty  hands  then  rightfull  cause  doti 
trust. 


"  And  were  there  rightfull  cause  of  difference, 
Yet  were  not  better  fay  re  it  to  accord, 
Then  with  blood-guiltinesse  to  heape  offence 
And  mortal  vengcaunce  ioyne  to  crime  abhord  1 
O !   fly  from  wrath  ;  fly,  (3  my  liefest  lord  ! 
Sad  be  the  sigliis,  and  bitter  fruits  of  warre, 
And  thousand  furies  wait  on  wrathfull  sword  : 
Ne  ought  the  praise  of  prowesse  more  doth  inarro 
Then  towle  revenging  rage,   and  base  contentioas 
lane. 


II. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


73 


"  But  lovely  concord,  and  most  sacred  peace, 

Doth  nourish  vertue,  and  fast  friendship  lireeds  ; 

VVeake  she  makes  strong,  and  strong-  thing  dues  in- 

Till  it  the  pitch  of  highest  jjraise  exceeds  :    [creuce, 

Brave  be  her  warres.  and  honorable  deeds, 

By  which  she  triumphs  over  yre  and  pride, 

And  winnes  an  olive  girlond  for  her  meeds. 

Be  therefore,  O  my  deare  lords,  pacifide, 

And  this  misseeming  discord  meekely  lay  aside." 


Her  gracious  words  their  rancour  did  appall, 

And  suncke  so  deepe  into  their  boyling  brests, 

That  downe  they  lett  their  cruell  weapons  iall. 

And  lowly  did  abase  their  lefty  crests 

To  her  faire  presence  and  discrete  behests. 

Then  she  began  a  treaty  to  procure. 

And  stablish  terms  betwixt  both  their  requests. 

That  as  a  law  for  ever  should  endure  ; 

Which  to  observe,  in  word  of  knights  they  did  assure. 


Which  to  confirme  and  fast  to  bind  their  league, 
After  their  weary  sweat  and  bloody  toile, 
She  them  besought,  during  their  quiet  treague, 
Into  her  lodijing  to  repair  a  while, 
To  rest  themselves,  and  grace  to  reconcile. 
They  soone  consent :   so  forth  with  her  they  fare  ; 
W'here  they  are  well  receivd   and  made  to  spoils 
Themselves  of  soiled  armes,  and  to  prepare 
Their  minds  to  pleasure,  and  their  mouths  to  dainty 
fare. 


And  those  two  froward  sisters,  their  faire  loves, 
Came  with  them  eke,  all  were  tliey  wondrous  loth, 
And  fained  cheare,  as  for  the  time  behoves  ; 
But  could  not  colour  yet  so  well  the  troth. 
But  that  their  natures  bad  appeard  in  both  : 
For  both  did  at  their  second  sister  grutch 
And  inly  grieve,  as  doth  an  hidden  moth 
The  inner  garment  frett,  not  tli'  utter  touch  ; 
One  thought  her  cheare  too  litle,  th'  other  thought 
too  mutch. 


Elissa  (so  tlie  eldest  hight)  did  deems 

Such  entertainment  base,  ne  ought  would  eat, 

Ne  ought  would  speake,  but  evermore  did  seeme 

As  discontent  for  want  of  merth  or  meat  ; 

No  solace  could  her  paramour  intreat 

Her  once  to  show,  ne  court,  nor  dalliaunce  ; 

But  with  bent  lowring  browes,  as  she  would  threat, 

She  scould,  and  frownd  with  froward  countenaunce  ; 

Unworthy  of  faire  ladies  comely  governaunce. 


But  young  Perissa  was  of  other  mvnd. 

Full  of  disport,  still  laughing,  loosely  light, 

And  quite  contrary  to  her  sisters  kynd  ; 

No  measure  in  her  mood,  no  rule  of  right, 

But  poured  out  in  pleasure  and  delight : 

In  wine  and  meats  she  ilowd  above  the  banck, 

And  in  excesse  exceeded  her  owne  might ; 

In  sumptuous  tire  she  ioyd  her  self  to  pranck. 

But  of  her  love  too  lavish  ■  little  have  she  thanck  ! 


Fast  by  her  side  did  sitt  the  bold  Sansloy, 
Fitt  mate  for  such  a  mincing  mineon, 
Who  in  her  loosenesse  tooke  exceeding  ioy  ; 
INIight  not  be  found  a  francker  franion. 
*0f  her  leawd  parts  to  make  companion. 
But  Huddibras,  more  like  a  malecontent, 
Did  see  and  grieve  at  his  bold  fashion  ; 
Hardly  could  he  endure  liis  hardiment ; 
Yett  still  he  satt,  and  inly  did  himselfs  torment. 


Betwixt  them  both  the  faire  Medina  sate 
\^'ith  sober  grace  and  goodly  carriage  : 
With  equall  measure  she  did  moderate 
The  strong  extremities  of  their  outrage  ; 
That  forward  paire  she  ever  would  asswage. 
When  tliey  would  strive  dew  reason  to  exceed  ; 
But  that  same  froward  twaine  would  accorage. 
And  of  her  plenty  adde  unto  their  need  : 
So  kept  she  them  in  order,  and  herselfe  iu  heed. 


Thus  fairely  shee  attempered  her  feast. 

And  ]ileasd  them  all  with  meete  satiety  : 

At  last,  when  lust  of  meat  and  drinke  was  ceast, 

She  Guyon  deare  besought  of  courtesie 

To  tell  from  whence  he  came  through  ieopardy, 

And  whether  now  on  new  adventure  bownd  : 

Who  with  bold  grace,  and  comely  gravity, 

Drawing  to  him  the  eies  of  all  arownd. 

From  lofty  siege  began  these  words  alovvd  to  sownj. 


"  This  thy  demaund,  O  lady,  doth  revive 

Fresh  memory  in  me  of  that  great  queene. 

Great  and  most  glorious  virgin  queene  alive. 

That  with  her  soveraine  power,  and  scepter  shene, 

All  Faery  lond  does  peaceably  sustene. 

In  widest  ocean  she  her  throne  does  reare, 

That  over  all  the  earth  it  may  be  scene  ; 

As  morning  sunne  her  beames  dispredden  clears ; 

And  in  her  face  faire  peace  and  mercy  doth  appeare^ 


In  her  the  richesse  of  all  heavenly  grace 
In  chiefe  degree  are  heaped  up  on  hye  : 
And  all,  that  els  this  worlds  enclosure  bace 
Hath  great  or  glorious  in  mortall  eye, 
Adornes  the  person  of  her  maiestye  ; 
That  men,  beholding  so  great  excellence 
And  rare  perfection  in  mortalitye. 
Doe  her  adore  with  sacred  reverence. 
As  th'  idole  of  her  Makers  great  magnificence. 


"  To  her  I  homage  and  my  service  owe, 
In  number  of  the  noblest  knightes  on  ground, 
Mongst  whom  on  me  she  deigned  to  bestows 
Order  of  maydenhead,  the  most  renownd. 
That  may  this  day  in  all  the  world  be  found. 
An  yearely  solemn  feast  she  wontes  to  make, 
The  day  that  first  doth  lead  the  yeare  around, 
To  which  all  knights  of  worth  and  cour.ige  bold 
Resort,  to  heare  of  straunge  adventures  to  be  told. 


TV 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE 


[Book  II  • 


"  There  this  old  palmer  shewd  himselfe  that  day, 
And  TO  that  raiohty  princesse  did  complaine 
Of  grievous  mischiefes,  which  a  wicked  Fay 
Had  wrou'^ht,  and  many  whelmd  in  deadly  paine, 
"Whereof  he  crav'd  redresse.     My  soveraine, 
Whose  o-lorv  is  in  gracious  deeds,  and  ioyes 
Throughout  tlie  world  her  Uiercy  to  maintaine, 
Eftsoones  devisd  redresse  for  such  annoyes  : 
Me,  all  uufitt  for  so  great  purpose,  she  employes. 


"  Now  hath  fjiire  Phebe  with  her  silver  face 

Thrise  seene  the  shadowes  of  the  neather  world, 

Sith  last  1  left  that  honorable  place, 

In  which  her  roiall  presence  is  entrold  ; 

Ke  ever  shall  I  rest  in  house  nor  hold. 

Till  I  that  false  Acrasia  have  wonne  ; 

Of  whose  fowle  deedes,  too  hideous  to  bee  told, 

1  witnesse  am,  and  this  their  wretched  sonne 

Whose  wofuU  parents  she  bath  wickedly  fordonne. 


"  Tell  on,  fayre  sir,"  said  she,  "  that  dolefull  tale. 

From  wliich  sad  ruth  does  seeme  you  to  restraine, 

That  we  may  pittv  such  imhajipie  hale. 

And  learne  from  Pleasures  poyson  to  abstaine  : 

111,  bv  ensample,  good  doth  often  gayne. 

Then  forward  he  his  purpose  gan  pursew, 

And  told  the  story  of  the  mortall  payne, 

Which  Mordant  and  Amavia  did  rew  ; 

As,  with  lamenting  eyes,  hhnselfe  did  lately  vew. 


Night  was  far  spent ;  and  now  in  ocean  deep 
Orion,  flying  fast  from  hissing  snake, 
His  flaming  head  did  hasten  for  to  steep, 
W^hen  of  las  pitteous  tale  he  end  did  make  : 
Whilst  wit!)  delight  of  that  he  wisely  spake 
'J'hose  guestes  beguvled  did  beguyle  their  eyes 
Of  kindly  sleepe,  that  did  them  overtake. 
At  last,  when  they  had  markt  the  chaunged  skyes. 
They  wist  their  howre  was  spent ;  then  each  to  rest 
him  byes. 


CANTO  III. 

Vaine  Braggadoccbio,  getting  Guy- 
ons  horse,  is  made  the  scome 

Of  knighthood  trew  ;  and  is  of  fayre 
Belphcebe  fowle  forlorne. 


SooNE  as  the  morrow  fayre  with  purjde  beames 
Uisperst  the  shadowes  of  the  misty  night. 
And  Titan,  playing  on  the  eastern  streames, 
Gan  cleare  the  deawy  ayre  with  springing  light ; 
Sir  Guyon,  mindfuU  of  his  vow  yplight. 
Uprose  from  drowsie  couch,  and  him  addrest 
l7nto  the  ioumey  which  he  had  behight  : 
His  puissant  amies  about  bis  noble  brest, 
And  many  folded  shield  he  bound  about  his  wrest. 


Then,  taking  cong6  of  that  virgin  pure, 
'i'he  bloody-banded  babe  unto  her  truth 
Did  earnestly  committ,  and  her  coniure 
In  vertuous  lore  to  traine  his  tender  youth, 
And  all  that  gentle  noriture  ensu'th  ; 
And  that,  so  soone  as  n,'per  yeares  he  raught, 
Ae  might,  for  memory  of  that  dayes  ruth, 
I5e  called  Ruddymane  ;  and  tliereby  taught 
T'  avenge    his  parents  death   on  them   that  had  it 
wrought. 


So  forth  he  far'd,  as  now  befell,  on  foot, 

Sith  bis  good  steed  is  lately  from  him  gone ; 

I^itience  perforce  :   helplesse  what  mov  it  boot 

To  frett  for  anger,  or  for  griefe  to  tnoiie  ? 

His  palmer  now  shall  foot  no  more  alone. 

So  fortune  wrought,  as  under  greene  woodes  syde 

He  lately  heard  that  dying  lady  grone. 

He  left  his  steed  without,  and  speare  besyde. 

And  rushed  in  on  foot  to  ayd  her  ere  she  dyde. 


The  whyles  a  losell  wandring  by  the  way, 
One  thiit  to  bountie  never  cast  his  mynd, 
Ne  thought  of  honour  ever  did  assay 
His  baser  brest,  but  in  his  kestrell  kynd 
A  pleasing  vaine  of  glory  be  did  fynd, 
To  which  his  flowing  to'ung  and  troublous  spright 
Gave  him  great  ayd,  and  made  him  more  inclynd  ; 
He,  that  brave  steed  there  finding  ready  dight, 
Purloynd  both  steed  and  speare,  and  ran  away  full 
lisht. 


Now  gan  his  hart  all  swell  in  iollity, 
And  of  himselfe  great  hope  and  hel])  conceiv'd. 
That  puffed  up  with  smoke  of  vanity. 
And  with  selfe-loved  personage  deceiv'd. 
He  gan  to  ho])e  of  men  to  l)e  receiv'd 
For  such,  as  he  him  thought,  or  faine  would  bee: 
But  for  ill  court  gay  portaunce  he  perceiv'd, 
And  gallant  shew  to  ho  in  greatest  gree, 
Eftsoones    to   court  he   cast   t'   advaunce   his   first 
degree. 

TI. 

And  by  the  way  he  chaunced  to  espy 
One  sitting  ydle  on  a  sunny  bancke 
To  whom  avaunting  in  great  bravery. 
As  peacockc  that  his  painted  jilumes  doth  pranct. 
He  smote  his  courser  in  the  trembling  flanck, 
And  to  him  threatned  his  hart-thrilling  speare 
The  seely  man,  seeing  him  ryde  so  ranck 
And  aynie  at  him,  fell  fiat  to'ground  for  feare. 
And  crying,  "  Mercy,"  loud,  his  pitious  handes  gan 
reare. 


C.^MO    I  I  I.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


rs 


lliereat  the  scarcrow  vvexed  wondrous  prowd, 
Throii;ili  fortune  of  his  first  adventure  fayre. 
And  with  big  thundrino-  voice  revyld  him  lowd  ; 
"  \'i!e  cavtive,  vassal  of  dread  and  despayre  ? 
Uiiworthie  of  the  comi;iune  breathed  ayre, 
WIiv  livest  tliou,  dead  dog,  a  lenger  day, 
And  doest  not  unto  death  thyselfe  prepayre  ? 
Dv,  or  thyselfe  my  captive  yield  for  ay  : 
Great  favour  I  thee  graunt  for  aunswere  thus  to 
stay.'' 

Till. 

"  Hold,  O  deare  lord,  hold  your  dead-doing  hand," 

Then  loud  he  cryde,  "  I  am  your  humble  thrall." 

''  Ah  wretch,"  quoth  he,  "  thy  destinies  withstand 

j\Iy  wrathfull  will,  and  doe  for  mercy  call. 

1  give  thee  life  :   therefore  prostrated  fall. 

And  kisse  my  stirrup  ;  that  thy  liomage  bee." 

The  miser  threw  himselfe,  as  an  oftall, 

Streight  at  his  foot  in  base  humilitee, 

And  deeped  him  his  liege,  to  hold  of  him  in  fee. 


So  happy  peace  they  made  and  faire  accord. 
Eftsoones  this  liegeman  gan  to  wexe  more  bold, 
And,  when  he  felt  the  follv  of  his  lord. 
In  his  owne  kind  he  gan  himselfe  unfold  : 
For  he  was  wylie  witted,  and  growne  old 
In  cunning  sleightes  and  practick  knaver)'. 
From  that  day  forth  he  cast  fur  to  uphold 
His  ydle  humour  with  fine  flattery, 
And  blow  the  bellowes  to  his  swelling  vanity. 


Trompart,  fitt  man  for  Braggadocchio 

To  serve  at  court  in  view  of  vaunting  eye  ; 

\'aine-glorious  man,  when  fluttring  wind  does  blow 

In  his  hght  winges,  is  lifted  up  to  skye  ; 

The  scorne  of  knighthood  and  trew  chevalrye, 

To  tliinke,  without  desert  of  gentle  deed 

And  noble  worth,  to  he  advaunced  hye  ; 

Such  prayse  is  shame  ;  but  honour,  vertues  meed, 

Doth  beare  the  fayrest  flowre  in  honourable  seed. 


So  forth  they  pas,  a  well  consorted  payre, 

Till  that  at  length  with  Archimage  they  meet  : 

AVho  seeing  one,  that  shone  in  armour  fayre, 

On  goodly  courser  thondring  witli  his  feet, 

Eftsoones  supposed  him  a  person  meet 

Of  his  revenge  to  make  the  instrument  : 

For  since  the  Redcrosse  knigl^t  he  erst  did  weet 

To  been  with  Guyon  knitt  in  one  consent. 

The  ill,  which  earstto  him,  he  now  to  Guyon  ment. 


And  comming  close  to  Trompart  gan  inquere 
Of  him,  what  mightie  warriour  that  mote  bee, 
That  rode  in  golden  sell  with  single  spere. 
But  wanted  sword  to  wreake  his  enmitee. 
"  He  is  a  great  adventurer,"  said  he, 
"  That  hath  liis  sword  tlirough  hard  assay  forgone. 
And  now  hath  vowd,  till  he  avenged  bee' 
Tf  tliat  despight,  never  to  vi-earen  none  ; 
That  speare  is  him  enough  to  doen  a  thousand  grone." 


Th'  enchaunter  greatly  ioyed  in  the  vaunt. 
And  weened  well  ere  long  his  will  to  win, 
And  botli  his  foen  wil  h  equall  foyle  to  daunt : 
Tho  to  him  louting  lowly  did  begin 
To  plaine  of  wron^es,  wliich  had  committed  bin 
By  Guyon,  and  by  that  false  Redcrosse  knight  ; 
Which  two,  through  treason  and  deceiptfuU  gin, 
Had  slayne  Sir  JModant  and  his  lady  bright  : 
That   mote  him    honour  win,    to   wreak    so    foule 
despight. 

XIV 

Therewith  all  suddeinly  he  seemd  enrag'd. 
And  threatned  deatli  with  dreadfuU  countenaunce. 
As  if  their  lives  had  in  his  hand  beene  j^ag'd  ; 
And  with  stifle  force  shaking  his  mortall  launce, 
7'o  let  him  weet  his  doughtie  valiaunce. 
Thus  said  ;  "  Old  man,  great  sure  shal  be  thy  meed, 
If,  where  those  knights  for  feare  of  dew  vengeaunce 
Doe  lurke,  thou  certeinly  to  mee  areed, 
That  I  may  wreake   on  them  their  hainous  hateful 
deed." 


"  Certes,  my  lord,"  said  he,  "  that  shall  I  soone, 
And  give  you  eke  good  helpe  to  their  decay, 
But  mote  I  wisely  you  advise  to  doon  ; 
Give  no  ods  to  your  foes,  but  doe  purvay 
Yourselfe  of  sword  before  that  bloody  day  ; 
(For  they  be  two  the  prowest  knights  on  grownd, 
And  oft  approv'd  in  many  hard  assay  ;) 
And  eke  of  surest  Steele,  that  may  be  fownd. 
Do   arme    yourselfe   against     that     day,     them   to 
confowtid." 


"  Dotard,"  saide  he,  "  let  be  thy  deepe'advise  ; 
Seemes  that  through  many  yeares  thy  wits  thee  faile. 
And  that  weake  eld  liath  left  thee  nothing  wise. 
Els  never  should  thy  iudgement  be  so  i'rayle 
To  measure  manhood  by  the  sword  or  mayle. 
Is  not  enough  fowre  qu;iiters  of  a  man, 
Withouten  sword  or  shield,  an  hoste  to  quayle? 
Thou  litle  wotest  what  this  right-hand  can  : 
Speake  they,  which  have  beheld  the  battailes  wLicb 
it  ^van." 


The  man  was  much  abashed  at  his  boast ; 
Yet  well  he  wist  that  whoso  would  contend 
With  either  of  those  knightes  on  even  coast, 
Should  neede  of  all  his  armes  him  to  defend  ; 
Yet  feared  least  his  boldnesse  should  ofl'end  : 
W'hen  Braggadocchio  saide ;  "  Once  I  did  sweare, 
When  viith  one  sword  seven  knightes  I  broughttoend, 
Thenceforth  in  battaile  never  sword  to  beare. 
But  it  were  that  which  noblest  knight  on  earth  doth 
weare." 


"  Perdy,  sir  knight,"  saide  then  th'  enchaunter  blive, 
"  That  shall  I  shortly  jmrchase  to  your  bond  : 
For  now  the  best  and  noblest  knight  alive 
Prince  Arthur  is,  that  wonnes  in  Faerie  lond ; 
He  hath  a  sword,  that  flames  like  burning  brond  : 
The  same,  by  my  device,  I  undertake 
Shall  by  to-morrow  by  thy  side  be  fond." 
At  which  bold  word  that  boaster  gan  to  quake, 
And  wondred  in  his  minde  what  mote  that  monster 
make. 


76 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE 


[Book  TI 


He  stavrl  not  for  more  bidding,  but  away 

Was  siiddein  vanished  out  of  his  sight  : 

The  nonlierne  winde  his  wings  did  broad  display 

At  liis  commaund,  and  reared  him  up  light 

From  oft"  the  earth  to  take  his  aerie  Higlit. 

They  lookt  about,  but  no  where  could  espye 

Tract  of  his  foot  :  then  dead  through  great  affright 

Tiiey  both  nigh  were,  and  each  bad  other  flye  : 

Both  fled  attonce,  ne  ever  backe  retourned  eye  ; 


Till  that  they  come  unto  a  forrest  greene, 

la  which  they  shrowd  themselves  from  causeles  feare; 

Vet  feare  them  followes  still,  where  so  they  beene  : 

Each  trembling  leafe  and  whistling  wind  they  heare, 

As  ghastly  bug,  does  greatly  ihem  afleare  : 

Yet  both  doe  strive  their  fearefulnesse  to  faine. 

At  last  they  heard  a  home  that  shrilled  cleare 

Throughout  the  wood  that  ecchoed  againe. 

And  made  the  forrest  ring,  as  it  would  rive  in  twaine. 


Eft  through  the  thicke  they  heard  one  rudely  rush  ; 

With  noyse  whereof  he  from  his  loftie  steed 

Downe  fell  to  ground,  and  crept  into  a  bush, 

To  hide  his  coward  head  from  dying  dreed. 

But  Trompart  stoutly  stayd  to  taken  heed 

Of  what  might  hap.     Eftsoone  there  stepped  foorth 

A  goodly  ladie  clad  in  hunters  weed. 

That  seemd  to  be  a  woman  of  great  worth. 

And  by  her  stately  portance  borne  of  heavenly  birth. 


Her  face  so  faire,  as  flesh  it  seemed  not, 
But  hevenly  pourtraict  of  bright  angels  hew, 
Cle.ire  as  the  skye,  withouten  blame  or  blot. 
Through  goodly  mixture  of  complexions  dew  ; 
And  in  her  cheekes  the  verraeill  red  did  shew 
Like  roses  in  a  bed  of  lillies  shed, 
The  which  ambrosiall  odours  from  them  threw, 
And  gazers  sence  with  double  pleasure  fed, 
Hable  to  heale  the  sicke  and  to  revive  the  ded. 


In  lipr  faire  eyes  two  living  lamps  did  flame, 

Kimllcd  above  atth'  hevenly  Makers  light. 

And  darted  fyrie  beanies  out  of  the  same, 

So  j)iissing  persant  and  so  wondrous  bright. 

That  quite  bereav'd  the  rash  beholders  sight : 

In  them  the  blinded  god  his  lustfuU  fyre 

To  kindle  oft  assayd,  but  had  no  might  ; 

For,  with  diedd  maiestie  and  awfuU  yre, 

She  broke  his  wanton  darts,  and  i|uenthed  bace  desy  re. 


Her  yvorie  forliead  full  of  bountie  brave, 

],ike  a  broad  table  did  ilselle  dispred. 

For  Love,  his  loftie  triuinplies  to  engrave. 

And  write  the  battailes  of  his  great  t.odhed  : 

All  uood  and  honour  might  therein  be  red  ; 

For  there  their  dwelling  wiis.     And,  when  she  spake, 

Swecte  wordes,  like  dropping  honny,  t>he  did  shed  j 

And  twixt  the  perles  and  rubiiis  sottly  brake 

A  silver  sound,  that  heaveidy  musicke  setmd  to  make. 


Upon  her  eyelids  many  graces  sate, 
Under  the  shadow  of  her  even  browes, 
Working  belgardes  and  amorous  retrate  ; 
And  everie  one  her  with  a  grace  endowes. 
And  everie  one  with  meekenesse  to  her  bowes  : 
So  glorious  mirrhour  of  celestiall  grace, 
And  soveraine  moniment  of  mortall  vowes. 
How  shall  frayle  pen  descrive  her  heavenly  face. 
For  feare,  through  want  of  skill,  her  beauty  to  dis" 
grace ! 


So  faire,  and  thousand  thousand  times  more  faire, 
She  seemd,  when  she  presented  was  to  sight  j 
And  was  yclad,  for  heat  of  scorching  aire. 
All  in  a  silken  (Jamus  lilly  whight, 
Purfled  upon  with  many  a  folded  plight. 
Which  ail  above  besprinckled  was  throughout 
With  golden  aj'gijlets,  that  glistred  bright, 
Like  twinckling  starves  ;  and  all  the  skirt  about 
Was  hemd  with  golden  fringe. 


Below  her  ham  her  weed  did  somewhat  trayne, 

And  her  streight  legs  most  bravely  were  embayld 

In  gikleu  buskins  of  costly  cordwdyne. 

All  bard  with  golden  bemies,  which  were  entayld 

With  curious  antickes,  and  full  fayre  aumayld. 

Before,  they  fastned  were  under  her  knee 

In  a  rich  iewell,  and  therein  entray-ld 

The  ends  of  all  the  knots,  that  none  might  see 

How  they  within  their  fouldings  close  enwrapped  bee ! 


Like  two  faire  marble  pillours  they  were  seene. 

Which  doe  the  temple  of  the  gods  support. 

Whom  all  the  people  decke  with  girlands  greene, 

And  honour  in  their  festivall  resort  ; 

Those  same  with  stately  grace  and  princely  port 

She  taught  to  tread,  when  she  herselfe  would  grace, 

But  with  the  woody  nymphes  when  she  did  play. 

Or  when  the  flying  libbaid  s!ie  did  chace. 

She  could  them  nimbly  move,  and  after  fly  apace. 


And  in  her  hand  a  sharp  bore-speare  she  held. 

And  at  her  backe  a  how  and  (juiver  ^ay, 

Stuft  with  stoel-headcd  dartes  wherewith  she  queld 

The  salvage  beastes  in  her  victorious  l)lay. 

Knit  with  a  golden  bauldricke  which  forelay 

Athwart  her  snory  brest,  and  did  divide 

Her  daintie  paps  ;  which,  like  young  fruit  in  May, 

Now  little  gaii  to  swell,  and  being  tide 

Through  her  thin  weed  their  places  only  signifide. 


Her  yellow  lockes,  crisped  like  golden  wyre, 

About  her  shouldi  rs  weren  loosely  shed. 

And,  when  the  wind  cmongst  them  did  inspyre. 

They  waved  like  a  penon  wyde  disj)red. 

And  low  behinde  her  backe  were  scattered: 

And,  whether  art  it  were  or  heedlesse  hap, 

As  through  llie  flouring  forrest  rash  slie  fled. 

In  her  ruile  heares  sweet  flowres  themselves  did  lap, 

And    flourishing    fresh   leaves    aud   blossoms    did 


enwrap. 


y 


CanpjJII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE 


17 


Such  ns  Diana  by  tlie  sandy  shore 

Of  swift  Eurotas,  or  on  Cynfhus  greene, 

Wlif  re  all  the  iiymjjhes  have  her  un wares  forlore, 

Wandreth  alone  with  bow  and  arrowes  keene, 

To  seeke  lier  game  :  or  as  that  famous  queene, 

Of  Amazons,  whom  Pyrrlms  did  destroy, 

The  day  the  first  of  Priame  slie  was  seene, 

Did  shew  herselfe  in  g;reat  triumphant  ioy, 

To  succour  the  weake  state  of  sad  afflicted  Troy. 


Such  when  as  hartlesse  Trompart  her  did  vew, 

He  was  dismayed  in  his  coward  minde, 

And  doubted  whether  he  himselfe  should  shew, 

Or  fly  away,  or  bide  alone  behinde  ; 

Both  feare  and  hope  he  in  her  face  did  finde  : 

V^'hen  she  at  last  him  spying  thus  bespake  ; 

"  Hayle,    groome  ;  didst  not   thou    see  a  bleeding 

hynde. 
Whose  right  haunch  earstray  stedfast  arrow  strake  ? 
If  thou  didst,  tell  me,  that  I  may  her  overtake." 

XXXIII. 

Wherewith  reriv'd,  this  answere  forth  he  threw  ; 
"  O  goddesse,  (for  such  I  thee  take  to  bee,) 
For  nether  doth  thy  face  terrestriall  shew, 
Nor  voyce  sound  mortall  ;  I  avo%v  to  thee, 
Such  wounded  beast,  as  that,  I  did  not  see, 
Sith  earst  into  this  forrest  wild  I  came. 
But  mote  thy  goodlyhed  forgive  it  mee. 
To  weete  which  of  the  gods  I  shall  thee  name, 
That  unto  thee  dew  worship  I  may  rightly  frame." 


To  whom  she  thus — But  ere  her  words  ensewd, 
Unto  tlie  bush  her  eye  did  suddein  glaunce. 
In  which  vaine  Braggadocchio  was  mewd, 
And  saw  it  stirre  :  she  lefte  her  percing  launce. 
And  towards  gan  a  deadly  shafte  advaunce. 
In  mind  to  marke  the  beast.     At  which  sad  stowre, 
Trompart  forth  stept,  to  stay  the  mortall  chaunce, 
Out  crying  ;  "  O  !  whatever  hevenly  powre, 
Or  earthly  wight   thou   be,  withhold   this   deadly 
howre ! 


"  O  !  stay  thy  hand  ;  for  yonder  is  no  game 
For  thy  tiers  aiTowes,  them  to  exercize  ; 
But  loe  !  my  lord,  my  liege,  whose  warlike  name 
Is  far  renowmd  through  many  bold  emprize  ; 
And  now  in  shade  he  shrowded  yonder  lies." 
,  She  staid  :  with  that  he  crauld  out  of  his  nest. 
Forth  creeping  on  his  caitive  liands  and  thies  ; 
And  standing  stoutly  up  his  lofty  crest 
Did  fiercely  shake,  and  rowze  as  comming  late  from 
rest. 


As  fearfull  fowle,  that  long  in  secret  cave 
For  dread  of  soring  hauke  herselfe  hath  hid. 
Not  caring  how,  her  silly  life  to  save. 
She  her  gay  painted  plumes  disorderid  ; 
Seeing  at  last  herselfe  from  daunger  rid. 
Peeps  forth,  and  soone  renews  her  native  pride ; 
She  gins  her  feathers  fowle  disfigured 
Prowdly  to  prune,  and  sett  on  eveiy  side  ; 
80  shakes  off  shame,  ue  thinks  how  erst  she  did  her 
hide. 


So  when  her  goodly  visage  he  beheld, 
He  gan  himselfe  to  vaunt :  but,  when  he  vewd 
Those  deadly  tooles  which  in  her  hand  she  held 
Soone  into  other  fitts  he  was  transmewd. 
Till  she  to  him  her  gracious  speach  renewd ; 
"  All  haile,  sir  kniglit,  and  well  may  thee  befall. 
As  all  the  like,  which  honor  have  pursewd 
Through  deeds  of  amies  and  prowesse  martiall ! 
All  vertue  merits  praise,  but  such  the  most  of  all. 


To  whom  he  thus ;  "  O  fairest  under  skie, 

Trew  be  thy  words,  and  worthy  of  thy  praise. 

That  warlike  feats  doest  highest  glorifie. 

Therein  I  have  spent  all  my  youthly  dales. 

And  many  battailes  fought  and  many  fraies 

Throughout  the  world,  wherso  they  might  be  found, 

Endevoring  my  dreaded  name  to  raise 

Above  the  moone,  that  Fame  may  it  resound 

In  her  etemall  trompe  with  laurell  girlond  cround 


"  But  what  art  thou,  0  lady,  which  doest  raunge 
In  this  wilde  forest,  wliere  no  pleasure  is. 
And  doest  not  it  for  ioyous  court  exchaunge, 
Emongst  thine  cquall  peres,  where  happy  blis 
A  nd  all  delight  does  raigne  much  more  then  this  ? 
There  thou  maist  love,  and  dearly  loved  be. 
And  swim  in  pleasure,  which  thou  here  doest  mis  ; 
There  maist  thou  best  be  seene,  and  best  maist  see; 
The  wood  is  fit  for  beasts,  the  court  is  fitt  for  thee.' 


''Whoso  in  pompe  of  prowd  estate,"  quoth  she, 
■'  Does  swim,  and  bathes  himselfe  in  courtly  blis. 
Does  waste  his  daies  in  darke  obscuritee. 
And  in  oblivion  ever  buried  is  : 
Where  ease  abownds,  yt's  eath  to  doe  amis : 
But  who  his  limbs  with  labours,  and  his  mynd 
Behaves  with  cares,  cannot  so  easy  mis. 
Abroad  in  armes,  at  home  in  studious  kynd. 
Who  seekes  with  painfull  toile,  shall  Honor  soonest 
f}Tid  : 

xu. 

"In  woods,  in  waves,  in  warres,  she  wonts  to  dwell, 

And  wil  be  found  with  perill  and  with  paine ; 

Ne  can  the  man,  that  moulds  in  ydle  cell. 

Unto  her  happy  mansion  attaine  : 

Before  her  gate  High  God  did  Sweate  ordaine. 

And  wakefull  Watches  ever  to  abide  : 

But  easy  is  the  w-ay  and  passage  plaine 

To  Pleasures  pallace  ;  it  may  soone  be  spide. 

And  day  and  night  her  dores  to  all  stand  open  wide. 


"  In  Princes  Court" — The  rest  she  would  have  sayd. 
But  that  the  foolish  man,  (fild  with  delight 
Of  her  sweete  words  that  all  his  sence  dismayd, 
And  with  her  wondrous  beauty  ravisht  quight,) 
Gan  burne  in  filthy  lust ;  and,  leaping  light, 
Thought  in  his  bastard  armes  her  to  embrace. 
AVith  that  she,  swarving  backe,  her  iavelin  bright 
Against  him  bent,  and  fiercely  did  menace  : 
So  turned  her  about,  and  fied  away  apace. 


78 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


Which  when  the  peasaunt  saw,  amazd  he  stood. 
And  grieved  at  her  flight ;  yet  durst  lie  not 
Pursew  her  steps  through  wild  uuknowen  wood  ; 
besides  he  feard  her  wrath,  and  threatued  shott, 
Whiles  in  the  bush  he  lay,  not  yet  forgott : 
Ne  car'd  he  greatly  for  her  presence  vayne, 
But  turning  said  to  Trompart ;  "  What  fowle  blott 
Is  this  to  knight,  that  lady  should  agayne 
Depart  to  woods  untoucht,  and  leave  so  proud  dis- 
dayne !" 

XLIV. 

"  Perdy,"  said  Trompart,  "  lett  her  pas  at  will, 
Least  by  her  presence  daunger  mote  befall. 
For  who  can  tell  (and  sure  I  feare  it  ill) 
But  that  shee  is  some  powre  celestiall  ? 
For,  whiles  she  spake,  her  great  words  did  appall 
My  feeble  corage,  and  my  heart  oppresse, 
That  yet  I  quake  and  tremble  over  all." 
•'  And  I,"  said  Braggadoccliio,  "  thought  no  lesse, 
When  first  I  heard  her  horn  sound  with  such  ghast- 
linesse. 


"  For  from  my  mothers  wombe  this  grace  I  have 

I\Ie  given  by  eternall  destiny, 

That  earthly  thing  may  not  my  corage  brave 

Dismay  with  feare,  or  Cause  one  foote  to  flye, 

But  either  hellish  feends,  or  powres  on  hye  : 

Which  was  the  cause,  when  earst  that  horn  I  heard, 

Weening  it  had  been  thunder  in  the  skye, 

I  hid  my  selfe  from  it  as  one  affeard  ; 

But,  when  1  other  knew,  my  self  I  boldly  reard. 


"  But  now,  for  feare  of  worse  that  may  betide, 

Let  us  soone  hence  depart."     They  soone  agree  ; 

So  to  his  steed  he  gott,  and  gan  to  ride 

As  one  unfitt  therefore,  that  all  might  see 

lie  had  not  trayned  bene  in  chevalree. 

Which  well  that  valiaunt  courser  did  discerne  ; 

For  he  despisd  to  tread  in  dew  degree. 

But  chaufd  and  fom'd  with  corage  fiers  and  sterne, , 

And  to  be  easd  of  that  base  burden  still  did  erne,   /j 


CANTO  IV. 


Guyon  does  Furor  bind  in  chaines. 

And  stops  Occasion  : 
Delivers  Phedon,  and  therefore 

By  Strife  is  rayld  uppon. 


In  brave  poursuitt  of  honorable  deed, 

There  is  I  know  not  what  great  difference 

Betweene  the  vulgar  and  the  noble  seed. 

Which  unto  things  of  valorous  pretence 

Seemes  to  be  borne  by  native  influence  ; 

As  feates  of  armes  ;  and  love  to  entertaine  : 

But  chiefly  skill  to  ride  seemes  a  science 

Proper  to  gentle  blood  :  some  others  faine 

To  menage  steeds,  as  did  this  vaunter  ;  but  in  vaine. 


But  he,  the  rightfull  owner  of  that  steede. 
Who  well  could  menage  and  suhdew  his  pride, 
Tlie  whiles  on  foot  was  forced  for  to  yeed 
With  that  blacke  palmer,  his  most  trusty  guide. 
Who  suftVed  not  his  wandring  feete  to  slide  ; 
But  when  strong  passion,  or  weake  fleshlinesse. 
Would  from  the  right  way  seeke  to  draw  him  wide, 
He  would,  through  teinperaunce  and  stedfastnesse. 
Teach  liim  the  weak  to  strengthen,  and  the  strong 
suppresse. 


It  fortuned,  forth  faring  on  his  way, 
lie  saw  from  far,  or  seemed  for  to  see, 
Some  troublous  uprore  or  contentious  fray, 
Whtreto  he  drew  in  hast  it  to  agree. 
A  mad  man,  or  that  feigned  mad  to  bee, 
Drew  by  the  heare  along  uj)0n  tlie  grownd 
A  handsom  stripling  with  great  crueltee. 
Whom  ?ore  he  bett,  and  gor'd  with  many  a  wownd, 
Ihat  cheekes  with  teares,  and  sydes  with  blood,  did 
all  abownd. 


And  him  behymd  a  wicked  hag  did  stalke 

In  ragged  robes  and  filthy  disaray  ; 

Her  other  leg  was  lame,  that  she  no'te  walke. 

But  on  a  staft'e  her  feeble  steps  did  stay : 

Her  lockes,  that  loathly  were  and  hoarie  gray. 

Grew  all  afore,  and  loosly  hong  unrold  ; 

But  all  behinde  was  bald,  and  worne  away. 

That  none  thereof  could  ever  taken  hold  ; 

And  eke  her  face  ill-favour'd,  full  of  wriuckles  old. 


And,  ever  as  she  went,  her  toung  did  walke 

In  fowle  reproch  and  termes  of  vile  despight. 

Provoking  him,  by  her  outrageous  talke. 

To  heape  more  vengeance  on  that  wretched  wight 

Sometimes  she  raught  him  stones,  wherwitli  to  suii! 

Sometimes  her  stafte,  though  it  her  one  leg  were, 

Wi'.liouten  which  she  could  not  goe  upright ; 

Ne  any  evil  meanes  she  did  foiheare. 

That  might  him  move  to  wratJi,  and  indignation  rears 


The  noble  Guyon,  mov'd  with  great  remorse 

Ap])rocliing,  first  the  hag  did  tlirust  away  ; 

And  after,  adding  more  impetuous  forse, 

I  lis  miglity  hands  did  on  tlie  madman  lay. 

And  jilutkt  him  backe  ;  who,  all  on  fire  streightway 

Against  him  turning  all  his  fell  intent, 

AVith  beastly  brutish  rage  gan  him  assay. 

And  sinott,  and  bitt,  and  kickt  and  scratcht,  and  rent, 

And  did  he  wist  not  what  in  his  avengement. 


Canto  IV.] 


THE  FAERIE   QUEEN E. 


79 


And  sure  he  was  a  man  of  mickle  might, 
[lad  he  ha<l  governauuce  it  well  to  guyde  : 
J3ut,  when  the  frantick  fitt  inflamd  his  spright, 
His  force  was  vaine,  and  strooke  more  often  W3'de 
Then  at  the  avmed  marke  which  he  had  eyde  : 
And  oft  hiraselfe  he  chaunstto  hurt  unwares,  [cryde; 
Whylest  reason,  blent  through  passion,  nought  des- 
I5ut,  as  a  blindfold  bull,  at  random  fares, 
And  where  he  hits   nought   knowes,  and  whom  he 
hurts  nought  cares. 


His  rude  assault  and  rugged  handeling 

Straunge  seemed  to  the  knight,  that  aye  with  foe 

In  fayre  defence  and  goodly  menaging 

Of  armes  was  wont  to  fight  ;   yet  nathemoe 

Was  he  abashed  now,  not  fighting  so  ; 

But,  more  enfierced  through  his  currish  play, 

Him  sternly  gn'pt,  and,  hailing  to  and  fro, 

To  overthrow  him  strongly  did  assay. 

But  overtlirew  himselfe  unawares,  and  lower  lay : 


And  being  downe  the  villein  sore  did  beate 

And  bruze  with  clownish  fistes  his  manly  face : 

And  eke  the  hag,  with  many  a  bitter  tlireat, 

Still  cald  upon  to  kill  him  in  the  place. 

With  whose  reproch,  and  odious  menace, 

The  knight  emboyling  in  his  haughtie  hart 

Knitt  all  his  forces,  and  gan  soone  unbrace 

His  grasping  hold :    so  lightly  did  upstart. 

And  drew  his  deadly  weapon  to  maintaine  his  parr. 


Whicli  when  the  palmer  saw,  he  loudly  cryde, 

"  Not  so,  O  Guvon,  never  thinke  that  so 

That  monster  can  be  maistred  or  destroyd : 

He  is  not,  ah !    he  is  not  such  a  foe. 

As  Steele  can  wounde,  or  strength  can  oveithroe. 

That  same  is  Furor,  cursed  cruel  wight. 

That  unto  knighthood  workes  much  shame  and  woe 

And  that  same  Hag,  his  aged  mother,  bight. 

Occasion  ;    the  roote  of  all  wrath  and  despight. 


"  W'ith  her,  whoso  will  raging  Furor  tame, 

Must  first  begin,  and  well  her  amenage  : 

First  her  restraine  from  her  reprochfull  blame 

And  evill  meanes,  with  which  she  doth  enrage 

Her  frantick  sonne,  and  kindles  his  corage ; 

Then,  when  she  is  withdrawne  or  strong  withstood, 

It's  eath  his  ydle  fuiy  to  aswage. 

And  calme  the  tempest  of  his  passion  wood  : 

The  bankes  are  overflowne  when  stopped  is  the  flood." 


Therewith  Sir  Guyon  left  his  first  emprise, 

And,  turning  to  that  woman,  fost  her  hent 

By  thy  hoare  lockes  that  hong  before  hrr  eyes, 

And  to  the  ground  her  threw' :    yet  n'ould  she  stent 

Her  bitter  rayling  and  foule  revilement  ; 

But  still  provokt  her  sonne  to  wreake  her  wrong  ; 

But  nathelesse  he  did  her  still  torment, 

And,  catching  hold  of  her  ungratious  tong, 

Thereon  an  yron  lock  did  fasten  firme  and  stron"-. 


Then,  whenas  use  of  speach  was  from  her  reft, 
With  her  two  crooked  handes  she  signes  did  make. 
And  beckned  him ;  the  last  help  she  had  left : 
But  he  that  last  left  helpe  awav  did  take. 
And  both  her  handes  fast  bound  unto  a  stake. 
That  she  no'te  stin-e.     Then  gan  her  sonne  to  Ave 
Full  fast  awav,  and  did  her  quite  forsake  : 
But  Guyon  after  him  in  hast  did  bye, 
And  soone  him  overtooke  in  sad  perplexitye. 


In  his  strong  armes  he  stifly  him  embraste. 

Who  him  gain-striving  nought  at  all  prevaild; 

For  all  his  power  was  utterly  defaste. 

And  furious  fitts  at  earst  quite  weren  quaild  : 

Oft  he  re'nforst,  and  oft  his  forces  fayld. 

Yet  yield  he  would  not,  nor  his  ranc^*-  slacke. 

Then  him  to  ground  he  cast,  and  ruut-.y  hayld. 

And  both  his  hands  fast  bound  behind  his  Ijacke, 

And  both  his  feet  in  fetters  to  an  vron  racke. 


With  hundred  yron  chaines  he  did  him  bind, 
And  hundred  knots,  that  did  him  sore  constraine ;  % 
Yet  his  great  yron  teeth  he  still  did  grind 
And  grimly  gnash,  threatning  revenge  in  vaine  : 
His  burning  eyen,  whom  bloody  strakes  did  staine, 
Stared  full  wide,  and  threw  forth  sparkes  of  fyre  ; 
And,  more  for  rank  despight  then  for  great  paine, 
Shakt  his  long  locks  colourd  like  copper-wyre. 
And  bitt  his  tawny  beard  to  shew  his  raging  yre. 


Thus  whenas  Guyon  Furor  had  captivd. 
Turning  about  he  saw  that  wretched  squjTe, 
Whom  that  mad  man  of  life  nigh  late  deprivd, 
.   Lying  on  ground,  all  soild  with  blood  and  myre . 
Whom  whenas  he  perceived  to  respyre. 
He  gan  to  comfoit,  and  his  woundes  to  dresse. 
Being  at  last  recured,  he  gan  inquyre 
What  hard  mishap  him  brought  to  such  distresse. 
And  made  that  caytives  thrall,  the  thrall  of  wretched- 
nesse. 


With  hart  then  throbbing,  and  with  watry  eyes, 
"Fayre  sir,"  quoth  he,  "what  man  can  shun  the  hap, 
That  hidden  lyes  unwares  him  to  surpryse  t 
Misfortune  waites  advantage  to  entrap 
The  man  most  wary  in  her  whelming  lap. 
So  me,  weake  wretch,  of  many  weakest  one, 
Unweeting  and  unware  of  such  mishap. 
She  brought  to  mischiefe  throui;h  occasion, 
Where  this  same  wicked  villein  did  me  light  upcE 


"  It  was  a  faithelesse  squire,  that  was  the  sourse 
Of  all  my  sorrow  and  of  these  sad  teares. 
With  whom  from  tender  dug  of  commune  nourse 
Attonce  I  was  upbrought  ;  anil  eft,  when  yeares 
IVIore  rype  us  reason  lent  to  chose  our  j'eares. 
Ourselves  in  league  oi'  vowed  love  we  kmtt; 
In  which  we  long  time,  without  gealous  feares 
Oi  faultie  thoughts,  contvnewd  as  was  fitt; 
And,  for  my  part  1  vow,  dissembled  not  awlitt. 


80 


THE  FAERIF  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


It  ^vas  mv  fortune,  commune  to  that  age, 
To  love  a  ladv  fayre  of  great  degree, 
The  wliich  was  borne  of  noble  parentage, 
And  set  in  highest  seat  of  dignitee, 
Yet  seemd  no  lesse  to  love  then  lovd  to  bee  : 
Long  I  her  serv'd,  and  found  her  faithfuU  still, 
Ne  ever  thing  could  cause  us  disagree  :  [will : 

Lore,  that  two  hartes  makes  one,  makes  eke    one 
Each  strove  to  please,  and  others  pleasures  to  fulfill. 


"  This  gracelesse  man,  for  furtherance  of  his  guile. 
Did  court  the  handmayd  of  mv  lady  deare. 
Who,  glad  t'  embosome  his  affection  vile, 
Did  all  she  might  more  pleasing  to  appeare. 
One  dav,  to  worke  her  to  his  will  more  neare, 
He  woo'd  her  thus  ;  '  Prvene,'  (so  she  hight,) 
'  What  great  despight  does  fortune  to  thee  beare, 
Thus  lowly  to  abase  thy  beautie  bright. 
That  it  should  not  deface  all  others  lesser  light? 


"  My  friend,  hight  Philemon,  I  did  partake 

Of  fill  my  love  and  all  my  pvivitie  ; 

W'ho  gently  ioyous  seemed  for  my  sake, 

And  gratious  to  that  lady,  as  to  mee  ; 

N  e  ever  wight,  that  mote  so  welcome  bee 

As  he  to  her,  withouten  blott  or  blame  ; 

Ne  ever  thing,  that  she  could  tliink  or  see. 

But  unto  him  she  would  impart  the  same  : 

O  wretched  man,  that  would  abuse  so  gentle  dame  ! 


"  At  last  such  grace  I  found,  and  meanes  I  wrought, 
^hat  I  that  lady  to  my  spouse  had  wonne  ; 
Accord  of  friendes,  consent  of  parents  sought, 
Affyaunce  made,  my  happinesse  begonne, 
There  wanted  nought  but  few  rites  to  be  donne. 
Which  mariage  make  :  that  day  too  fiirre  did  seeme ! 
Most  ioyous  man,  on  whome  the  shining  sunne 
Did  shew  his  face,  myself  I  did  esteeme, 
And  that  ray  falser  friend  did.  no  lesse  io\-ous  deeme. 


"  But,  ere  that  wished  day  his  beame  disclosd. 
He,  either  envying  my  toward  good. 
Or  of  himselfe  to  treason  ill  disposd. 
One  day  unto  me  came  in  friendly  mood. 
And  told,  for  secret,  how  he  understood 
That  lady,  whom  I  had  to  me  assynd. 
Had  both  distaind  her  honorable  blood. 
And  eke  the  faith  which  she  to  me  did  bynd  ; 
And  therefore  wisht  me  stay,  till  I  my  truth  should 
fynd. 

xxiii. 

'  The  gnawing  anguish,  and  sharp  gelosy, 
W'hich  liis  sad  speach  infixed  in  my  brest, 
Rvickled  so  sore,  and  festred  inwardly. 
That  my  engreeved  mind  could  find  no  rest. 
Till  tliat  the  truth  thereof  I  did  out  wrest ; 
And  him  besought,  by  that  same  sacred  band 
Betwixt  us  both,  to  counsell  me  the  best : 
He  then  with  solemne  oath  and  plighted  hand 
Assurd,  ere  long  the  truth  to  let  me  understand. 


"  Ere  long  with  like  againe  he  boorded  mee, 
Saying,  lie  now  had  boulted  all  the  floure, 
And  that  it  was  a  groome  of  base  degree. 
Which  of  my  love  was  partner  paranioure  : 
Who  used  in  a  darksome  inner  bowre 
Her  oft  to  meete :  which  better  to  approve, 
He  promised  to  bring  me  at  that  howre. 
When  I  sliould  see  that  would  me  nearer  move. 
And  drive  me  to  withdraw  my  blind  abused  love. 


"  '  But  if  she  had  her  least  helpe  to  thee  lent, 

T'  adorne  thy  forme  according  thy  desart, 

Tlieir  blazing  pride  tliou  wouldest  soone  have  blent, 

And  staynd  their  prayses  with  thy  least  good  part ; 

Ne  should  faire  Claribell  with  all  her  art, 

Tho'  she  thy  ladv  be,  approch  thee  neare  : 

For  proofe  thereof,  this  evening,  as  thou  art, 

Aray  thyselfe  in  her  most  gorgeous  geare. 

That  I  may  more  delight  in  thy  embracement  deare. 


"  The  mayden  proud  through  praise  and  mad  through 

Him  liearkned  to,  and  soone  herselfe  arayd  ;     [love 

The  whiles  to  me  the  treachour  did  remove 

His  craftie  engin  :  and,  as  he  had  sayd, 

Me  leading,  in  a  secret  corner  layd. 

The  sad  spectatour  of  my  tragedie  : 

Where  left,  he  went,  and  his  owne  false  part  playd, 

Disguised  like  that  groome  of  base  degree. 

Whom  he  had  feignd  th'  abuser  of  my  love  to  bee. 


"  Eftsoones  he  came  unto  th'  appointed  place. 
And  with  liim  brounht  Pryene,  rich  arayd. 
In  Claribellaes  clotlies  :  her  proper  face 
I  not  discerned  ia  that  darkesome  shade. 
But  weend  it  was  my  love  with  whom  he  playd. 
Ah  God  !  what  horrour  and  tormenting  griefe 
IMy  hart,  my  handes,  mine  eies,  and  all  assayd ! 
Me  liefer  were  ten  thousand  deathes  priefe 
Tlien  wounde  of  gealous  worme,  and  shame  of  such 
repriefe. 

XXIX. 

"  I  home  retouming,  fraught  with  fowle  despight. 
And  chawing  vengeaunce  all  the  way  I  went 
Soone  as  my  loathed  love  appeard  in  sight. 
With  wratlifuU  hand  I  slew  her  innocent ; 
That  after  soone  I  dearely  did  lament : 
For,  when  the  cause  of  that  outrageous  deede 
Demaunded  I  made  plains  and  evident. 
Her  faultie  liandmayd,  which  that  bale  did  breede, 
Confest  how  Philemon  her  wrought  to  chaunge  hei 
weede. 


"  Wliich  when  I  heard,  with  horrible  affright 

And  hellisli  fury  all  enragd,  I  souglit 

Upon  inyselfe  that  vengeable  despiglit 

To  punish  :  yet  it  better  first  I  tliought 

To  wreake  my  wrath  on  him,  that  first  it  wrought; 

To  Phflemon,  false  fatour  Philemon, 

I  cast  to  pay  that  I  so  dearely  bought : 

Of  deadly  drugs  I  gave  him  drinke  anon, 

Aud  washt  away  his  guilt  with  guilty  potion. 


ANTO   IV.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


81 


"  Thus  heaping'  crime  on  crime,  and  griefe  on  griefe, 

To  losse  of  love  adioyning  losse  of  frend, 

I  meant  to  purg-e  both  with  a  third  miscluefe, 

And  in  my  woes  beginner  it  to  end  : 

That  was  Pryene  ;  she  did  first  offend, 

She  last  should  smart :  with  which  cruell  intent, 

When  I  at  her  my  murdrous  blade  did  bend, 

She  fled  away  with  ghastly  dreriment, 

And  I,  poursewing  my  fell  purpose,  after  went. 


"  Feare  gave  her  winges,  and  Rage  enforst  my  flight ; 
Through  woods  and  plaines  so  long  I  did  her  cbace. 
Till  this  mad  man,  whom  your  victorious  might 
Hath  now  fast  bound,  me  met  in  middle  space  : 
As  I  her,  so  he  me  poursewd  apace, 
And  shortly  overtooke  :   I,  breathing  yre, 
Sore  chaufted  at  my  stay  in  such  a  cace, 
And  with  my  heat  kindled  his  cruell  fvre  ; 
Which   kindled  once,   his   mother  did    more   rage 
inspjTe. 

XXXIII. 

"  Betwixt  them  both  they  have  me  doen  to  dye. 
Through  wounds,  and  strokes,  and  stubbome  handel- 
That  death  were  better  tlien  such  agony,  [ing, 

As  griefe  and  fury  unto  me  did  bring  ; 
Of  which  in  me  yet  stickes  the  mortall  sting, 
That  during  life  will  never  be  appeasd !" 
When  he  thus  ended  had  his  sorrowing. 
Said  Guvon  ;  "  SqujTe,  sore  have  ye  beene  diseasd  ; 
But  all  your  hurts  may  scone  through  temperance 
be  easd." 


Then  gan  the  palmer  thus  ;  "  Blost  wretched  man, 
That  to  Affections  does  the  bridle  lend  ! 
In  their  beginning  they  are  weake  and  wan. 
But  soone  through  sufFrance  growe  to  fearefuU  end; 
Whiles  they  are  weake,  betimes  with  them  contend  ; 
For,  when  they  once  to  perfect  strength  do  grow. 
Strong  warres  they  make,  and  cruell  battry  bend 
Gainst  fort  of  Reason,  it  to  overthrow  : 
W'rath,  Gelosy,  Griefe,  Love,  this  squyre  have  laide 
thus  low. 


"  Wrath,  Gealosie,  Griefe,  Love,  do  thus  expel!  : 
Wrath  is  a  fire  ;  and  Gealosie  a  weede  ; 
Griefe  is  a  flood  ;  and  Love  a  monster  fell  ; 
The  fire  of  sparkes,  the  weede  of  little  seede. 
The  flood  of  drops,  tlie  monster  filth  did  breede  : 
But  sparks,  seed,  drops,  and  filth,  do  thus  delay ; 
The  sparks  soone  quench,  the  springing  seed  outweed, 
The  drops  diy  up,  and  filth  wipe  cleane  away  : 
So   shall   Wrath,   Gealosy,   Griefe,    Love,    die   and 
decay." 


"  Unlucky  squire,"  saide  Guyon,  "  sith  thou  hast 
Falne  into  miscluefe  through  intemperaunce, 
Henceforth  take  heede  of  tliat  thou  now  hast  past. 
And  guyde  thy  waies  with  warie  govemaunce. 
Least  worse  betide  thee  by  some  later  chaunce. 
But  read  how  art  thou  nam'd,  and  of  what  kin." 
"  Phedon  I  hight,"  quoth  he,  "  and  do  advaunce 
Mine  auncestry  from  famous  Corudin, 
Who  first  to  rayse  our  Louse  to  honour  did  beo-in.' 


Thus  as  he  spake,  lo  !  far  away  they  spyde 
A  varlet  ronning  towardes  hastily, 
^Vhose  flying  feet  so  fast  tlieir  way  applyde. 
That  round  about  a  cloud  of  dust  did  fly, 
Which,  mingled  all  with  sweate,  did  dim  his  eve. 
He  soone  approched,  panting,  breathlesse,  whot. 
And  all  so  soyld,  that  none  could  him  descry  ; 
His  countenaunce  was  bold,  and  bashed  not 
For  Guyons  lookes,  but  scomefull  ey-glaunce  at  hioi 
shot. 


Behinde  his  backe  he  bore  a  brasen  shield. 

On  which  was  drawen  faire,  in  colours  fit, 

A  flaming  fire  in  midst  of  bloody  field. 

And  round  about  the  wreath  this  word  was  writ. 

Burnt  I  doe  burne  :  Right  well  beseemed  it 

To  be  the  shield  of  some  redoubted  knight : 

And  iu  liis  hand  two  dartes  exceeding  flit 

And  deadly  sharp  he  held,  whose  heads  were  dight 

In  poyson  and  in  blood  of  malice  and  despight. 


When  he  in  presence  came,  to  Guyon  first 

He  boldly  spake  ;  "  Sir  knight,  if  knight  thou  bee. 

Abandon  this  forestalled  place  at  erst. 

For  feare  of  further  harme,  I  counsell  thee  ; 

Or  bide  the  chaunce  at  thine  owne  ieopardee." 

The  knight  at  his  great  boldnesse  wondered  j 

And,  though  he  scorn 'd  his  3'dle  vanitee. 

Yet  mildly  him  to  purpose  unswered  ; 

For  not  to  grow  of  nought  he  it  coniectured  ; 


"  Varlet,  this  place  most  dew  to  me  I  deeme. 

Yielded  by  him  that  held  it  forcibly  :  [seeme 

But  whence  shold  come  that  harme,  which  thou  dost 

To  threat  to  him  that  mindes  his  chaunce  t'abye?" 

"  Perdy,'"  sayd  he,  "  here  comes,  and  is  hard  by, 

A  knight  of  wondrous  powre  and  great  assay. 

That  never  yet  encountred  enemy, 

But  did  him  deadly  daunt,  or  fowle  dismay ; 

Ne  thou  for  better  hope,  if  thou  his  presence  stay." 


"  How   hight  he,"   then  sayd   Guyon,   "  and   from 
"  Pyrochles  is  his  name,  renowmed  farre  [whence  f 
For  his  bold  feates  and  hardy  confidence. 
Full  oft  approvd  in  many  ft  cruell  warre  ; 
The  brother  of  Cymochles  ;  both  which  arre 
The  sonnes  of  old  Aerates  and  Despight ; 
Aerates,  sonne  of  Phlegeton  and  larre  ; 
But  Phlegeton  is  sonne  of  Herebus  and  Fight 
But  Herebus  sonne  of  Aeternitie  is  highl. 

ZLII. 

"  So  from  immortall  race  he  does  proceede. 

That  mortall  hands  may  not  withstand  his  might,     - 

Drad  for  his  derring  doe  and  bloody  deed  ; 

For  all  in  blood  and  spoile  is  his  delight. 

His  am  1  Atin,  his  in  wrong  and  right, 

That  matter  make  for  liim  to  workeupon. 

And  stirre  him  up  to  strife  and  cruell  fight. 

Fly  therefore,  fly  this  fearefuU  stead  anon. 

Least  thy  foolhardize  worke  thy  sad  confiasion." 


82 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boox  II 


"  His  be  that  care,  whom  most  it  doth  concerne," 
Sayd  he  :  "  but  whether  with  sucli  hasty  flight 
Art  thou  now  bownd  ?  for  well  mote  I  disceme 
Great  cause,  that  carries  thee  so  swifte  and  light." 
"  My  lord,"  quoth  he,  "  mesent,andstreightbehight 
To  seeke  Occasion,  where  so  she  bee  : 
For  he  is  all  disposd  to  bloody  fight. 
And  breathes  out  wrath  and  hainous  crueltee  ; 
Hard  is  his  hap,  that  first  fkls  in  his  ieopardee." 


"  I\Iad  man,"  said  then  the  palmer,  "  that  does  seeke 
Occasion  to  wrath,  and  cause  of  strife  ; 
Shee  comes  unsought,  and  shonned  followes  eke. 
Happy  !  who  can  abstaine,  when  Rancor  rife 
Kindles  Revenge,  and  threats  his  rusty  knife  : 
Woe  never  wants,  where  every  cause  is  caught ; 
And  rash  Occasion  makes  unquiet  life  !"     [sought," 
"  Then  loe !  wher  bound  she  sits,  whom  thou   hast 
Said    Guyon  ;  "  let   that   message  to   thy   lord   be 
brought." 


That  when  the  varlett  heard  and  saw,  streightway 
He  wexed  wondrous  wroth,  and  said;  "  Vileknight, 
That  knights  and  knighthood  doest  with  shame  upbray, 
And  shewst  th'  ensample  of  thy  childishe  might. 
With  silly  weake  old  woman  thus  to  fight  ! 
Great  glory  and  gay  spoile  sure  hast  thou  gott. 
And  stoutly  prov'd  thy  puissaunce  here  in  sight ! 
That  shall  Pyrochles  well  requite,  I  wott, 
And  with  thy  blood  abolish  so  reprochfuU  blott.' 


With  that,  one  of  his  thrillant  darts  he  threw. 
Headed  with  yre  and  vengeable  despight : 
The  quivering  Steele  his  aymed  end  wel  knew, 
And  to  his  brest  itselfe  intended  right : 
But  he  was  wary,  and,  ere  it  empight 
In  the  meant  marke,  advaunst  his  shield  atween, 
On  which  it  seizing  no  way  enter  might, 
Butbacke  rebownding   eft  the  forckhead  keene  : 
Eftsoones  he  fled  aw  y,  and  might  no  where  be 
seene. 


CANTO  V. 

Pyrochles  does  with  Guyon  fight, 

And  Furors  chayne  untyes, 
Who  him  sore  wounds  ;  whiles  Atin  to 

Cymochles  for  ayd  flyes. 


Whoever  doth  to  Temperaunce  apply 

His  stedfast  life,  and  edl  his  actions  frame. 

Trust  me,  shal  find  no  greater  enimy. 

Then  stubbome  Perturbation,  to  the  same ; 

To  which  right  wel  the  wise  doe  give  that  name  ; 

For  it  the  goodly  peace  of  staied  mindes 

Does  overthrow,  and  troublous  warre  proclame  : 

His  owne  woes  author,  who  so  bound  it  findes. 

As  did  Pyrochles,  and  it  wilfully  unbindes. 


After  that  vailets  flight,  it  was  not  long 
Ere  on  the  plaine  fast  pricking  Guyon  spide 
One  in  bright  arraes  embatteiled  full  strong, 
That,  as  the  sunny  beames  do  glaunce  and  glide 
Ui)on  the  trembling  wave,  so  shined  bright, 
And  round  about  him  threw  forth  sparkling  fire, 
Thill  seemd  him  to  enflame  on  every  side  : 
His  steed  was  bloody  red,  and  fomed  yre. 
When  with  the  maistring  spur  he  did  him  roughly 
stire. 


Approching  nigh,  he  never  staid  to  greete, 

Ne  cliaftar  words,  prowd  corage  to  provoke. 

But  prickt  so  fiers,  that  underneath  his  feete 

The  smouldring  dust  did  rownd  about  him  smoke, 

Bolh  horse  and  man  nigh  able  for  to  choke  ; 

And,  fayrly  couching  his  steeleheaded  speare. 

Him  first  saluted  with  a  sturdy  stroke  : 

It  booted  nouglit  sir  Guyon,  comming  neare, 

Vo  thincke  such  hideous jjuissaunce  on  foot  tobeare; 


But  lightly  shunned  it ;  and  passing  by, 
With  his  bright  blade  did  smite  at  him  so  fell, 
That  the  sharpe  Steele,  arriving  forcibly 
On  his  broad  shield,  bitt  not,  but  glauncing  feU 
On  his  horse  necke  before  the  quilted  sell. 
And  from  the  head  the  body  sundred  quight : 
So  him  dismounted  low  he  did  compell 
On  foot  with  him  to  matchen  equall  fight  ; 
The  truncked  beast   fast  bleeding  did  him  fowly 
dight. 


Sore  bruzed  with  the  fall  he  slow  uprose. 

And  all  enraged  thus  him  loudly  shent ; 

"  Disleall  knight,  whose  coward  corage  chose 

To  wroake  itselfe  on  beast  all  innocent. 

And  shund  the  murke  at  which  it  should  be  ment ; 

Therby  thine  amies  seem  strong,  but  manhood  frayl 

So  hast  thou  oft  with  guile  thine  honor  blent, 

But  litle  may  such  guile  thee  now  avayl. 

If  wonted  force  and  fortune  doe  me  not  much  fayL" 


With  that  he  drew  his  flaming  sword,  and  strooke 

At  him  so  fiercely,  that  tho  ujiper  marge 

Of  his  sevenfolded  shield  away  it  tooke, 

And,  glauncing  on  his  helmet,  made  a  large 

And  open  gash  therem  :  were  not  his  targe 

That  broke  the  violence  of  his  intent, 

The  weary  sowle  from  thence  it  would  discharge  ; 

Nathelesse  so  sore  a  buft'  to  him  it  lent. 

That  made  him  reele,  and  to  his  brest  his  bever  bent. 


Canto  V.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


83 


Exceeding  wroth  was  Guyon  at  that  blow, 

And  much  ashamd  that  stroke  of  hvmg  arme 

Should  him  dismay,  and  make  him  stoup  so  low, 

Though  otherwise  it  did  him  litle  harme  : 

Tho,  hurling  high  his  yron-braced  arme, 

He  smote  so  manly  on  his  shoulder  plate. 

That  all  his  left  side  it  did  quite  disairme  ; 

Vet  there  the  steel  stayd  not,  but  inly  bate 

Deepe  in  his  flesh,  and  opened  wide  a  red  floodgate. 


Deadly  dismayd  with  horror  of  that  dint 
Pyrochles  was,  and  grieved  eke  entyre ; 
Vet  nathemore  did  it  his  fury  stint. 
But  added  flame  unto  his  former  fire, 
'J  hat  wel-nigh  molt  his  hart  in  raging  yre  : 
Ne  thenceforth  his  approved  skill,  to  ward, 
Dt  strike,  or  hurtle  rownd  in  warlike  gyre, 
Remembred  he,  ne  car'd  for  his  saufgard, 
But  rudely  rag'd,  and  like  a  cruell  tygre  far'd. 


He  liewd,  and  lasht,  and  foynd,  and  thondred  blowes, 
And  every  way  did  seeke  into  his  life  ; 
Ne  plate,  ne  male,  could  ward  so  mighty  throwes, 
But  yielded  passage  to  his  cruell  knife. 
But  Guyon,  in  the  heat  of  all  his  strife. 
Was  wary  wise,  and  closely  did  awayt 
Avauntage,  whilest  his  foe  did  rage  most  rife  ; 
Sometimes  athwart,  sometimes  he  strook  him  strayt. 
And  falsedofthis  blowes  t'illude  him  with  such  bayt. 


Like  as  a  lyon  whose  imperiall  powie 

A  prowd  rebellious  unicorn  defyes, 

T'  avoide  the  rash  assault  and  wrathful  stowre 

Of  his  fiers  foe,  him  to  a  tree  applyes. 

And  when  him  ronning  in  full  course  he  spyes. 

He  slips  aside  ;  the  whiles  that  furious  beast 

His  precious  home,  sought  of  his  enimyes, 

Strikes  in  the  stocke,  ne  thence  can  be  releast. 

But  to  the  mighty  victor  yields  a  bounteous  feast. 


With  such  faire  sleight  him  Guyon  often  fayld, 

'J  ill  at  the  last  all  breathlesse,  weary,  faint. 

Him  spying,  with  fresh  onsett  he  assayld. 

And,  kindling  new  his  corage  seeming  queint, 

Strooke  him  so  hugely,  tbat  through  great  constraint 

He  made  him  stoup  perforce  unto  his  knee. 

And  doe  unwilling  worship  to  the  saint. 

That  on  his  shield  depainted  he  did  see  ; 

Such  homage  till  that  instant  never  learned  hee. 


^Vhom  Guyon  seeing  stoup,  poursewed  fast 
The  present  offer  of  faire  victory. 
And  soone  his  dreadfull  blade  about  he  cast. 
Wherewith  he  smote  his  haughty  crest  so  hye. 
That  streight  on  grownd  made  him  full  low  to  lye ; 
1  hen  on  his  brest  his  victor  foote  he  thrust : 
With  tbat  he  cryde  ;  "  Mercy,  doe  me  not  dye, 
Ne  deeme  thy  force  by  fortunes  doome  uniust, 
Tliat  hath  (maugre  her  spight)  thus  low  me  laid  in 
du-u" 


Eftsoones  Ins  cruel  hand  Sir  Guyon  stayd, 
Tempring  the  passion  witli  advizement  slow 
And  maistring  might  on  enimy  dismayd  ; 
For  th'  equall  die  of  warre  he  well  did  know  : 
Then  to  him  said  :  "  Live,  and  alleasaunce  owe 
To  him,  that  gives  thee  life  and  liberty ; 
And  henceforth  by  this  dales  ensample  trow. 
That  hasty  wroth,  and  heedlesse  hazardrv, 
Doe  breede  repentaunce  late,  and  lasting  infamy. 


So  up  he  let  him  rise  ;  who,  with  grim  looke 
And  count'naunce  sterne  upstanding,  gan  to  grind 
His  grated  teeth  for  great  disdeigne.,  and  shooke 
His  sandy  lockes,  long  hanging  downe  behind. 
Knotted  in  blood  and  dust,  for  grief  of  mind 
That  he  in  ods  of  armes  was  conquered  ; 
Yet  in  himselfe  some  comfort  he  did  find. 
That  him  so  noble  knight  had  maystered  ; 
Whose  bounty  more  then  might,  yet  both,  he  won- 
dered. 


Which  Guyon  marking  said  ;  "  Be  nought  agriev'd. 
Sir  knight,  that  thus  ye  now  subdewed  arre  : 
Was  never  man,  who  most  conquestes  atcbiev'd. 
But  sometimes  had  the  worse,  and  lost  by  warre ; 
Yet  shortly  gaynd,  that  losse  exceeded  liirre  ; 
Losse  is  no  shame,  nor  to  bee  lesse  then  foe  ; 
But  to  bee  lesser  then  himselfe  doth  marre 
Both  loosers  lott,  and  victour's  prayse  alsoe  ■ 
Vaine  others  overthrowes  who  selfe  doth  overthrow 


"  Fly,  0  Pyrochles,  fly  tlie  dreadful  warre 
That  in  thyselfe  thy  lesser  partes  do  move  ; 
Outrageous  Anger,  and  woe-working  larre. 
Direful!  Impatience,  and  hart-murdring  Love  : 
Those,  those  thy  foes,  those  warriours,  far  remove, 
Which  thee  to  endlesse  bale  captived  lead. 
But,  sith  in  might  thou  didst  my  mercy  prove. 
Of  courtesie  to  mee  the  cause  aread 
That  thee  against  me  drew  with  so  impetuous  dread." 


"  Dreadlesse,"  said  he,  "  that  shall  I  soone  declare 

It  was  complaind  that  thou  hadst  done  great  tort 

Unto  an  aged  woman,  poore  and  bare. 

And  thralled  her  in  chaines  witli  strong  effort, 

Voide  of  all  succour  and  needfull  comfort  : 

That  ill  beseemes  thee,  such  as  I  thee  see. 

To  worke  such  shame :  therefore  I  thee  exhort 

To  chaunge  thy  will,  and  set  Occasion  free, 

And  to  her  captive  sonne  yield  his  first  libertee." 


Thereat  Sir  Guyon  smylde  ;  "  And  is  that  all," 
Said  he,  "  that  thee  so  sore  displeased  hath  .' 
Great  mercy  sure,  for  to  enlarge  a  thrall. 
Whose  freedom  shall  thee  turne  to  greatest  scath  ! 
Nath'lesse  now  quench  thy  whott  emboyling  wrath 
Loe  .  there  they  bee  ;  to  thee  I  yield  them  free." 
Thereat  be,  wondrous  glad,  out  of  the  path 
Did  lightly  leape,  where  he  tliein  bound  did  see. 
And  gan  to  breake  the  bands  of  their  captivitee. 


84 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II 


Soone  as  Occasion  felt  her  selfe  untyde, 
iJefore  her  sonne  could  well  assoyled  bee, 

he  to  her  use  returnd,  and  streight  defyde 
Both  Guyon  and  Pyrochles  ;  th'  one  (said  shee) 
Bvcause  he  wonne  ;  the  other,  because  hee 
VVas  wonne  :   so  matter  did  she  make  of  nought, 
To  stirre  up  strife,  and  garre  them  disagree  : 
But,  soone  as  Furor  was  enlargd,  she  sought 
To  kindle  his  quencht  fyre,  and  thousand   causes 
wrousht. 


It  was  not  long  ere  she  inflamed  him  so, 
That  he  would  algates  with  Pyrochles  fight. 
And  his  redeemer  chalengd  for  his  foe. 
Because  he  had  not  well  mainteind  bis  right. 
But  yielded  had  to  that  same  straunger  knight. 
Now  gan  Pyrochles  wex  as  wood  as  hee. 
And  him  affronted  with  impatient  might : 
So  both  together  fiers  engrasped  bee, 
Whyles  Guyon  standing  by  tJieir  uncouth  strife  does 
see. 


Him  all  that  while  Occasion  did  provoke 
Against  Pyrochles,  and  new  matter  fram'd 
Upon  the  old,  him  stirring  to  bee  wroke 
Of  his  late  wronges,  in  which  she  oft  him  blam'd 
For  suffering  such  abuse  as  knighthood  sham'd. 
And  him  dishabled  quyte  :  but  he  was  wise, 
Ne  would  with  vaine  occasions  be  inflam'd  ; 
Yet  others  she  more  urgent  did  devise : 
Yet  nothing  could  him  to  impatience  entise. 


Their  fell  contention  still  increased  more. 
And  more  thereby  increased  Furors  might. 
That  he  his  foe  has  hurt  and  wounded  sore 
And  him  in  blood  and  durt  deformed  quight. 
His  motJier  eke,  more  to  augment  liis  spight, 
Now  brought  to  him  a  flaming  fyer-brond, 
Which  she  in  Stygian  lake,  ay  burning  bright. 
Had  kindled  :  tliat  she  gave  into  his  hond, 
That  armd  with  fire  more  hardly  he  mote  him  with- 
stond. 


The  gan  that  villein  wex  so  fiers  and  strong. 
That  nothing  might  sustaine  his  furious  forse  : 
He  cast  him  downe  to  ground,  and  all  along 
Drew  him  through  durt  and  myre  without  remorse. 
And  fowly  battered  his  comely  corse. 
That  Guyon  much  disdeignd  so  loathly  sight. 
At  last  he  was  compeld  to  cry  perforse, 
"  Help,  0  Sir  Guyon  !  helj)e,  most  noble  knight. 
To   ridd   a  wretched  man  from   handes  of  hellish 
wigjht !" 


The  knight  was  greatly  moved  at  his  playnt. 

And  gan  him  dight  to  succour  his  distresse, 

Till  that  the  palmer,  by  liis  grave  restraynt, 

Him  stayd  from  yielding  pittifull  redresse, 

And  said ;  "  Deare  sonne,  thy  causelesseruth  represse, 

Ne  let  thy  stout  hart  melt  in  pitty  vayne  : 

He  that  his  sorrow  sought  through  wilfulnesse. 

And  his  foe  fettred  would  release  agayne. 

Deserves  to  taste  his  follies  fruit,  repented  payne." 


Guyon  obayd  :  so  him  away  he  drew 

From  neediesse  trouble  of  renewing  fight 

Already  fought,  his  voyage  to  poursew. 

But  rash  Pyrochles  varlett,  Atin  hight. 

When  late  he  saw  his  lord  in  heavie  plight, 

Under  Sir  Guyons  puissaunt  stroke  to  fall. 

Him  deeming  dead,  as  then  he  seemd  in  sight, 

Fledd  fast  away  to  tell  his  funerall 

Unto  his  brother,  whom  Cymochles  men  did  call. 


He  was  a  man  of  rare  redoubted  might. 
Famous  throughout  tlie  world  for  warlike  prayse, 
And  glorious  spoiles,  purchast  in  perilous  fight : 
Full  many  doughtie  knightes  he  in  his  dayes 
Had  doen  to  death,  subdewde  in  equall  frayes  ; 
Whose  carkases,  for  terrour  of  his  name. 
Of  fowles  and  beastes  he  made  the  piteous  prayes, 
And  hong  their  conquerd  armes  for  more  defame 
On  gallow  trees,  in  honour  of  his  dearest  dame. 


His  dearest  dame  is  that  enchaunteresse. 
The  vyle  Acrasia,  that  with  vaine  delightes. 
And  ydle  pleasures,  in  her  Bowre  of  Blisse, 
Does  charme  her  lovers,  and  the  feeble  sprightes 
Can  call  out  of  the  bodies  of  fraile  wightes  ; 
Whom  then  she  does  transforme  to  monstrous  hewes, 
And  horribly  misshapes  with  ugly  sightes, 
Captfv'd  eternally  in  yron  mewes 
And  darksom  dens,  where  Titan  his  face  never  shewes. 


There  Atin  fownd  Cymochles  soiouming. 

To  serve  his  lemans  love  ;  for  he  by  kjrnd 

Was  given  all  to  lust  and  loose  living. 

Whenever  his  fiers  handes  he  free  mote  fynd : 

And  now  lie  has  pourd  out  his  ydle  mynd 

In  daintie  delices  and  lavish  ioyes. 

Having  his  warlike  weapons  cast  behynd. 

And  flowes  in  pleasures  and  vaine  pleasing  toyes, 

JMingled  emongst  loose  ladies  and  lascivious  boyes. 


And  over  him  Art,  stryving  to  compayre 
With  Nature,  did  an  arber  greene  dispred, 
Framed  of  wanton  yvie,  flouring  fayre. 
Through  which  the  fragrant  eglantine  did  spred 
His  prickling  armes,  entrayld  witli  roses  red. 
Which  daiTitie  odours  round  about  them  threw  : 
And  all  within  witli  flowres  was  garnished, 
Tliat,  vvlicu  niyld  Zcpliyrus  emongst  thorn  blew, 
Did  breatl)  out  bounteous  smels,  and  painted  colors 
shew. 


And  fast  beside  there  trickled  softly  downe 

A  gentle  strcame,  whose  murmuring  wave  did  play 

Emongst  the  jmmy  stones,  and  made  a  sowne. 

To  lull  him  soft  asleepe  that  by  it  lay  : 

The  wearie  traveiler,  wandring  that  way, 

Tlierein  did  often  quench  his  thirsty  heat, 

And  then  by  it  his  wearie  limbcs  display, 

(  Whiles  cree])ing  slomber  made  him  to  forget 

His  former  payne,)  and  wypt  away  his  toilsom  sweat. 


Canto  Vl.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


85 


A.nd  on  the  other  syde  a  pleasaunt  grove 

Was  shott  up  high,  full  of  the  stately  tree 

That,  dedicated  is  t'  Olympick  love. 

And  to  his  somie  Alcides,  v\-lienas  hee 

In  Nemea  gayned  goodly  victoree  : 

Therein  the  mery  birdes  of  every  sorts 

Chauuted  alovvd  their  chearefull  harmonee, 

And  made  emongst  themselves  a  sweete  consort, 

That  quickned  the  dull  spright  with  musicall  comf6rt. 


There  he  him  found  all  carelesly  displaid. 

In  secrete  shadow  from  the  sunny  ray. 

On  a  sweet  bed  of  liUies  softly  laid. 

Amidst  a  flock  ot  damzelles  fresh  and  gay. 

That  rowud  about  him  dissolute  did  play 

Their  wanton  lollies  and  light  meriment ; 

Every  of  which  did  loosely  disaray 

Her  upper  partes  of  meet  habiliments. 

And  shewd  them  naked,  deckt  with  many  ornaments. 


And  every  of  them  strove  with  most  deliglits 
Him  to  aggrate,  and  greatest  pleasures  shew  : 
Some    framd    laire   lookes,    ghtncing   like    evening 

lights  ; 
Others  sweet  wordes^,  dropping  like  honiiy  Jew  ; 
Some  bathed  kisses,  and  did  soft  emijrew 
'I'he  sugred  licour  tlirough  his  meltmg  lips. 
One  boastes  her  beauiie,  and  does  yield  to  v<w 
Her  daintie  limbes  above  her  tender  hips  : 
Anotlier  her  out  boastes,  and  all  for  tryall  strips. 

XXXIV. 

He,  like  an  adder  lurking  in  the  weedes, 
His  wandriug  thought  ui  deepe  desire  does  steepe. 
And  his  frayle  eye  with  spoyle  of  beauty  feedes  : 
Sometimes  he  falsely  faines  himselfe  to  sleepe, 
Whiles  through  their  luis  his  wanton  eies  do  peepe 
To  steale  a  tnatcli  of  amorous  conceipt, 
Whereby  close  fire  into  his  hart  does  creepe  : 
So'  he  them  deceives,  deceivd  in  his  deceipt, 
Made  dronke  with  drugs  of  deare  voluptuous  receipt. 


Atin,  arriving  there,  when  him  he  spyde 
Thus  in  still  waves  of  deepe  delight  to  wade, 
Fiercely  approching  to  him  lowdly  cryde, 
"  Cymochles  ;  oh  !   no,  but  Cyinocliles  shade. 
In  which  that  manly  person  late  did  fade  ! 
What  is  become  of  great  Acraies  sonne  ! 
Or  where  hath  he  hong  uj)  his  mortall  blade, 
That  hath  so  many  hiuightv  comjuests  wonne  ? 
Is  all  his  force  forloriie,  and  all  his  glory  doniie?' 


Then,  pricking  him  with  his  sharp-pointed  dart, 
He  said  :  "  Up,  up,  thou  womanish  weake  knight. 
That  here  in  ladies  lap  entombed  art, 
Unmindfull  of  thy  praise  and  pi  o west  might, 
And  weetlesse  eke  of  lately-wrought  despight ; 
Whiles  sad  Pyrocles  lies  on  sencelesse  ground, 
And  groneth  out  his  utmost  grudging  spright 
'i'lirougli  many  astioke  and  many  a  sireammg  wound. 
Calling  thy  help  in   vaine,   that  here  in  ioyes  art 
dround." 


Suddeinly  out  of  his  delighttuU  dreame 

The  man  awoke,  and  would  have  questiond  more  ; 

But  he  would  not  endure  thai  wofuU  theame 

For  to  dilate  at  large,  but  urged  sore. 

With  percing  wordes  and  pittifull  implore. 

Him  hasty  to  arise  ;  as  (.ne  ati'right 

With  hellish  feei:ds,  or  furies  mad  uprore, 

He  then  uprose,  inflanid  with  fell  despight. 

And  called  for  his  amies ;  (or  he  would  algates  fio-ht 


They  bene  ybrought ;  he  quickly  does  him  dight, 
And  lightly  mounted  passeth  on  his  way  ; 
Ne  ladies  loves,  ne  sweete  entreaties,  might 
Appease  his  heat,  or  hastie  passage  stay  ; 
For  he  has  vowd  to  beeue  avengd  that  day 
(That  day  itselfe  him  seemed  all  too  long) 
On  him,  that  did  Pyrochles  deare  dismay : 
So  proudly  pricketh  on  his  courser  strong. 
And  Atin  ay  him  pricks  with  spurs  of  shame  and 
wrong. 


CANTO  VI. 

Guyon  is  of  immodest  Merth 
Led  into  loose  desyre  j 

Fights  with  Cymochles,  whiles  his  bro- 
ther burnes  in  furious  fyre. 


A  HARDER  lesson  to  learne  continence 

In  ioyous  pleasure  then  in  grievous  paine  : 

For  sweelnesse  doth  allure  the  weaker  sence 

So  strongly,  that  uneathes  it  can  retraine 

From  that  which  feeble  nature  covets  taine  : 

But  griefe  and  wrath,  that  be  her  enemies 

And  foes  of  life,  she  better  can  restraine  : 

Yet  Vertue  vauntes  in  both  her  victories  ; 

And  Guyon  in  them  all  sliewes  goodly  maysteries. 


Whom  bold  Cymochles  travelling  to  finde, 
W  ith  cruell  purpose  bent  to  wreake  on  hira 
The  wrath  which  Atin  kindled  in  his  mind. 
Came  to  a  river,  by  whose  utmost  biim 
Way  ting  to  passe  he  saw  whereas  did  swim 
Along  the  shore,  as  swift  as  glaunce  of  eye, 
A  litle  gondelay.  bedecked  trim 
With  boughes  and  arbours  woven  cunningly^ 
Thai  like  a  litle  forrert  seemed  outwardly. 


86 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book    fl. 


And  therein  sate  a  lady  fresh  and  fayre, 
MakinE^  sweete  solace  to  lierselte  alone : 
Sometimes  she  soni;;  as  lewd  as  larke  in  ayr^, 
Sometimes  shelaua;lit,  that  nigh  her  breath  was  gone  j 
Yet  was  there  not  with  her  else  any  one, 
That  to  her  mio-ht  move  cause  of  meriment  : 
Matter  of  merth  enough,  though  there  were  none. 
She  could  devize  ;  and  thousand  waies  invent 
To  feeJe  her  foolish  humour  and  vaine  iolliment. 


Which  when  far  off  Cjinochles  heard  and  saw, 

He  lowdlv  cald  to  sucli  as  were  abord 

Tlie  little  barke  unto  the  shore  to  draw, 

And  him  to  ferry  over  that  deepe  ford. 

The  merry  mariner  imto  his  word 

Soone  hearkned,  and  her  painted  bote  streightway 

Turnd  to  the  shore,  where  that  same  warlike  lord 

She  in  receiv'd,  but  Atin  by  no  way 

She  would  admit,  albe  the  knight  her  much  did  pray. 


Ef'tsoones  her  shallow  ship  away  did  slide, 
More  swift  than  swallow  sheres  the  liquid  skye, 
Withoiiten  oare  or  pilot  it  to  guide, 
Or  winsjed  canvas  with  the  wind  to  fly  : 
Onely  she  turnd  a  pin,  and  by  and  by 
It  cut  away  upon  the  yielding  wave, 
(Ne  cared  she  her  course  for  to  apply,) 
For  it  was  taught  the  way  which  she  would  have. 
And  both  from  rocks  and  flats   itselfe  could  wisely 
save. 


And  all  the  way  the  wanton  damsell  found 

Kew  merth  her  passenger  to  entertains  ; 

For  she  in  pleasaunt  purpose  did  abound. 

And  greatlv  ioyed  merry  tales  to  fayne. 

Of  which  a  store-house  did  with  her  reraaine  ; 

Yet  seemed,  nothing  well  they  her  became  : 

For  all  her  wordes  she  drowiid  with  laughter  vaine. 

And  wanted  grace  in  utt'ring  of  the  same, 

That  turned  all  her  pleasaunce  to  a  scoffing  game. 


And  other  whiles  vaine  toyes  she  would  devize, 
As  her  fantasticke  wit  did  most  delight : 
Sometimes  her  head  she  fondly  would  aguize 
With  gaudy  girlonds,  or  fresh  flowrets  (light 
About  her  neckc,  or  rings  of  rushes  jiliglit  : 
Sometimes,  to  do  hirn  laugh,  she  would  assay 
To  laugh  at  shaking  of  the  leavi's  light. 
Or  to  behold  the  water  worke  and  play 
About  her  little  frigot,  therein  making  way. 


Jfer  light  behaviour  and  loose  dalliaunce 

(jave  wondrous  great  contentment  to  the  knight, 

That  of  his  wav  he  had  no  sovenaunce, 

Nor  care  of  vow'd  revenge  and  cruell  fight  , 

But  to  weake  wench  did  yield  his  iiiartiall  might. 

So  easie  was  to  quencli  his  fl  lined  mincle 

With  one  sweete  drop  of  sensuall  deliglit! 

So  easie  is  t'appease  the  stormy  winde 

Of  malice  in  the  calme  of  [ileasaunt  womankind  ! 


Diverse  discourses  in  their  way  they  sjient  ; 

Mongst  which  Cyriiochles  of  lier  (juestioned 

Both  what  she  was   and  what  that  usage  ment, 

Wliicii  in  her  colt  she  daily  practized  : 

"  Vaine  man,"  saide  she,  "  that  wouldest  be  reckoned 

A  straunger  in  thy  Lome,  and  ignoraunt 

Of  Pha^dria,  (for  so  my  name  is  red,) 

Of  Phipdria,  thine  owne  fellow  servaunt , 

For  thou  to  serve  Acrasia  thy  selfe  doest  vaunt. 


"  In  this  wide  inland  sea,  that  bight  by  name 
The  Idle  Lake,  my  wandring  ship  I  row, 
That  knowes  her  port,  and  thether  sayles  by  ayme, 
Ne  care  ne  feare  I  how  the  wind  do  blow, 
Or  whether  swift  I  wend  or  whether  slow  : 
]5oth  slow  and  swift  alike  do  serve  ray  tourne  ; 
Ne  swelling  Neptune  ne  lowd-thundring  love 
Can  chaunge  my  clieare,  or  make  me  ever  mourne  : 
My  litle  boat  can  safely  passe  thi,s  perilous  bourne." 


Whiles  thus  she  talked,  and  whiles  thus  she  toyd, 
They  were  far  past  the  passage  which  he  spake, 
And  come  unto  an  island  waste  and  voyd, 
That  floted  in  the  midst  of  that  great  lake  ; 
There  her  small  gondelay  her  port  did  make, 
And  that  gay  payre  issewing  on  the  shore 
Disburdned  her :  their  way  they  forward  take 
Into  the  land  that  lay  them  faire  before, 
Whose  pleasaunce   she  him  shewd,  and  plentiful! 
sreat  store. 


It  was  a  chosen  plott  of  fertile  land, 
Emongst  wide  waves  sett,  like  a  litle  nest, 
As  if  it  had  by  Natures  cunning  hand 
Bene  choycelv  picked  out  from  all  the  rest, 
And  laid  forth  for  ensample  of  the  best : 
No  daintie  flowre  or  herbe  tliat  growes  on  grownd. 
No  arborett  with  painted  blossomes  drest 
And  smelling  sweete,  but  there  it  might  he  fownd 
To  bud  out  faire,  and  her  sweete  smels  throwe  al 
arownd. 


No  tree,  whose  braunclies  did  not  bravely  spring  ; 

No  braunch,  whereon  a  fine  bird  did  not  sitt  : 

No  bird,  but  did  her  shrill  notes  sweetely  sing  ; 

No  song,  but  did  containe  a  lovely  ditt. 

Trees,  braunclies,  birds,  and  songs,  were  framed  fitt 

For  to  allure  fraile  mind  to  carelesse  ease. 

Carelesse  the  man  soone  woxe,  and  his  weake  witt 

Was  overcome  of  thing  that  did  him  ])lease  : 

So  pleased  did  his  wrathfull  purpose  faire  appease. 


Tims  when  shee  had  his  eves  and  sences  fed 
With  false  delights,  and  fild  with  pleasures  vayn. 
Into  a  shady  dale  she  soft  him  led, 
And  la.'d  I'im  dowiie  u])on  a  grassy  ]>liiyn  ; 
And  her  sweete  selfe  without  dread  or  disdayn 
She  sett  beside,  laving  his  head  disuniid 
In  her  loose  lap,  it  softly  to  sustayn, 
VVhere  soone  he  slumbred  fearing  not  be  barnid  : 
The   whili's    with  a   love   lay  she  thus  iiim  sweetly 
charmd  : 


Canto  VI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


87 


"  Behold,  O  man,  that  toilesome  paines  doest  take, 
The  flowrs,  the  fields,  and  all  that  pleasaiint  growes. 
How  they  themselves  doe  thine  ensample  make, 
Whiles  r.othino;  envious  Nature  them  forth  throwes 
Out  of  her  fruitfull  lap  :  how,  no  man  knowes, 
They  spring,  they  hud,  they  blossome  fresh  and  faire, 
^.nd  decke  the  world  with  their  rich  pompous  showes; 
Vet  no  man  for  them  taketh  paines  or  care. 
Vet  no  man  to  them  can  his  careful!  paines  compare. 


"  The  lilly,  lady  of  the  fiowring  field, 
The  flowre-deluce,  her  lovely  paramoure. 
Bid  thee  to  them  thy  fruitlesse  labors  yield. 
And  soone  leave  off  this  toylsome  weary  stoure  : 
Loe !  loe,  how  brave  she  decks  her  bounteous  boure, 
With  silken  curtens  and  gold  coverletts, 
Therein  to  shrowd  her  sumptuous  belamoure  ! 
Yet  nether  spinnes  nor  cards,  ne  cares  nor  fretts. 
But  to  her  mother  Nature  all  her  care  she  letts. 


"  Why  then  doest  thou,  0  man,  that  of  them  all 
Art  lord,  and  eke  of  nature  soveraine, 
Wilfully  make  thyselfe  a  wretched  thrall, 
And  waste  thy  ioyous  howres  in  needelesse  paine, 
Seeking  for  daunger  and  adventures  vaine  ? 
What  bootes  it  al  to  have  and  nothing  use  ? 
Who  shall  him  rew  that  swimming  in  the  maine 
Will  die  for  thirst,  and  water  doth  refuse  ? 
Refuse  such  fruitlesse  toile,  and  present   pleasures 
chuse." 


By  this  she  had  him  lulled  fast  asleepe. 
That  of  no  worldly  thing  he  care  did  take  : 
Then  she  with  liquors  strong  his  eies  did  steepe. 
That  nothing  should  him  hastily  av^-ake. 
So  she  him  lefte,  and  did  herselfe  betake 
Unto  her  boat  again,  with  which  she  clefte 
The  slouthfull  vsave  of  that  great  griesy  lake  : 
Soone  shee  that  island  far  behind  her  lefte. 
And  now  is  come  to  that  same  place  where  first  she 
■wefte. 


By  this  time  was  the  worthy  Guyon  brought 
Unto  the  other  side  of  that  wide  strond 
Where  she  was  rowing,  and  for  passage  sought  : 
Him  needed  not  long  call  ;  shee  soone  to  bond 
Her  ferry  brought,  where  him  she  byding  fond 
With  his  sad  guide  :  himselfe  shee  tooke  aboord, 
But  his  black  palmer  suffred  still  to  stond, 
Ne  would  for  price  or  prayers  once  aftbord 
To  ferry  that  old  man  over  the  perlous  foord. 


Guyon  was  loath  to  leave  his  guide  behind, 
Yet  being  entred  might  not  backe  retyre  ; 
For  the  flitt  barke,  obaying  to  her  mind. 
Forth  launched  quickly  as  she  did  desire, 
Ne  gave  him  leave  to  "bid  tliat  aged  sire 
Adieu,  but  nimbly  ran  her  wonted  course 
Through  the  dull  billowes  thicke  as  troubled  mire. 
Whom  nether  wind  out  of  their  seat  could  forse, 
Nor  timely  tides  did   drive  out  of  theij   sluggish 
sourse. 


And  by  the  way,  as  was  her  wonted  guize. 

Her  mery  fitt  she  freshly  gan  to  reare. 

And  did  of  ioy  and  iollity  devize 

Herselfe  to  cherish,  and  her  guest  to  cheare. 

The  knight  was  courteous,  and  did  not  forbeare 

Her  honest  merth  and  pleasaunce  to  partake : 

But  when  he  saw  her  toy,  and  gibe,  and  geare. 

And  passe  the  bonds  of  modest  merimake, 

Her  dalliaunce  he  despis'd  and  follies  did  forsake. 


Yet  she  still  followed  her  former  style, 

And  said,  and  did,  all  that  mote  him  delight, 

Till  they  arrived  in  that  pleasaunt  ile, 

Where  sleeping  late  she  lefte  her  other  knight. 

But,  whenas  Guyon  of  that  land  had  sight, 

He  wist  himselfe  amisse,  and  angry  said  ; 

"  Ah  !  dame,  perdy  ye  have  not  doen  me  right, 

Thus  to  mislead  mee,  whiles  I  you  obaid  : 

Mee  litle  needed  from  my  right  way  to  have  straid." 


"  Faire  sir,"  quoth  she,  "  be  not  displeasd  at  all ; 
Who  fares  on  sea  may  not  commaund  his  way, 
Ne  wind  and  weather  at  his  pleasure  call : 
The  sea  is  wide,  and  easy  for  to  sti-ay ; 
The  wind  unstable,  and  doth  never  stay. 
But  here  a  while  ye  may  in  safety  rest. 
Till  season  serve  new  passage  to  assay : 
Better  safe  port  then  be  in  seas  distrest." 
Therewith  she  laught,  and  did  her  earnest  end  iniest 


But  he,  halfe  discontent,  mote  nathelesse 
Himselfe  appease,  and  issewd  forth  on  shore  : 
The  ioyes  whereof  and  happy  fruiffulnesse, 
Such  as  he  saw,  slie  gan  him  lay  before, 
And  all,  though  pleasaunt,  yet  she  made  much  more, 
The  fields  did  laugh,  the  flowres  did  freshly  spring. 
The  trees  did  bud,  and  early  blossomes  bore ; 
And  all  the  quire  of  birds  did  sweetly  sing, 
And  told  that  gardins  pleasures  in  their  caroling. 

XXV. 

And  she,  more  sweete  than  any  bird  on  bough. 
Would  oftentimes  emongst  them  beare  a  part, 
And  strive  to  passe  (as  she  could  well  enough) 
Their  native  musicke  by  her  skilful  art : 
So  did  slie  all,  that  might  his  constant  hart 
Withdraw  from  thought  of  warlike  enterprize, 
And  drowne  in  dissolute  delights  apart. 
Where  noise  of  armes,  or  vew  of  martiall  guize, 
Might  not  revive  desire  of  knightly  exercize  ; 


But  he  was  wise,  and  wary  of  her  will. 

And  ever  held  his  hand  upon  his  hart ; 

\  et  would  not  seeme  so  rude,  and  thewed  ill. 

As  to  despise  so  curteous  seemina;  part 

That  gentle  lady  did  to  him  impart  • 

But,  fairly  tempring,  fond  desire  subdewd. 

And  ever  her  desired  to  depart. 

She  list  not  heare,  but  her  disports  poursewd, 

And  ever  bad  him  stay  till  time  the  tide  renewd. 


S8 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boot  jr. 


And  no'.v  by  tliis  Cvmochles  liowre  was  spent, 

'J'lmt  be  awoke  out  of  bis  vdle  dreme  ; 

And,  sbakinp;  oii"  liis  drowsy  dreriment, 

Gan  bim  avize,  bowe  ill  did  biin  beseme, 

In  sloutbtull  sleepe  bis  molten  bait  to  steme. 

And  quencb  tbe  brond  of  liis  conceived  yre. 

I'bo  u})  be  started,  stird  witb  shame  extreme, 

Ne  staled  for  bis  damsell  to  inquire. 

But  marcbed  to  tbe  strond,  tbere  passage  to  require. 


And  in  tbe  way  he  witb  Sir  Guyon  mett, 

Accompanvde  witb  Pba>dria  the  faire  : 

Eftsoohes  be  gan  to  rage,  and  inlv  frett, 

Crying  ;  "  Let  be  tliat  lady  debonaire. 

Thou  recreaunt  knight,  and  soone  tbyselfe  prepaire 

To  batteile,  if  thou  meane  ber  love  to  gayn, 

Loe  !  loe  already  how  the  fowles  in  aire 

Doe  fiocke,  awaiting  sbortlv  to  o])tavn 

Thy  carcas  for  their  pray,  the  guerdon  of  thy  payn.' 


And  there-witball  he  fiersly  at  liim  flew, 
And  witb  importune  outrage  bim  assayld  ; 
Who,  soone  ])repard  to  field,  his  sword  forth  drew. 
And  him  with  equall  valew  countervayld  : 
Their  mightie  strokes  their  liaberieons  dismayld, 
And  naked  made  each  others  manly  spalles  ; 
Tbe  raortall  Steele  despiteously  entayld 
Deepe  in  their  flesh,  quite  through  tbe  yron  walles. 
That  a  large  purple  streame  adown  their  giambeux 
falles. 


Cymocbles,  that  had  never  mett  before 

So  puissant  foe,  with  envious  despight 

His  prowd  presumed  force  increased  more, 

Disdeigning  to  bee  held  so  long  in  tight. 

Sir  Guyon,  grudging  not  so  much  his  might 

As  those  unknigbtly  raylinges  which  lie  spoke, 

With  wratbfull  lire  bis  corage  kindled  bright, 

Thereof  devising'  shortly  to  be  wroke, 

And  doubling  all  bis  powres  redoubled  every  stroke. 


Both  of  them  high  attonce  their  bands  enhaunst, 
And  both  attonce  their  bugeblowes  down  did  sway  : 
Cymocbles  swofJ  on  Guyons  shield  vglaunst, 
And  thereof  nigh  one  quarter  sheard  away  : 
But  Guyons  angry  blade  so  fiers  did  play 
On  th'  others  helmett,  which  as  Titan  slione, 
That  quite  it  clove  his  plumed  crest  in  tway, 
And  bared  all  his  head  unro  the  bone  ; 
Where-with  astonisht  still   he  stood  as  sencelesse 
stone. 


.^till  ns  hi  stood,  fayre  Phadria,  that  beheld 
'I'll!'  (Inadly  dann<;er,  soone  atweene  tliem  ran  ; 
*nil  at  tlit-ir  feet  herselfe  most  humbly  feld, 
Crving  with  pitteous  voyce,  and  count'nance  wan, 
"  Ah,  \vf  11  away  !  most  noble  lords,  bow  can 
Your  cruell  eves  endure  so  yiitteous  sight. 
To  slied  your  lives  on  ground  ?     Wo  worth  the  man, 
st  did  teach  the  cursed  Steele  to  bight 
owne    flesh,   and   make   way  to   tbe  living 
spngbt ! 


"  If  ever  love  of  lady  did  empierce 
Your  yron  brestes,  or  pittie  could  find  place, 
\\'itbbold  your  bloody  handes  from  battaill  fierce  ; 
And,  sith  for  me  ye  fight,  to  me  this  grace 
Both  yield,  to  stay  your  deadly  stryfe  a  space  " 
They  stayda  while  :  and  forth  she  gan  proceede  : 
"  Most  wretched  woman  and  of  wicked  race, 
That  am  the  autbour  of  this  bainous  deed. 
And  cause  of  death  betweene  two  dougbtie  kuigbt3 
do  breed  ! 


"  But,  if  for  me  ye  fight,  or  me  will  serve, 
Not  this  rude  kynd  of  battaill,  nor  these  armes 
Are  meet,  the  which  doe  men  in  bale  to  sterre. 
And  doolefull  sorrowe  heape  witb  deadly  hamies  : 
Such  cruell  game  my  scannoges  disarmes. 
Anotlier  warre,  and  other  weapons,  I 
Doe  love,  where  Love  does  give  his  sweete  alarrfies 
A\  ithout  bloodshed,  and  where  tlie  enimy 
Does  yield  unto  bis  foe  a  pleasaunt  victory. 


"  Debatefull  strife,  and  cruell  enmit}', 
Tbe  famous  name  of  knighthood  fowly  shend  ; 
But  lovelv  peace,  and  gentle  amity. 
And  in  amours  the  passing  howres  to  spend. 
The  mightie  martiall  handes  doe  most  commend  ; 
Of  love  they  ever  greater  glory  bore 
Then  of  their  armes  :   Wars  is  Cupidoes  frend. 
And  is  for  Venus  loves  renowmed  more 
7'hen  all  bis  wars  and  spoiles,  tbe  which  he   did  of 
yore. 


Therewith   she  sweetly   smyld.     Tliey,  though  full 

To  prove  extremities  of  bloody  fight,  [bent 

Yet  at  her  sjieacb  their  rages  gan  relent, 

And  calme  the  sea  of  their  tempestuous  spight  : 

Such  powre  have  pleasing  wordes !  Such  is  the  might 

Of  courteous  clemency  in  gentle  hart ! 

Xow  after  all  was  ceast,  the  Faery  knight 

Besought  that  damsell  sutler  bim  depart. 

And  yield  him  ready  passage  to  that  other  part. 


She  no  lesse  glad  then  be  desirous  was 

Of  bis  departure  thence  ;  for  of  her  ioy 

And  vaine  delight  she  saw  he  light  did  pas, 

A  foe  of  folly  and  immodest  toy. 

Still  solemne  sad,  or  still  disdainfull  coy; 

Delighting  all  in  annes  and  cruell  warre. 

That  her  sweete  ])eace  and  pleasures  did  annoy, 

Troubled  with  terrour  and  uncjuiet  iarre. 

That  she  well  pleased  was  thence  to  amove  bim  farre^ 


Tho  him  she  brought  abord,  and  her  swift  bote 
Forthwith  directed  to  that  further  strand  ; 
The  which  on  the  dull  waves  did  lightly  flote. 
And  soone  arrived  on  tbe  sliallow  sand. 
Where  gladsome  (iuyon  sailed  forth  to  land. 
And  to  that  damsell  thankes  gave  for  reward. 
Upon  that  shore  he  spyed  Atin  stand. 
There  by  bis  maister  left,  when  kite  he  far'd 
In  Pbivdrias  flitt  barck  over  that  perlous  shard. 


4NTO   VL] 


IHE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


89 


Well  could  he  him  remember,  sith  of  late 

He  with  Pyrocles  sharp  debatenient  made  : 

Streight  gan  he  him  revvle,  and  bitter  rate, 

As  shepheardes  curre,  that  in  darke  eveninges  shade 

Hath  tracted  forth  some  salvage  beastes  trade : 

"  Vile  miscreaunt,"  said  he,  "  whether  dost  thouflye 

The  shame  and  death,  which  will  thee  soon  invade  ? 

What  coward  hand  shall  d'^e  thee  next  to  dye, 

That  art  thus  fowly  fledd  from  famous  enimy  !" 


With  that  he  stifly  shooke  his  steelhead  dart : 
But  sober  Guyon  hearing  him  so  rayle. 
Though  somewhat  moved  in  his  mightie  hart, 
Yet  with  strong  reason  maistred  passion  fraile. 
And  passed  fayrely  torth  :  he,  turning  taile, 
Backe  to  the  strond  retyrd,  and  there  still  stayd, 
Awaiting  passage,  which  him  late  did  i'aile  ; 
The  whiles  Cymochles  with  that  wanton  mayd 
The  hasty  heat  of  his  avowd  revenge  delayd. 


Whylest  there  the  varlet  stood,  he  saw  from  farre 

An  armed  knight  that  towardes  him  fast  ran; 

He  ran  on  foot,  as  if  in  lucklesse  warre 

His  forlorne  steed  from  him  the  victour  wan  : 

He  seemed  breathlesse,  hartlesse,  faint,  and  wan  j 

And  all  his  armour  sprinckled  was  with  blood, 

And  soy  Id  with  durtie  gore,  that  no  man  can 

Discerne  the  hew  thereof  ;  he  never  stood. 

But  bent  his  hastie  course  towardes  the  Ydle  flood. 


The  varlet  saw,  when  to  the  flood  he  came 
How  without  stop  or  stay  he  fiersly  lept, 
And  deepe  himselfe  beducked  in  the  same, 
That  in  the  lake  his  loftie  crest  was  stept, 
Ne  of  his  safetie  seemed  care  he  kept  ; 
But  with  liis  raging  amies  he  rudely  flasht 
The  waves  about,  and  all  his  armour  swept, 
That  all  the  blood  and  filt-h  away  was  washt  ; 
Yet  still  he  bet  the  water,  and  the  billowes  dasht. 


Atin  drew  nigh  to  weet  what  it  mote  bee  ; 
For  much  he  wondered  at  that  uncouth  sight  : 
Whom  should  he  but  his  own  deare  lord  there  see. 
His  owne  deare  lord  Pyrochles  in  sad  plight. 
Ready  to  drowne  himselfe  for  fell  despight : 
"  Harrow  now,  out  and  well  away  !"  he  cryde, 
"  What  dismall  day  hath  lent  this  cursed  light. 
To  see  my  lord  so  deadly  damnifvde  ? 
P}Tochles,  O  Pyrochles,  what  is  thee  betyde  ? 


*  I  bume,  I  bume,  1  burne,"  then  lowd  he  cryde, 

"  O  how  I  burne  with  implacable  fyre  ! 

Yet  nought  can  quench  mine  inly  flaming  syde. 

Nor  sea  of  licour  cold,  nor  lake  of  myre  ; 

Nothing  but  death  can  doe  me  to  respyre." 

"  Ah  '   be  it,"  said  he,  "  from  Pyrochles  farre 

After  pursewing  death  once  to  requyre. 

Or  think,  that  ought  those  puissant  hands  maymarre: 

Death  is  for  wretches  borne  under  unhappy  starre." 


"  Perdye,  then  is  it  fitt  for  me,"  said  he, 

"  That  am,  I  weene,  most  wretched  man  alive ; 

Burning  in  flames,  yet  no  flames  can  I  see, 

And,  dying  dayly,  dayly  yet  revive  : 

0  Atin,  helpe  to  me  last  death  to  give  !" 

The  varlet  at  his  plaint  was  grievd  so  sore. 

That  his  deepe- wounded  hart  in  two  did  rive  ; 

And,  his  owne  health  remembring  now  no  more. 

Did  follow  that  ensample  wliich  he  blam'd  afore. 

XLVI. 

Into  the  lake  he  lept  his  lord  to  ayd, 

(So  love  the  dread  of  daunger  doth  despise,) 

And,  of  him  catching  hold,  him  strongly  stayd 

From  drowning  ;  but  more  happv  he  then  wise 

Of  that  teas  nature  did  him  not  a  vise  : 

The  waves  thereof  so  slow  and  sluggish  were, 

Engrost  with  mud  which  did  them  fowle  agrise, 

That  every  weighty  thing  they  did  upbeare, 

]S  e  ought  mote  ever  siuck  downe  to  the  bottom  there 


Whyles  thus  they  strugled  in  that  Ydle  wave, 
j^nd  strove  in  vaine,  the  one  himselfe  to  drowne 
The  other  both  from  drowning  for  to  save  ; 
Lo  !  to  that  shore  one  in  an  auncient  gowne, 
Whose  hoary  locks  great  gravitie  did  crowne, 
Holding  in  hand  a  goodly  arining  sword, 
By  fortune  came,  ledd  with  the  troublous  sowne  : 
Where  drenched  deepe  he  fownd  in  that  dull  ford 
The  carefull  servaunt  stryving  with  his  raging  lord 


Him  Atin  spying  knew  right  well  of  yore,  • 
And  lowdly  cald  ;  "Help!  helpe,  O  Archimage, 
To  save  my  lord  in  wretched  plight  forlore  ; 
Helpe  with  thy  hand,  or  with  thy  counsel!  sage  : 
Weake  handes,  but  counsell  is  most  strong  in  age. 
Him  when  the  old  man  saw,  he  woundred  sore 
To  see  Pyrochles  there  so  rudely  rage  : 
Yet  sithens  heljie,  he  saw,  he  needed  more 
Then  pitt)-,  he  in  hast  approched  to  the  shore. 


And  cald  ;  "  Pyrochles,  what  is  this  I  see  ? 

Mhat  hellish  furv  hath  at  earst  thee  hent  2 

Furious  ever  I  tliee  knew  to  bee. 

Vet  never  in  this  straunge  astonishment." 

"  These  flames,  these   flames  !"  he  cryde,  "  doe  me 

torment !" 
"  What  flames,"  quoth  he,  "  when  I  thee  present  see 
In  daunger  rather  to  be  drent  then  brent  f" 
"  Harrow  !   the  flames  which  me  consume,"  said  he, 
"  Ne  can  be  quencht,  within  my  secret  bowelles  bee. 


"  That  cursed  man,  that  cniel  feend  of  hell, 
Furor,  oh!   Furor  hath  me  thus  bedight : 
His  deadly  woundes  within  my  liver  swell. 
And  his  whott  fyre  bumes  in  mine  entralles  bright, 
Kindled  throui;h  his  infernal!  brond  of  spight, 
Sith  late  with  him  I  batteill  vaine  would  boste  ; 
That  now  I  weene  loves  dreaded  tlnnuler  light 
Does  scorch  not  halfe  so  sore,  nor  damned  glioste 
In  flaming:  Phlegeton  does  not  so  felly  roste  " 


90 


FAERIE  QUEENE. 


£Boo»  n. 


Whicli  whenas  Archimago  heard,  his  ^riefe 

He  knew  ri;;lu  well,  and  him  attonce  disarm'd : 

Then  searclit  his  secret  woundes,  and  made  a  priefe 

Of  every  place  that  was  with  hruzing  harmd, 

Or  with  the  hidden  fier  inly  warmd. 

Which  doen,  he  balmes  and  herbes  thereto  applyde, 

And  everm'iro  with  mig-Iitie  spels  them  charmd  ; 

That  in  short  space  he  has  them  qualifyde, 

And  him  restord  to  helth,  that  would  have  algates  djde. 


CANTO  VII. 

Guyon  findes  IMammon  in  a  delve 
Sunning  his  threasure  hore  ; 

Is  by  him  tempted,  and  led  downe 
To  see  his  secrete  store. 


As  pilot  well  expert  in  perilous  wave. 
That  to  a  stedfast  starre  his  course  hath  bent, 
\Vhen  fog-gy  mistes  or  cloudy  tempests  have 
The  faithfull  light  of  that  faire  lampe  yblent, 
And  cover'd  heaven  with  hideous  dreriment ; 
Upon  his  card  and  compas  firmes  his  eye 
The  maysters  of  his  long  experiment, 
And  to  them  does  the  steddy  helme  apply. 
Bidding  his  winged  vessell  fairely  forward  fly  : 


So  Guyon  having  lost  his  trustie  guyde, 

Late  left  beyond  that  Ydle  Lake,  proceedes 

Yet  on  his  way,  of  none  accompanyde  ; 

An  evermore  himselfe  with  comfort  feedes 

Of  his  owne  vertues  and  praise-wortliie  deedes. 

So,  long  he  yode,  yet  no  adventure  found. 

Which  Fame  of  her  shrill  trompet  worthy  reedes  : 

For  still  he  traveild  through  wide  wastfiill  ground, 

That  nought  but  desert  wiJiernesse  shewd  all  around. 


At  last  he  came  unto  a  gloomy  glade, 
Cover'd  with  boughes  and  shrubs  from  heavens  light, 
Whereas  he  sitting  found  in  secret  shade 
And  uncouth,  salvage,  and  uncivile  wight. 
Of  griesly  hew  and  fowle  ill-favour'd  sight  ; 
His  face  witli  smoke  was  taiid,  and  cies  were  bleard, 
His  head  and  beard  with  sout  were  ill  bedight, 
His  cole-blacke  hands  did  seeme  to  have  ben  seard 
In  smytlies  fire-spitting  forge,  and  nayles  like  clawes 
appeard. 

IV. 

His  yron  cote,  all  overgrowne  with  rust. 

Was  underneath  enveloped  with  gold  ; 

Whose  glistring  glosse,  darkned  witli  filthy  dust, 

\\e\\  yet  a])pered  to  have  beene  of  old 

A  worke  of  rich  entayle  and  curious  mould. 

Woven  with  antickes  and  wyld  yraagery  : 

And  in  his  lap  a  masse  of  covne  lie  told, 

And  turned  upside  downe,  to  feede  his  eye 

And  covetous  desire  with  his  huge  threasury. 


And  round  about  him  lay  on  every  side 
Great  heapes  of  gold  that  never  could  be  spent , 
Of  which  some  were  rude  owre,  not  purifide 
Of  Mulcibers  devouring  element; 
Some  others  were  new  driven,  and  distent 
Into  great  ingowes  and  to  wedges  square ; 
Some  in  round  plates  withouten  nwniment : 
But  most  were  starapt,  aud  in  there  metal  bare 
The  antique  shapes  of  kings  and  Kesars  straung  and 
rare. 


Soone  as  he  Guyon  saw,  in  great  affright 
And  haste  he  rose  for  to  remove  aside 
Those  pretious  hils  from  straungers  envious  sight. 
And  downe  them  poured  through  an  hole  full  wide 
Into  the  hollow  earth,  them  there  to  hide  : 
But  Guyon,  lightly  to  him  leaping,  stayd 
His  hand  that  trembled  as  one  terrifyde  ; 
And  though  himselfe  were  at  the  sight  dismayd. 
Yet  him   perforce  restraynd,  and  to  him  doubtfu 
sayd  ; 


"  What  art  thou,  man,  (if  man  at  all  thou  art,) 

That  here  in  desert  liast  thine  habitaunce, 

And  these  rich  hils  of  vvelfh  doest  hide  apart 

From  the  worldes  eye,  and  from  her  right  usaunce  1" 

Thereat,  with  staring  eyes  fixed  askaunce. 

In  great  disdaine  he  ansvverd  :    "  Hardy  Elfe, 

That  darest  view  my  direful  countenaunce  ! 

I  read  thee  rash  and  heedlesse  of  thyselfe, 

To  trouble  my  still  seate  and  heapes  of  pretious  pelfe 


"  God  of  the  world  and  worldlings  I  me  call. 

Great  IMammon,  greatest  god  below  the  skye, 

That  of  my  plenty  poure  out  unto  all, 

And  unto  none  my  graces  do  envye : 

Riches,  renowme,  and  principality, 

Honour,  estate,  and  all  this  wordes  good. 

For  which  men  swinck  and  sweat  incessantly, 

Fro  me  do  flow  into  an  ample  flood, 

And  in  the  hollow  earth  have  their  etemall  brood. 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


91 


"  Wherefore  if  me  thou  deigne  to  serve  and  sew, 

At  thv  commaund  lo  !  all  these  mountaines  bee  : 

Or  if  to  thy  great  mind,  or  greedy  vew, 

All  these  may  not  suffise,  there  shall  to  thee 

Ten  times  so  much  be  nombred  francke  and  free." 

"  ISlammon,"  said  he  "  thy  godheads  vaunt  is  vaine, 

And  idle  offers  of  thy  golden  fee  ; 

To  them  tliat  covet  su^h  eye-glutting  gaine 

Profler  thy  giftes,  and  fitter  servaunts  entertaine. 


"  Me  ill  befits,  that  in  4erdoing  armes 
And  honours  suit  my  "owed  dales  do  spend, 
Unto  thy  bounteous  baytes  and  pleasing  charmes, 
With  which  weake  men  thou  witchest,  to  attend  ; 
Regard  of  worldly  roucke  doth  fowly  blend 
And  low  abase  the  bigh  heroicke  spright, 
That  ioyes  for  crownes  and  kingdomes  to  contend : 
Faire  shields,  gay  cteedes,  bright  aimes,  be  my  delight ; 
Those  be  the  ricbes  fit  for  an  advent'rous  knight." 


•Vaine gloriou"  Elfe,"saidebe, " doest not tliou weet, 
riiat  money  can  thy  wantes  at  will  supply  ? 
Sl)ields,  steeds,  and  armes,  and  all  things  for  thee 
It  can  purrav  in  twinckling  of  an  eye  ;  [meet, 

And  crownes  and  kingdomes  to  thee  multiply. 
Do  not  I  kings  create,  and  throw  the  crowns 
Sometimes  to  him  that  low  in  dust  doth  ly, 
And  liim  that  raignd  into  his  rowme  thrust  downe  ; 
And,  whom  I  lust,  do  heape  with  glory  and  renowne?' 


"  All  otherwise,"  saide  he,  "  I  riches  read, 

And  deeme  them  roote  of  all  disquietnesse ; 

First  got  with  guile,  and  then  preserv'd  with  dread, 

And  after  spent  with  pride  and  iavislmesse. 

Leaving  behind  them  griefe  and  heavinesse : 

Infinite  mischiefes  of  them  doe  arize  ; 

Strife  and  debate,  bloodslied  and  bitternesse, 

Outrageous  wrong  and  hellish  covetize  ; 

That  noble  heart,  as  great  dishonour,  doth  despize. 


"  Ne  thine  be  kingdomes,  ne  the  scepters  thine  ; 
But  realmes  and  rulers  thou  doest  both  confound. 
And  loyall  truth  to  treason  doest  incline  : 
Witnesse  the  guiltlesse  blood  pourd  oft  on  ground ; 
The  crow  ned  often  slaine  ;  the  slayer  cround  ; 
The  sacred  diademe  in  peeces  rent; 
And  purple  robe  gored  with  many  a  wound  : 
Castles  surprizd  ;  great  cities  sackt  and  brent  : 
So    mak"st    thou     kings,    and    gaynest     wrongfull 
government ' 


"  Long  were  to  teU  the  troublous  stormes  that  tosse 
The  private  state,  and  make  ihe  life  unsweet : 
Who  swelling  sables  in  Caspian  sea  doth  crosse, 
And  m  irayle  wood  on  Adrian  gulf  doth  fleet. 
Doth  not,  1  weene,  so  many  evils  meet."  [sayd. 

Then  Mammon  wexing  wroth  ;  "  And  why  then," 
"  Are  mortall  men  so  fond  and  undiscreet 
So  evil)  thing  to  seeke  unto  their  ayd ; 
And,     having     not,     complaine ;    and,    havinp-  it 
uribnivd  /" 


"  Indeed,"  quoth  he,  "  through  fowle  intemperaunce, 

Frayle  men  are  oft  captiv'd  to  covetise  : 

But  would  tliey  thinke  with  how  small  allowaunce 

Untroubled  nature  doth  herselfe  suffise. 

Such  superfluities  they  would  despise, 

Which  with  sad  cares  empeach  our  native  ioyes. 

At  the  well-head  the  purest  streames  arise  ; 

But  mucky  filth  his  braunching  amies  annoyes, 

And  with  uncomely  weedes  the  gentle  wave  accloyes 


"  The  antique  world,  in  his  first  flowring  youth, 

Fownd  no  defect  in  his  Creators  grace  ; 

But  with  glad  thankes,  and  unreproved  truth. 

The  guiftes  of  soveraine  bounty  did  embrace  : 

Like  angels  life  was  then  mens  happy  race: 

But  later  ages  pride,  like  corn-fed  steed, 

Abusd  her  plenty  and  fat-swolne  encreace 

To  all  licentious  lust,  and  gan  exceed 

The  measure  of  her  meane  and  naturall  first  need. 


"  Then  gan  a  cursed  hand  tlie  quiet  wombe 

Of  his  great  grandmother  with  Steele  to  wound, 

And  the  hid  treasures  in  her  sacred  tombe 

With  sacriledge  to  dig  :  therein  he  fownd 

Fountaines  of  gold  and  silver  to  abownd, 

Of  which  the  matter  of  his  huge  desire 

And  pompous  pride  eftsoones  he  did  compownd ; 

Then  Avarice  gan  through  his  veines  inspire 

His  greedy  flames,  and  kindled  life-devouring  fire." 


"  Sonne,"  said  he  then,  "  lett  be  thy  bitter  scome, 
And  leave  the  rudenesse  of  that  antique  age 
To  them,  that  liv'd  therin  in  state  forlorne. 
Thou,  that  doest  live  in  later  times  must  wage 
Thy  workes  for  wealth,  and  life  for  gold  engage. 
If  then  thee  list  my  oftred  giace  to  use. 
Take  what  thou  please  of  all  this  surplusage; 
If  tliee  list  not,  leave  have  thou  to  refuse  : 
But  thing  refused  doe  not  afterward  accuse." 


"  !Me  list  not,"  said  the  Elfin  knight,  "receave 
Thing  oftred,  till  I  know  it  well  be  gott  ; 
Ne  wote  I  but  thou  didst  these  goods  bereave 
From  rightfull  owner  by  unrighteous  lott, 
Or  that  blood-guiltinesse  or  guile  them  blott." 
"  Perdy,"  quoth  he,  "  yet  never  eie  did  vew, 
Ne  tong  did  tell,  ne  hand  these  bandied  not  • 
But  safe  I  have  them  kejjt  in  secret  mew 
From  hevens  sight  -and  powre  of  al  which  them 
poursew.' 

XX. 

"  What  secret  place,"  quoth  he,  "  can  safely  hold 
So  huge  a  masse,  and  hide  from  heavens  eie  1 
Or  where  hast  thou  thy  wonne,  that  so  much  gold 
Thou  canst  preserve  from  wrong  and  robbery  V 
"  Come  thou,"  quoth  he,  "and  see."     So  by  and  by 
Through  that  thick  covert  he  him  led,  and  fownd 
A  darksome  way,  which  no  man  could  descry. 
That  deepe  descended  through  the  hollow  grownd. 
And  was  with  dread  and  horror  compassed  arownd 


99. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II 


At  length  they  came  into  a  larger  space, 
'I'hat  stretcht  itselfe  into  an  ample  playne  ; 
Through  which  a  beaten  broad  high  way  did  trace, 
That  slreight  did  lead  to  Plutoes  griesly  rayne  : 
Bv  that  waves  side  there  sate  infernall  Payne, 
And  iast  beside  him  sate  tumultuous  Strife  ; 
1  he  (ine  in  hand  an  yron  whip  did  strayne, 
The  other  brandished  a  bloody  knife  ; 
And  both  did  gnash  their  teeth,  and  borfi  did  threaten 
life. 


On  th'other  side  in  one  consort  there  sate 

Cruell  Revenge,  and  rancorous  Despight, 

Disloyall  Treason,  and  hart-burning  IJate; 

But  gnawing  Gealosy,  out  of  their  sight 

Sitting  alone,  his  bitter  lijis  did  bight ; 

And  trembling  Feare  still  to  and  fro  did  fly, 

And  found  no  place  vvher  safe  he  shroud  him  might : 

Lamenting  Sorrow  did  in  darknes  lye  ; 

And  Shame  his  ugly  face  did  liide  from  living  eye. 


And  over  them  sad  Horror  with  grim  hew 
Did  alwaies  sore,  beating  his  yron  wings  ; 
And  after  him  owles  and  night-ravens  flew, 
The  liatefull  messengers  of  heavy  things. 
Of  death  and  dolor  telling  sad  tidings  ; 
Whiles  sad  Celeuo,  sitting  on  a  clifte, 
A  song  of  bale  and  bitter  sorrow  sings. 
That  liart  of  flint  asonder  could  have  rifte  ; 
Which  having  ended  after  him  she  flyeth  swifte. 


All  these  before  the  gates  of  Pluto  lay ; 
By  whom  they  passing  spake  unto  them  nought. 
]'>ut  tir  Elfin  knight  with  wonder  all  the  way 
Did  feed  his  eyes,  and  flld  his  inner  thought. 
At  last  him  to  a  little  dore  lie  brought, 
That  to  the  gate  of  hell,  which  gaped  wide. 
Was  next  adioyning,  ne  them  parted  ought : 
Betwixt  them  both  was  but  a  little  stride. 
That  did  the  House  of  Richesse  from  Hell-mouth 
divide. 

XXV. 

Before  the  dore  sat  selfe-consuming  Care, 
Day  and  night  keeping  wary  watch  and  ward. 
For  feare  least  Force  or  Fraud  should  unaware 
Breake  in,  and  spoile  the  treasure  there  in  gard  : 
Ne  uouhl  he  suiter  Sleepe  once  thether-ward 
Approch,  albe  his  drowsy  den  were  next  ; 
For  next  to  13eatli  is  Sleepe  to  be  compard  ; 
Therefore  his  house  is  unto  his  anncxt : 
Here  Sleep,  there  Richesse,  and  Hel-gate  them  both 
betwext. 

XXVI. 

So  soon  as  Mammon  there  anivd,  the  dore 

To  him  did  open  and  aiVoorded  way  : 

Him  followed  eke  Sir  Ciuyon  evermore, 

Ne  darknesse  him  ne  daunger  miglit  dismay. 

Soone  as  he  enlred  was,  tlie  (lore  strei-htvvay 

Did  shutt,  ami  from  behind  it  forth  there  lept 

An  ugly  feend,  more  fowle  then  dismall  day  ; 

The  which  with  monstrous  sfalke  behind  him  stept, 

And  ever  as  he  went  dew  watch  upon  him  kept. 


Well  hoped  hee,  ere  long  that  hardy  guest, 
If  ever  covetous  hand,  or  lustfull  eye. 
Or  lips  he  layd  oi  thing  that  likt  him  best, 
Or  ever  sleepe  his  eie-strings  did  untye. 
Should  be  his  pray  :  and  therefore  still  on  hye 
He  over  him  did  hold  his  cruell  clawes, 
Tlireatning  with  greedy  gripe  to  doe  him  dye. 
And  rend  in  peeces  with  his  ravenous  pawes. 
If  ever  he  transgrest  the  fatall  Stygian  lawes. 


That  houses  forme  within  was  rude  and  strong, 
Lyke  an  huge  cave  hewne  out  of  rocky  clifte. 
From  whose  rough  vaut  the  ragged  breaches  hong 
Embost  with  massy  gold  of  glorious  guifte, 
And  with  rich  metall  loaded  every  rifte. 
That  heavy  mine  they  did  seeine  to  threatt 
And  over  them  Amchiie  high  did  lifte 
Her  cunning  web,  and  spred  her  subtile  nett. 
Enwrapped  in  fowle  smoke  and  clouds  more  black 
than  ielt. 


Both  roofe,  and  floore,  and  walls,  were  all  of  gold, 
But  overgowne  with  dust  and  old  decay, 
And  hid  in  darknes,  that  none  could  behold 
The  hew  thereof  ;  for  vew  of  cherefuU  day 
Did  never  in  that  house  itselfe  display, 
But  a  faint  shadow  of  uncertein  light ; 
Such  as  a  lamp,  whose  life  does  fade  away  ; 
Or  as  the  moone,  cloathed  with  clowdy  night. 
Does  shew  to  him   that  walkes  in  i'eaie  and    sad 
aft'ri"-lu. 


In  all  that  rowme  was  nothing  to  be  seene 
Ikit  huge  great  yron  chests,  and  coffers  strong, 
All  bard  with  double  bends,  that  none  could  weene^ 
I  hem  to  enforce  by  violence  or  wrong  ; 
On  every  side  they  placed  were  along. 
But  all  the  grownd  with  sculs  was  scattered 
And  dead  mens  bones,  which  round  about  were  flong; 
Whose  lives,  it  seemed,  whilome  there  were  shed, 
And  there  vile  carcases  now  left  unburied. 


They  forward  passe  ;  ne  Guyon  yet  spoke  word. 

Till  that  they  came  unto  an  yron  dore, 

\\  liieli  to  them  ojiened  of  his  owne  accord. 

And  shewd  of  riciiesse  such  exceeding  store. 

As  eie  of  man  did  never  see  before, 

Ne  ever  cotdd  within  one  place  be  fovvnd. 

Though  all  the  wealth,  which  is  or  was  of  yore. 

Could  gatherd  be  through  all  the  world  arownd. 

And  that  above  were  added  to  that  under  grownd. 


The  charge  thereof  unto  a  covetous  spright 
CoinniaunikMl  was,  who  thereby  did  attend, 
And  warily  awaited  day  and  night, 
Im-oui  other  covetous  feeiids  it  to  defend, 
\\  ho  it  to  rob  and  ransacke  did  intend. 
Then  Mammon,  turning  to  that  warriour,  said  ; 
"  Jjoe,  here  thu  worldes  blis  !  loe,  here  the  end 
To  whic'h  al  men  do  ayme,  rich  to  be  made  ! 
Such  grace  now  to  be  happy  is  before  thee  laid." 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAKRIE  QUEKXE. 


93 


'  Certes,"  sayd  he,  "  I  n'ill  thine  ofFred  g-race, 
Ne  to  be  made  so  happy  doe  intend  ! 
Another  blis  before  mine  eyes  I  place, 
Anotlier  happines,  another  end. 
To  them,  that  list,  these  base  regardes  I  lend  : 
But  I  in  amies,  and  in  atchievements  brave, 
Do  rather  choose  my  flitting  houres  to  spend. 
And  to  be  lord  of  those  that  riches  have, 
Then  them  to  have  my  selfe,  and  be  their  servile 
sclave." 


Thereat  the  feend  his  gnashing  teeth  did  grate, 
And  griev'd,  so  long  to  lacke  his  greedie  pray  ; 
For  well  he  weened  tliat  so  glorious  bayte 
Would  tempt  his  guest  to  take  thereof  assay  : 
Had  he  so  doen,  he  had  him  snatcht  away 
More  light  than  culver  in  the  faulcons  fist : 
Eternall  God  thee  save  from  such  decay  ! 
But,  whenas  IMammon  saw  his  purpose  mist, 
Him  to  entrap  unwares  another  way  he  wist. 


Thence,  forward  he  him  ledd  and  shortly  brought 
Unto  another  rowme,  whose  dore  forthright 
To  him  did  open  as  it  had  beene  taught  : 
Therein  an  hundred  raunges  weren  pight, 
And  hundred  fournaces  all  burning  bright : 
I5v  every  fournace  many  feends  did  byde. 
Deformed  creatures,  horrible  in  sight ; 
And  ever}'  feend  his  busie  paines  applyde 
To  melt  the  golden  metall,  ready  to  be  tryde. 


One  with  great  bellowes  gathered  filling  ayre. 
And  with  forst  wind  the  fewell  did  inflame; 
Another  did  the  dying  bronds  repavTe 
With  yron  tongs,  and  sprinckled  ofte  the  same 
With  liquid  waves,  fiers  Vulcans  rage  to  tame, 
Who,  maystring  them,  renewd  his  former  heat  : 
Some  scumd  the  drosse  that  from  the  metall  came  j 
Some  stird  the  molten  owre  with  ladles  great : 
And  every  one  did  swincke,  and  every  one  did  sweat. 


But,  when  an  earthly  wight  they  present  saw 
Glistring  in  armes  and  battailous  aray. 
From  their  whot  work  they  did  themselves  withdraw 
To  wonder  at  the  sight ;  for,  till  that  day. 
They  never  creature  saw  that  cam  that  way  : 
Their  staring  eyes  sparckling  with  fervent  fyre 
And  ugly  shapes  did  nigh  the  man  dismay. 
That,  were  it  not  for  shame,  he  would  retvre  ; 
Till  that  him  thus  bespake  their  soveraine  lord  and 
svre  : 


"  Behold,  thou  Faeries  sonne,  with  mortall  e}-e. 
That  living  eye  before  did  never  see  ! 
The  thing,  that  thou  didst  crave  so  earnestly, 
To  weet  whence  all  the  wealth  late  shewd  by  mee 
Proceeded,  lo  !  now  is  reveald  to  thee, 
'lere  is  the  fountaine  of  the  woi-ldtes  good  ! 
Now  tlierefore,  if  thou  wilt  enriched  bee, 
Avise  thee  well,  and  chaunge  thy  wilful  mood  ; 
Least  thou  perhaps   hereafter  \\izh,   and  be  with- 
stood." 


"  SuflSse  it  then,  thou  monev-god,"  quoth  hee, 

"  Tliat  all  thine  vdle  offers  I  refuse. 

All  tliat  I  need  I  have  ;  what  needeth  mee 

To  covet  more  then  I  have  cause  to  use  ? 

With  such  vaine  shewes  thv  worldlinges  vvle  abuse  ? 

But  give  me  leave  to  follow  mine  emprise." 

]Mammon  was  much  displeasd,  j'et  no'te  he  chuse 

But  beare  the  rigour  of  his  bold  mesprise  : 

And  thence  him  forward  ledd,  him  further  to  entise. 


He  brought  him,  through  a  darksom  narrow  stravt. 

To  a  broad  gate  all  built  of  beaten  gold  : 

The  gate  was  open  ;  but  therein  did  w;iyt 

A  sturdie  villein,  stryding  stifte  and  bold. 

As  if  the  Highest  God  defy  he  would  : 

In  his  right  hand  an  yron  club  he  held, 

But  he  himselfe  was  all  of  golden  mould, 

Yet  had  both  life  and  sence,  and  well  could  weld 

That  cursed  weapon,  when  his  cruejl  foes  he  cjueld. 


Disdayne  he  called  was,  and  did  disdayne 
To  be  so  cald,  and  who  so  did  him  call : 
Sterne  was  his  looke,  and  full  of  stomacke  vayne  ; 
His  portaunce  terrible,  and  stature  tall. 
Far  passing  tli'  hight  of  men  terrestriall  ; 
Like  an  huge  gyant  of  the  Titans  race  ; 
That  made  him  scorne  all  creatures  great  and  small. 
And  with  his  pride  all  others  powre  deface  : 
More  fitt  emonst  black  fiendes  then  men  to  have  his 
place. 


Soone  as  those  glitterand  armes  he  did  espye, 

That  with  their  brightnesse  made  that  darknes  light. 

His  harmefull  club  he  gan  to  hurtle  hye, 

And  threaten  batteill  to  the  J'aery  knight  ; 

Who  likewise  gan  himselfe  to  batteill  dight. 

Till  JMammon  did  his  hasty  hand  withhold, 

And  counseld  him  abstaine  from  perilous  fight ; 

For  nothing  might  abash  the  villein  bold, 

Ne  mortall  Steele  emperce  his  miscreated  mould. 


So  having  him  with  reason  pacifyde. 
And  that  fiers  carle  commaunding  to  forbeare, 
Ilebrought  him  in.    The  rowme  was  large  and  wyde, 
As  it  some  gyeld  or  solemne  temple  weare  ; 
Many  great  golden  pillours  did  upbeare 
"llie  massy  roofe,  and  riches  huge  sustayne ; 
And  every  pillour  decked  was  full  deare 
With  crownes,  and  diademes,  and  titles  vaine, 
Which  mortall  princes  wore  whiles  they  on  earth  did 
rayne. 

XLIV. 

A  route  of  people  there  assembled  were, 

Of  every  sort  and  nation  under  skye, 

^^  hich  with  great  uprore  preaced  to  draw  nere 

To  th'  upper  part,  where  was  advaunced  hye 

A  stately  siege  of  soveraine  maiestye  ; 

And  thereon  satt  a  woman  gorgeous  gay. 

And  richly  cladd  in  robes  of  royaltye, 

That  never  earthly  prince  in  such  aray 

Hi:3  glory  did  enhaunce,  and  pompous  pryde  display 


94 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


Her  face  right  wondrous  fuire  did  seeme  to  bee, 
That  her  broad  beauties  beam  great  brightnes  threw 
1  hrough  the  dim  shade,  that  all  men  might  it  see  ; 
Yet  was  not  that  same  her  owne  native  hew. 
But  wrought  by  art  and  counterfeited  shew. 
Thereby  more  lovers  unto  lier  to  call  ; 
Nath'lesse  most  hevenly  faire  in  deed  and  vew 
She  by  creation  was,  till  she  did  fall  ; 
Thenceforth  she  sought  for  helps  to  cloke  her  crime 
withall. 


There,  as  in  glistring  glory  she  did  sitt, 
She  held  a  great  gold  chaine  ylincked  well, 
Whose  upper  end  to  highest  neven  was  knitt, 
And  lower  part  did  reach  to  lowest  hell ; 
And  all  tiiat  preace  did  rownd  about  her  swell 
To  catclien  hold  of  that  long  chaine,  thereby 
To  clinibe  aloft,  and  others  to  excell  : 
That  was  Ambition,  rash  desire  to  sty, 
And  every  linck  thereof  a  step  of  dignity. 


Some  thought  to  raise  themselves  to  high  degree 

By  riches  and  unrighteous  reward  ; 

Some  by  close  shouldring  ;  some  by  flatteree  ; 

Others  tlirough  friendes  ;  others  for  base  regard ; 

And  all,  by  wrong  waies,  for  tliemselves  prepard: 

Those,  that  were  up  themselves,  kept  otliers  low ; 

Those,  that  were  low  themselves,  held  others  hard, 

Ne  suffred  them  to  ryse  or  greater  grow  ; 

But  every  one  did  strive  his  fellow  downs  to  throw. 


Which  whenas  Guyon  saw,  he  gan  inquire. 
What  meant  that  {)reace  about  that  ladies  throne. 
And  what  she  was  that  did  so  high  aspyre? 
Him  Mammon  answered  ;  "  That  goodly  one, 
Whom  all  that  folke  with  such  contention 
Doe  flock  about,  my  deare,  my  daughter  is  : 
Honour  and  dignitie  from  her  alone 
Derived  are,  and  all  this  worldtis  blis. 
For  which  ye  men  doe  strive ;  few  gett,  but  many 
mis: 


"  And  fayre  Philotime  she  rightly  hight. 

The  fairest  wight  that  wonneth  under  skie. 

But  that  this  darksom  neather  world  her  light 

Doth  dim  with  horror  and  deformity, 

Worthie  of  heven  and  hye  felicitie. 

From  whence  the  gods  have  her  for  envy  thrust : 

But,  sith  thou  hast  found  favour  in  mine  eye, 

Thy  spouse  1  will  her  make,  if  that  thou  lust  ; 

That  she  may  thee  advance  for  works  and  merits  iust.' 


"  Gramercy,  Mammon,"  said  the  gentle  knight, 
"  For  so  great  grace  and  offred  hiirh  estate  ; 
But  I,  that  am  fraile  flesh  and  earthly  wight, 
Unworthy  match  for  such  immortall  mate 
Myselfe  well  wote,  and  mine  unequall  fate: 
And  were  I  not,  yet  is  my  trouth  ypliglit, 
And  love  avowd  to  other  lady  late. 
That  to  remove  the  same  1  have  no  might : 
To  chaunge   love  causelesse  is   reproch  to  warlike 
knight." 


Mammon  emmoved  was  with  inward  wrath  ; 
Yet,  forcing  it  to  fayne,  him  forth  thence  ledd, 
Through  griesly  shadowes  by  a  beaten  path. 
Into  a  gardin  goodly  garnished  [redd  : 

With  hearbs   and  fruits,  whose  kinds  mote  not  be 
Not  such  as  earth  out  of  her  fruitfull  woomb, 
Throwes  forth  to  men,  sweet  and  well  savored, 
But  direfuU  deadly  black,  both  leafe  and  bloom, 
Fitt  to  adorne  the  dead  and  deck  the  drery  toombe. 


There  mou/nfull  cypresse  grew  in  greatest  store  ; 

And  trees  of  bitter  gall ;  and  heben  sad 

Dead  sleeping  poppv  ;  and  black  hellebore  ; 

Cold  coloquintida  ;  and  tetra  mad  ; 

Mortall  samnitis  ;  and  cicuta  bad. 

With  which  th'  uniust  Atheniens  made  to  dy 

Wise  Socrates,  who,  thereof  quaffing  glad, 

Pourd  out  his  life  and  last  philosophy 

To  the  fayre  Critias,  his  dearest  belamy ! 


The  gardin  of  Proserpina  this  hight  : 

And  in  the  midst  thereof  a  silver  seat, 

Witli  a  thick  arber  goodly  over  dight, 

In  which  she  often  usd  from  open  heat 

Herselfe  to  shroud,  and  pleasures  to  entreat ; 

Next  thereunto  did  grow  a  goodly  tree, 

With  braunches  broad  dispredd  and  body  great. 

Clothed  with  leaves,  that  none  the  wood  mote  see, 

And  loaden  all  with  fruit  as  thick  as  it  miofht  bee. 


Their  fruit  were  golden  apples  glistring  bright, 
That  goodly  was  their  glory  to  beliold ; 
On  earth  like  never  grew,  ne  living  wight 
Like  ever  saw,  but  they  from  hence  were  sold  ; 
For  tliose,  which  Hercules  with  conquest  bold 
Got  from  great  Atlas  daughters,  hence  began. 
And  planted  there  did  bri)ig  fortli  fruit  of  gold  , 
And  those,  with  which  th'  Euba^an  young  man  wan 
Swift  Atalanta,  when  through  craft  he  her  out  ran. 


Here  also  sprong  that  goodly  golden  fruit. 

With  which  Acontius  got  his  lover  trew. 

Whom  he  had  long  time  sought  with  fruitlesse  suit: 

Here  eke  that  famous  golden  apple  grew. 

The  which  emongst  the  gods  false  Ate  threw  ; 

For  which  tli'  Itf.van  ladies  disagreed. 

Till  partial!  Paris  dempt  it  Venus  dew. 

And  had  of  her  fayre  Helen  for  his  meed. 

That  many  noble  Greekes  and  Troians  made  to  bleed. 


The  warlike  Fife  much  wondred  at  this  tree. 
So  fayro  and  great,  that  shadowed  all  the  ground  ; 
And  his  broad  braunches  laden  with  rich  fee. 
Did  stretch  themselves  without  the  utmost  bound 
Of  this  great  gardin,  compast  with  a  mound  : 
Which  over-hanging,  they  themselves  did  steepe 
In  a  i)l;icke  flood,  which  flow'd  about  it  round  ; 
That  is  the  river  of  Cocytus  deepe. 
In  which   full  many   soules  do  endlesse  wavle  and 
weepe. 


TO    VII.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


95 


'Wliich  to  behold  he  clomb  up  to  the  bancke  ; 
And,  lookiiig  downe,  saw  many  damn^  wightes 
In  those  sad  waves,  which  direful!  deadly  stancke, 
Plonged  continually  of  cruell  sprightes, 
That  with  their  piteous  cryes,  and  yelling  shrightes, 
They  made  the  further  shore  resounden  wide  : 
Emongst  the  rest  of  those  same  ruefull  sightes, 
One  cursed  creature  he  by  chaunce  espide, 
'J'hat, drenched  lay  full  deepe  under  the  garden  side. 


Deepe  was  he  drenched  to  the  upmost  chin, 
Yet  gaped  still  as  covetirtg  to  drinke 
Of  the  cold  liquor  which  he  waded  in  ; 
And,  stretching  forth  his  hand,  did  often  thinke 
To  reach  the  fruit  which  grew  upon  the  brincke  ; 
But  both  the  fruit  from  hand,  and  flood  from  mouth, 
Did  fly  abacke,  and  made  him  vainely  swincke  ; 
The  whiles  he  sterv'd  with  hunger  and  with  drouth 
He  daily  dyde,  yet  never  throughly  dyen  couth. 


The  knight,  him  seeing  labour  so  in  vaine, 

Askt  who  lie  was,  and  what  he  meant  thereby  1 

Who,  groning  deepe,  thus  answerd  him  againe ; 

"  Most  cursed  of  all  creatures  under  skye, 

Lo  Tantalus,  I  here  tormented  lye  ! 

Of  whom  high  love  wont  whylome  feasted  bee  ; 

Lo,  here  I  now  for  want  of  food  doe  dye  ! 

But,  if  that  thou  be  such  as  1  thee  see, 

Of  grace  I  pray  thee  give  to  eat  and  drinke  to  mee  !" 


"  Nay,  nay,  thou  greedy  Tantalus,"  quoth  he, 

'"  Abide  the  fortune  of  thy  present  fate  ; 

And,  unto  all  that  live  in  high  degree, 

Ensamjde  be  of  mind  intemperate. 

To  teach  them  how  to  use  their  present  state." 

Then  ean  the  cursed  Mretch  alowd  to  cry, 

Accusmg  highest  love  and  gods  ingrate ; 

And  eke  blaspheming  heaven  bitterly. 

As  author  of  uniustice,  there  to  let  him  dye. 


He  lookt  a  litle  further,  and  espyde 

Another  wretch,  whose  carcas  deepe  was  drent 

Within  the  river  which  the  same  did  hvde ; 

But  both  his  handes  most  filthy  feculent, 

Above  the  water  were  on  high  extent. 

And  faynd  to  wash  themselves  incessantly, 

Vet  nothmg  cleaner  were  for  such  intent, 

But  rather  fonler  seemed  to  the  eye  ; 

So  lost  his  labour  vaiue  and  ydle  industry. 


The  knight,  him  calling,  asked  who  he  was  1 

Who,  lifting  up  his  head,  him  answerd  thus ; 

"  I  Pilate  am,  the  falsest  iudge,  alas  ! 

And  most  uniust ;  that,  by  unrighteous 

And  wicked  doome,  to  lewes  despiteous 

Delivered  up  the  Lord  of  Life  to  dye. 

And  did  acquite  a  murdrer  felonous  ; 

The  whiles  my  handes  I  washt  in  purity, 

The  whiles  my  soule  was  soyld  with  fowle  iniquity. 


Infinite  moe  tormented  in  like  paine 

He  there  beheld,  too  long  here  to  be  told  : 

Ne  Mammon  would  there  let  him  long  remayne, 

For  terrour  of  the  tortures  manifold, 

In  which  the  damned  soules  he  did  behold, 

But  roughly  him  bespake  :  "  Thou  fearet'uU  foole, 

A\'hy  takest  not  of  that  same  fruite  of  gold  ? 

Ne  sittest  downe  on  that  same  silver  stoole. 

To  rest  thy  weary  person  iix  the  shadow  coole?" 


All  which  he  did  to  do  him  deadly  fall 

In  frayle  intemperaunce  through  siufuU  hayt ; 

To  which  if  he  inclyned  had  at  all, 

That  dreadfull  feend,  which  did  behinde  him  wavt. 

Would  him  have  rent  in  thousand  peeces  strayt : 

But  he  was  wary  wise  in  all  his  way. 

And  wel  perceived  his  deceitfuU  sleight, 

Ne  suflfred  lust  his  safety  to  betray  : 

So  goodly  did  beguile  the  guyler  of  his  pray. 


And  now  he  has  so  long  remained  theare, 
That  vitall  powres  gan  wexe  both  weake  and  wan 
For  want  of  food  and  sleepe,  which  two  upbeare, 
Like  mightie  pillours,  this  frayle  life  of  man. 
That  none  witliout  the  same  enduren  can  : 
For  now  three  dayes  of  men  were  full  outwrought, 
Since  he  this  hardy  enterprize  began  : 
Forthy  great  jNIammon  fayrely  he  besought 
Into  the   world   lo    guyde   him    backe,    as   he    him 
brought. 


The  god,  though  loth,  yet  was  constraynd  t'  obay , 

For  lenger  time,  then  that,  no  living  wight 

Below  the  earth  might  suffred  be  to  stay . 

So  backe  againe  him  brought  to  living  light. 

But  all  so  soone  as  his  enfeebled  spright 

Gan  sucke  this  vitall  ayre  into  his  brest. 

As  overcome  with  too  exceeding  might. 

The  life  did  flit  away  out  of  her  nest. 

And  all  his  sences  were  with  deadly  fit  opprest. 


96 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Booa  U. 


CANTO  VIIT. 


Sir  Guyon,  l;ivd  in  swowne,  is  by 
Aerates  sounes  despoyld  ; 

Wliom  Artliure  soone  hath  reskewed, 
And  Paynim  brethren  foyld. 


AvD  is  there  care  in  heaven?    And  is  there  love 

In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  bace, 

That  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move? 

There  is  : — else  much  more  wretched  were  the  cace 

Of  men  then  beasts  :  but  O  !  tli'  exceeding  grace 

Of  Hinhest  God  that  loves  his  creatures  so, 

And  all  his  workes  with  mercv  dotli  embrace, 

That  blessed  ang-els  he  sends  to  and  fro, 

To  serve  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  his  wicked  foe  ! 


How  oft  do  they  their  silver  bowers  leave 
To  come  to  succour  us  that  succour  want ! 
How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pineons  cleave 
The  flitting  skyes,  like  flving  pursuivant, 
Against  fowle  feendes  to  ayd  us  militant  ! 
They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  dewly  ward, 
And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant ; 
And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward  : 
O,    whv  should   Hevenly  God   to  men  have  such 
re£,ard  ! 


During  the  while  that  Guyon  did  abide 

In  Mammons  house,  the  palmer,  whom  whyleare 

That  wanton  mayd  of  passage  had  denide. 

By  further  search  had  passage  f  nind  elsewhere ; 

And,  being  on  his  way,  ajiproaclied  neare 

Where  Guyon  lay  in  traunce  ;  when  suddeinly 

lie  heard  a  voyce  that  called  lowd  and  cleare, 

"  Come  hether,  come  hether,  O  !  come  hastily  !" 

That  all  the  fields  resounded  with  the  rueful!  cry. 


The  palmer  lent  his  eare  unto  the  noyce. 
To  weet  who  called  so  importunely  ; 
Againe  b.e  heard  a  more  efforced  voyce. 
That  bad  him  come  in  haste  :  he  by  and  by 
His  fpeble  feet  directed  to  the  cry  ; 
Which  to  that  shady  delve  him  brought  at  last, 
Where  i\Iammon  earst  did  sunne  bis  threasury  : 
There  the  good  Guyon  he  found  sluml)ring  fast 
in  senceles  dreame ;  wliich  sight  at  first  him   sore 
aghast. 


Beside  his  head  there  satt  a  faire  young  man, 
Of  wondrous  beauty  and  of  freshest  yeares, 
Whose  tender  bud  to  blossome  new  began, 
-And  florish  faire  above  his  equall  peares  : 
His  snowy  front,  curled  with  golden  heares, 
liike  Phoebus  tace  adornd  with  sunny  rayes, 
Divinely  shone  ;  and  two  aharpe  winged  sheares, 
Decked  with  diverse  plumes,  like  painted  javes, 
Were  fixed  at  his  backs  to  cut  his  ayery  vvayes. 


Like  as  Cupido  on  Id?ean  hill, 

When  having  laid  his  cruell  bow  away 

And  mortall  arrowes  wherewith  he  doth  fill 

The  world  with  murdrous  spoiles  and  bloody  pray, 

With  his  faire  mother  he  him  dights  to  play, 

And  with  his  goodly  sisters,  Graces  three  ; 

The  goddesse,  pleased  with  his  wanton  play. 

Suffers  herselfe  through  sleepe  beguild  to  bee, 

The  whiles  the  other  ladies  mind  theyr  mery  glee. 


Whom  when  the  palmer  saw,  abasht  he  was 
Through  fear  and  wonder,  that  he  nought  could  say, 
Till  him  the  childe  bespoke  ;  "  Long  lackt,  alas. 
Hath  bene  thy  faithfull  aide  in  hard  assay  ! 
Whiles  deadly  fitt  thy  puj)ill  doth  dismay. 
Behold  th! ,  lieavv  sight,  thou  reverend  sire  ! 
But  dread  of  death  and  dolor  doe  away  ; 
For  life  ere  long  shall  to  her  home  retire. 
And  he,  that  breathlesse  seems,  shal  corage  bold 
respire. 


"  The  charge,  which  God  doth  unto  me  arrett, 

Of  his  deare  safety  I  to  thee  commend  ; 

Yet  will  I  not  forgoe,  ne  yet  forgett 

The  care  thereof  myselfe  unto  the  end, 

But  evermore  him  succour,  and  defend 

Against  his  foe  and  mine  :  watch  t'.iou,  I  pray ; 

For  evill  is  at  hand  him  to  offend." 

So  having  said,  eftsoones  he  gan  display 

His  painted  nimble  wings,  and  vanisht  quite  away. 


The  palmer  seeing  his  lefte  empty  place. 

And  his  slow  eies  beguiled  of  their  sight, 

Woxe  sore  afraid,  and  standing  still  a  space 

Gaz'd  after  him,  as  fowle  escapt  by  flight : 

At  last,  him  turning  to  his  charge  behight. 

With  trembling  liaud  his  troubled  pulse  gan  try  ; 

Where  finding  life  not  yet  disloilgpd  quight, 

He  much  reioyst,  and  counl  it  tenderly, 

As  chickori  newly  haclit,  from  dreaded  destiny 


At  last  he  spide  where  towards  him  did  pace 
Two  Paynim  knights  al  armd  as  bright  as  skie. 
And  tliem  beside  an  a'^ed  sire  did  trace. 
And  far  before  a  lii,dit-foote  fiage  did  flie 
That  breathed  strife  and  troublous  enmitie. 
Those  were  the  two  sonnes  of  Aerates  old, 
Wlio,  meeting  earst  with  Archimago  slie 
Foroby  that  Idle  Strond,  of  him  were  told 
That  he,  whicii  earst  them   combatted,  was  Guyon 
bold. 


Canto  ^'III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


97 


Wliich  to  avenge  on  him  they  dearly  vowd, 
Whereever  that  on  ground  they  mote  him  find  : 
False  Archimage  provokt  their  cor.ige  prowd, 
And  stryful  Atin  in  their  stubhorne  mind 
Coles  of  contention  and  whot  vengeaunce  tind. 
Now  bene  they  come  whereas  the  palmer  sate, 
Keeping-  that  slombred  corse  to  him  assind  : 
Well  knew  thev  both  his  person,  sith  of  late 
With  Lim  in  bloody  armes  they  rashly  did  debate. 


Whom  when  Pyrochles  saw,  inilam'd  with  ragje 
That  sire  he  fowl  bespake  ;  "  Thou  dotard  vile. 
That  with  thy  brutenesse  shennst  thy  comely  age, 
A-bandon  soone,  I  read,  the  caytive  spoile 
Of  that  same  outcast  carcas,  that  erewhile 
Made  itselfe  famous  tlirough  false  trechery, 
And  crownd  his  coward  crest  with  knightly  stile  ; 
Loe  !  where  he  now  inglorious  doth  lye, 
To  proove  he  lived  il,  that  did  thus  fowly  dye." 


To  whom  the  palmer  fearelesse  answered ; 
"  Certes,  sir  knight,  ye  bene  too  much  to  blame, 
Thus  for  to  blott  the  honor  of  the  dead, 
And  with  fowle  cowardize  his  carcas  shame 
Whose  living  handes  immortalizd  his  name. 
Vile  is  the  vengeaunce  on  the  ashes  cold  ; 
And  envy  base  to  barke  at  sleeping  fame  : 
W'as  never  wight  that  treason  of  him  told  • 
Yourselfe  his  prowesse  prov'd,  and  found  him  fiers 
and  bold." 


Then  sayd  Cymochles  ;  "  Palmer,  thou  doest  dote, 
Ne  canst  of  prowesse  ne  of  knighthood  deeme, 
Save  as  thou  seest  or  hearst :  but  well  I  wote. 
That  of  his  puissaunce  tryall  made  extreme  : 
Yet  gold  all  is  not  that  doth  golden  seeme  ; 
Ne  al  good  knights  that  shake  well  speare  and  shield  : 
The  worth  of  all  men  by  their  end  esteeme  ; 
And  then  dew  praise  or  dew  reproch  them  yield  : 
Bad  therefore  I  him  deeme  that  thus  lies  dead  on 
field." 


"  Good  or  bad,"  gan  his  brother  fiers  reply, 
"  What  do  I  recke,  sith  that  he  dide  entire  1 
Or  what  doth  his  bad  death  now  satisfy 
The  greedy  hunger  of  revenging  yre, 
Sith  wrathfuU  hand  wrought  not  her  owne  desire  ? 
Yet,  since  no  way  is  lefte  to  wreake  my  spight, 
I  will  him  reave  of  armes,  the  victors  hire, 
And  of  that  shield,  more  worthy  of  good  knight ; 
For  why  should  a   dead   dog  be  deckt  in  armour 
bright  1" 

XVI. 

'  Fayr  sir,    said  then  the  palmer  suppliaunt, 
'  For  knighthoods  love  doe  not  so  fowle  a  deed, 
Ne  blame  your  honor  with  so  shamefuU  vaunt 
Of  vile  revenge  :  to  spoile  the  dead  of  weed 
Is  sacrilege,  and  doth  all  sinnes  exceed  : 
But  leave  these  rehcks  of  his  living  might 
To  decke  his  herce,  and  trap  his  tomb-blacke  steed." 
"  What  herce  or  steed,"  said  he,  "  should  he  have 
But  be  entombed  in  the  raven  or  the  kight  1"  [dight, 


With  that,  rude  hand  upon  his  s-hield  he  laid; 
And  th'  other  brother  gan  his  helme  unlace  j 
Both  fiercely  bent  to  have  him  disaraid  ; 
Till  that  they  spyde  where  towards  them  did  pace 
An  armed  knight,  of  bold  and  bounteous  grace, 
Whose  squire  bore  after  him  an  heben  launce 
And  coverd  shield  :  well  kend  him  so  for  space 
Th'  enchaunter  by  his  armes  and  amenaunce. 
When  under  him  he  saw  his  Lybian  steed  to  praunce 


And  to  those  brethren  sayd  ;  "  Rise,  rise  bylive. 

And  unto  batteil  doe  yourselves  addresse  ; 

For  yonder  comes  the  prowest  knight  alive. 

Prince  Arthur,  flowre  of  grace  and  nobilesse. 

That  hath  to  Paynim  knights  wrought  gret  distresse, 

And  thousand  Sar'zins  fowly  doniie  to  dye." 

That  word  so  deepe  did  in  their  harts  impresse. 

That  both  eftsoones  upstarted  furiously, 

And  gan  themselves  prepare  to  batteill  greedily. 


But  fiers  Pyrochles,  lacking  his  owne  sword. 

The  want  thereof  now  greatly  gan  to  plaine, 

And  Archimage  besought,  him  that  afford 

W^hich  he  had  brought  for  Braggadochio  vaine. 

"  So  would  I,"  said  th'  enchaunter,  "  glad  and  faine 

Beteeme  to  you  this  sword,  you  to  defend, 

Or  ought  that  els  your  honour  might  maintaine  ; 

But  that  tliis  weapons  powre  I  well  have  kend 

To  be  contrary  to  the  worke  which  ye  intend  : 


"  For  that  same  knights  owne  sword  this  is,  of  yore 

Which  IVIerKn  made  by  his  almightie  art 

For  that  his  noursling,  when  he  knighthood  swore, 

Therewith  to  doen  his  foes  eternall  smart. 

The  metall  first  he  mixt  with  medeewart, 

That  no  enchauntment  from  his  dint  might  save ; 

Tlien  it  in  flames  of  Aetna  wrought  apart, 

And  seven  times  dipped  in  the  bitter  wave 

Of  hellish  Styx,  which  hidden  vertue  to  it  gave. 


"  The  vertue  is,  that  nether  Steele  nor  stone 

The  stroke  thereof  from  entraunce  may  defend  j 

Ne  ever  may  he  used  by  his  fone  ; 

Ne  forst  his  rightfull  owner  to  offend  ; 

Ne  ever  will  it  breake,  ne  ever  bend  ; 

Wherefore  Morddure  it  rightfully  is  bight. 

In  vaine  therefore,  Pyrochles,  should  I  lend 

The  same  to  thee,  agamst  his  lord  to  fight ; 

For  sure  yt  would  deceive  thy  labor  and  thy  might.* 


"  Foolish  old  man,"  said  then  the  Pagan  wroth, 

"  Tliat  weenest  words  or  charms  may  force  wi'hsfond. 

Soone  shalt  thou  see,  and  then  beleeve  for  troth,       * 

That  I  can  carve  with  this  inchaunted  brond 

His  lords  owne  flesh."     Therewith  out  of  his  bond 

That  vertuous  Steele  he  rudely  snatcht  away  ; 

And  Guyons  shield  about  his  wrest  he  bond  : 

So  ready  dight,  fierce  battaile  to  assay. 

And  match  his  brother  proud  in  battailous  aray. 


93 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IL 


By  this,  that  straunger  knight  in  presence  came, 

And  goodly  salved  them  ;  who  nought  againe 

Him  answered,  as  courtesie  became  ; 

But  with  Sterne  lookes,  and  stomachous  disdaine, 

Gave  signes  of  grudge  and  discontentment  vaine : 

Then,  turning  to  the  palmer  he  gan  spy 

Where  at  his  feet,  with  sorrowfull  demayne 

And  deadly  hew,  an  armed  corse  did  lye, 

In  whose  dead  face  he  redd  great  magnanimity. 


Said  he  then  to  the  palmer  ;  "  Reverend  syre, 
What  great  misfortune  hath  betidd  this  knight  ? 
Or  did  his  life  her  fatall  date  expyre, 
Or  did  he  fall  by  treason,  or  by  fight  ? 
However,  sure  I  rew  his  pitteous  plight." 
"  Not  one,  nor  other,"  sayd  the  palmer  grave, 
"  Hath  him  befalne  ;  but  cloudes  of  deadly  night 
Awhile  his  heavy  eylids  cover'd  have. 
And  all  his  sences  drowned  in  deep  sencelesse  wave  ; 


"  Which  those  his  cruell  foes,  that  stand  hereby, 
IMaking  advantage,  to  revenge  their  spight, 
Would  him  disanne  and  treaten  shamefully  ; 
Unworthie  usage  of  redoubted  knight ! 
But  you,  faire  sir,  whose  honourable  sight 
Doth  promise  hope  of  helpe  and  timely  grace, 
Mote  I  beseech  to  succour  his  sad  plight. 
And  by  your  powre  protect  his  feeble  cace  ! 
First  prayse  of  knighthood  is,  fovvle  outrage  to  de- 
face." 


"  Palmer,"  said  he,  "  no  knight  so  rude,  I  weene, 

As  to  doen  outrage  to  a  sleeping  ghost : 

Ne  was  there  ever  noble  corage  seene, 

That  in  advauntage  would  his  puissaunce  host: 

Honour  is  least,  where  oddes  appeareth  most. 

Ma}'  bee,  that  better  reason  will  aswage 

The  rash  revengers  heat.     Words,  well  dispost, 

Have  secrete  powre  t'  appease  inflamed  rage  : 

If  not,  leave  unto  me  thy  knights  last  patronage." 


Tho,  turning  to  those  brethren,  thus  bespoke  ; 
"  Ye  warlike  payre,  whose  valorous  great  might. 
It  seemes,  iust  wronges  to  vengeaunce  doe  provoke, 
To  wreake  your  wrath  on  this  dead-seeming  knight. 
Mote  ought  allay  the  storme  of  your  despight, 
And  settle  patience  in  so  furious  heat? 
Not  to  debate  the  chalenge  of  your  right. 
But  for  his  carkas  pardon  I  entreat. 
Whom  fortune  hath  already  laid  in  lowest  seat.'' 


To  whom  C)-mochles  said  ;  "  For  what  art  thou, 
That  mak'st  thyselfe  his  dayes-man,  to  prolong 
Tiie  vengeaunce  prest?  Or  who  shall  let  me  now 
On  this  vile  body  from  to  wreak  my  wrong. 
And  make  his  carkas  as  the  outcast  (long? 
Why  should  not  that  dead  carrion  satisfye 
The  guilt,  which,  if  he  lived  had  thus  long. 
His  life  for  dew  revenge  should  deare  abye  ? 
Die  trespass  still  doth  live,  albee  the  person  dye." 


"  Indeed,"  then  said  the  prince,  "  the  evill  donne 
Dyes  not,  when  breath  the  body  first  doth  leave ; 
But  from  the  grandsyre  to  the  nephevtes  sonne 
And  all  his  seede  the  curse  doth  often  cleave, 
Till  vengeaunce  utterly  the  guilt  bereave  : 
So  streightly  God  doth  iudge.     But  gentle  knight. 
That  doth  a^^ainst  the  dead  his  hand  upreare. 
His  honour  staines  with  rancour  and  despight. 
And  great  disparagment  makes  to  his  former  might. 


Pyrochles  gan  reply  the  second  tyme, 
And  to  him  said  ;  "Now,  felon,  sure  I  read, 
How  that  thou  art  partaker  of  his  cryme  : 
Therefore  by  Temiagaunt  thou  shalt  be  dead." 
With  that,  his  hand,  more  sad  than  lomp  of  lead, 
Uplifting  high,  he  weened  with  Morddure, 
His  owne  good  sword  jMorddure,  to  cleave  his  head. 
The  faithfull  Steele  such  treason  no'uld  endure. 
But,  swarving  from  the  marke,  his  lordes  life  did 
assure. 


Yet  was  the  force  so  furious  and  so  fell. 
That  horse  and  man  it  made  to  reele  asyde  : 
Nath'lesse  the  prince  would  not  forsake  his  sell 
(For  well  of  yore  he  learned  had  to  ryde,) 
But  full  of  anger  fiersly  to  him  cryde  ; 
"  False  traitour,  miscreaunt,  thou  broken  hast 
The  law  of  armes,  to  strike  foe  undefide : 
But  thou  thy  treasons  fruit  I  hope  shall  taste 
Right  sowre,  and  feele  the  law,  the  which  thou  hasi 
defast." 


With  that  his  balefull  spearo  he  fiercely  bent 

Against  the  Pagans  brest,  and  therewith  thought 

His  cursed  life  out  of  her  lodg  have  rent : 

But,  ere  the  point  arrived  where  it  ought. 

That  seven-fold  shield,  which  liefromGuyon  brought, 

He  cast  between  to  ward  the  bitter  stownd  : 

Through    all   those    foldes   the   steelehead   passage 

wrought. 
And  through  his  shoulder  perst ;  wherwith  to  ground 
He  groveling  fell,  all  gored  in  his  gushing  wound. 


Which  when  his  brother  saw,  fraught  with  great  griefa 
And  wrath,  he  to  him  leaped  furiously, 
And  fowly  saide  ;  "  By  jNlahoune,  cursed  thiefe. 
That  direfiill  stroke  thou  dearely  shalt  aby." 
Then,  hurling  up  his  harmefull  blade  on  hy. 
Smote  him  so  hugely  on  his  haiightie  crest, 
'J  hat  from  his  saddle  forced  him  to  fly  : 
Els  mote  it  needes  downe  to  his  manly  brest 
Have  cleft  his  head  in  twaine,  and  life  thence  dis* 
possest. 


Now  was  the  prince  in  daungerous  distresse. 
Wanting  his  sword,  when  he  on  foot  should  fight 
His  single  speare  could  doe  him  small  redresse 
Against  two  foes  of  so  exceeding  might. 
The  least  of  which  was  match  for  any  knight. 
And  now  the  other,  whom  he  earst  did  daunt. 
Had  reard  himselfe  againe  to  cruel  fight 
Three  times  more  furious  and  more  puissaunt, 
Unmindfull  of  his  wound,  of  liis  fate  ignoraunt. 


Canto  VIII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


99 


So  both  attonce  him  charge  on  either  syde 
Witli  liideous  strokes  and  importable  powre, 
That  forced  him  his  ground  to  traverse  wyde, 
And  wisely  watch  to  ward  that  deadly  stowre  : 
For  on  his  sldeld,  as  thicke  as  stormie  showre. 
Their  strokes  did  raine  ;  yet  did  he  never  quaile, 
Ne  backward  shrinke  ;  but  as  a  stedfast  towre. 
Whom  foe  with  double  battry  doth  assaile, 
Them  on  her  bulwarke  beares,  and  bids  them  nought 
availe. 


So  stoutly  he  withstood  their  strong  assay ; 

Till  that  at  last,  when  he  advantage  spyde, 

His  poynant  speare  he  thrust  with  puissant  sway 

At  proud  Cymochles,  whiles  his  shield  was  wyde, 

That  through  his  thigh  the  mortall  Steele  did  gryde  : 

He,  swarving  with  the  force,  within  his  flesh 

Did  breake  the  launce,  and  let  the  head  abyde  : 

Out  of  the  wound  the  red  blood  flowed  fresh, 

'1  hat  underneath  his  feet  soone  made  a  purple  plesh. 


Horribly  then  he  gan  to  rage  and  rayle, 
(Cursing  his  gods,  and  himselfe  damning  deepe  : 
Als  wh'-n  his  brother  saw  the  red  blood  raj'le 
Adowne  so  fast,  and  all  his  armour  steepe. 
For  very  felnesse  lowd  he  gan  to  weepe, 
And  said  ;  "  Caytive,  curse  on  thy  cruell  bond, 
That  twise  hath  spedd  ;  yet  shall  it  not  tliee  keepe 
From  the  third  brunt  of  this  my  fatall  brond  : 
Lo,  where    the    dreadfull  Death  behynd  thy  backe 
doth  stond!" 


With  that  he  strooke,  and  th'  other  strooke  withall, 

That  nothing  seemd  mote  beare  so  monstrous  might: 

The  one  upon  his  covered  shield  did  fall, 

And  glauncing  downe  would  not  his  owner  byte: 

But  th'  other  did  upon  his  troncheon  smyte  ; 

Which  hewing  quite  asunder,  further  way 

It  made,  and  on  his  hacqueton  did  lyte, 

The  which  dividing  with  imp6rtune  sway. 

It  seizd  in  his  right  side,  and  there  the  dint  did  stay. 

XZXIX. 

Wyde  was  the  wound,  and  a  large  lukewarme  flood. 

Red  as  the  rose,  thence  gushed  grievously  ; 

That  when  the  Paynym  spyde  the  streaming  blood. 

Gave  him  great  hart  and  hope  of  victory. 

On  th'  otlier  side,  in  huge  perplexity 

1  he  prince  now  stood,  having  his  weapon  broke ; 

Nought  could  he  hurt,  but  still  at  warde  did  ly  : 

Yet  with  his  troncheon  he  so  rudely  stroke 

Cymochles  twise,  that  twise  him  forst  his  foot  revoke. 


Whom  when  the  palmer  saw  in  such  distresse. 
Sir  Guyons  sword  lie  lightly  to  him  raught,  [blesse, 
And  said  ;  "  Fayre  soniie,  great  God  thy  right  hand 
To  use  that  sword  so  well  as  he  it  ought  !"" 
Glad  was  the  knight,  and  with  fresh  courage  fraufht, 
When  as  againe  he  aimed  felt  his  bond  : 
Then  like  a  lyon,  which  had  lonu  time  saught 
His  robbed  whelpes,  and  at  the  last  them  fond 
Emongst  the  shepheard  swaynes,  then  wexetli  wood 
and  yond  : 


So  fierce  he  laid  about  him,  and  dealt  blowes 
On  either  side,  that  neither  mayle  could  hold, 
Ne  shield  defend  the  thunder  of  his  throwes  : 
Now  to  Pyrochles  many  strokes  he  told  ; 
Eft  to  Cymochles  twise  so  many  fold  ; 
Then,  backe  againe  turning  his  busie  bond. 
Them  both  attonce  compeld  with  courage  bold 
To  yield  wide  way  to  his  liart-thrilling  brond  ; 
And  though   they  both  stood  stiffe,   yet  could  net 
both  withstond. 


As  salvage  bull,  whom  two  fierce  mastives  bayt. 

When  rancour  doth  with  rage  him  once  engorge, 

Forgets  with  wary  warde  them  to  awayt, 

But  with  his  dreadfull  homes  them  drives  afore. 

Or  flings  aloft,  or  treades  downe  in  the  flore, 

Breathing  out  wrath,  and  bellowing  disdaine, 

That  all  the  forest  quakes  to  hear  him  rore  : 

So  rag'd  Prince  Arthur  tvvixt  his  foemen  twaine, 

That  neither  could  his  raightie  puissaunce  sustaine. 


Rut  ever  at  Pyrochles  when  he  smitt, 
(Who  Guyons  shield  cast  ever  him  before. 
Whereon  the  Faery  Queenes  pourtract  was  writt,) 
His  hand  relented  and  the  stroke  forbore, 
And  his  deare  hart  the  picture  gan  adore  ; 
Which  oft  the  Paynim  sav'd  from  deadly  stowre  : 
But  him  henceforth  the  same  can  save  no  more ; 
For  now  arrived  is  his  fatall  howre, 
That  no'te  avoyded  be  by  earthly  skill  or  powre. 


For  when  Cymochles  saw  the  fowle  reproch, 
Which  them  appeached  ;  prickt  with  guiltie  shame 
And  inward  griefe,  he  fiercely  gan  approch, 
Resolv'd  to  put  away  that  loathly  blame, 
•Or  dye  with  honour  and  desert  of  fame  ; 
And  on  the  haubergh  stroke  the  prince  so  sore, 
That  quite  disparted  all  the  linked  frame. 
And  pierced  to  the  skin,  but  bit  no  more  ; 
Yet  made   him  twise  to  reele,  that  never  moov'd 
afore. 


Whereat  renfierst  with  wrath  and  sharp  regret. 

He  stroke  so  hugely  with  his  borrowd  blade. 

That  it  empierst  the  Pagans  burganet ; 

And,  cleaving  the  hard  Steele,  did  deepe  invade 

Into  his  head,  and  cruell  passage  made  [ground 

Quite  through  his  brayne  :   he,  tombling   downe  on 

Breath'd  out  his  ghost,  which,  to  th'  infernall  shade 

Fast  flying,  there  eternall  torment  found 

For  all  the  sinnes  wherewith  his  lewd  life  did  abound 


Which  when  his  german  saw,  the  stony  feare 
Ran  to  his     aiT.      ,  .    i,    his  sence  dismayd  ; 
Ne  thenceforth  life  ne  corage  did  appeare  : 
But,  as  a  man  whom  hellish  feendes  have  i'myd, 
Long  trembling  still  he  stoode  ;  at  last  thus  sayd  ; 
"  Traytour,  what  hast  thou  dovn  '.   How  ever  mav 
Thy  cursed  hand  so  cruelly  have  swayd 
Against  that  knight  !   Harrow  and  well  away  ! 
After  so  wicked  deede  why  liv'st  thou  lenger  day  !" 

11  s; 


00 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


With  that  all  desperate,  as  loathing  light. 
And  with  revenge  desyring'  soone  to  dye. 
Assembling  all  his  force  and  utmost  might, 
With  his  owne  swerd  he  fierce  at  him  did  flye. 
And  stroote,  and  fojTid,  and  lasht  outrageously, 
W  itLouten  reason  or  regard.     Well  knew 
The  prince,  with  pacience  and  suiFeraunce  sly, 
So  hasty  heat  soone  cooled  to  subdew  : 
'I'ho,  when  this  breathlesse  woxe,  tliat  batteil  gan 
renew. 


As  when  a  windy  tempest  bloweth  hye, 
That  nothing  may  withstand  his  stormy  stowre. 
The  clowdes,  as  thinges  affrayd,  before  him  flye ; 
But,  all  so  soone  as  his  outrageous  powre 
Is  layd,  they  fiercely  then  begin  to  showre  : 
And,  as  in  scome  of  his  spent  stormy  spight. 
Now  all  attonce  their  malice  forth  do  poure  : 
So  did  Prince  Arthur  beare  himselfe  in  fight, 
And  suflfred  rash  Pyrochles  waste  his  ydle  might. 


At  last  whenas  the  Sarazin  perceiv'd 
How  that  straunge  sword  refusd  to  serve  his  neede, 
But,  when  he  stroke  most  strong,  the  dint  deceiv'd  ; 
He  flong  it  from  him  ;  and,  devoyd  of  dreed, 
Upon  him  lightly  leaping  without  heed 
Twixt  his  two  mighty  armes  engrasped  fast, 
Thinking  to  overthrowe  and  downe  him  tred  : 
But  him  in  strength  and  skill  the  prince  surpast. 
And  through  his  nimble  sleight  did  under  him  down 
cast. 


Nought  booted  it  the  PajTiim  then  to  strive  ; 

For  as  a  bittur  in  the  eagles  clawe. 

That  may  not  hope  by  flight  to  scape  alive. 

Still  waytes  for  death  with  dread  and  trembling  aw ; 

So  he,  now  subject  to  the  victours  law. 

Did  not  once  move,  nor  upward  cast  his  eye. 

For  vile  disdaine  and  rancour,  which  did  gnaw 

His  hart  in  twaine  with  sad  melancholy ; 

As  oca  that  loathed  life,  and  yet  despysed  to  dye. 


But,  full  of  princely  bounty  and  great  mmd, 

The  conqueror  nought  cared  him  to  slay  ; 

But,  casting  wronges  and  all  revenge  behind. 

More  glory  thought  to  give  life  then  decay. 

And  sayd  ;  "  Paynim,  this  is  thy  dismall  day  ; 

Yet  if  thou  wilt  renounce  thy  miscrcaunce, 

And  my  true  liegeman  yield  thyselfe  for  ay, 

Life  will  I  graunt  thee  for  thy  valiaunce. 

And  all  thy  wronges  will  wipe  out  of  my  sovenaunce." 


"  Foole,"  said  the  pagan,  "  I  thy  gift  defye  ; 

But  use  thy  fortune,  as  it  doth  befall  ; 

And  say,  that  I  not  overcome  doe  dye. 

But  in  despight  of  life  for  death  doe  call." 

Wroth  was  the  prince,  and  sory  yet  withall, 

That  he  so  wilfully  refused  grace  ; 

Yet,  sith  his  fate  so  cruelly  did  fall. 

His  shining  helmet  he  gan  soone  unlace. 

And  lefte  his  headlesse  body  bleeding  all  the  place. 


By  this.  Sir  Guyon  from  his  traunce  awakt. 

Life  having  maystered  her  senceless  foe  ; 

And  looking  up,  whenas  his  shield  he  lakt 

And  sword  saw  not,  he  wexed  wondrous  woe  : 

But  when  the  palmer,  whom  he  long  ygoe 

Had  lost,  he  by  him  spyde,  right  glad  he  grew. 

And  saide  ;  "  Deare  sir,  whom  wandring  to  and  fro 

I  long  have  lackt,  I  ioy  thy  face  to  vew  ! 

Firme  is  thy  faith,  whom  daunger  never  fro  me  drew 


"  But  read  what  wicked  hand  hath  robbed  mee 

Of  my  good  sword  and  shield?"     The  palmer,  glad 

With  so  fresh  hew  uprysing  him  to  see. 

Him  answered  :  "  Fayre  sonne,  be  no  whit  sad 

For  want  of  weapons  ;  they  sliall  soone  be  had." 

So  gan  he  to  discourse  the  whole  debate, 

Which  that  straunge  knight  for  him  sustained  had, 

And  those  two  Sarazins  confounded  late. 

Whose  carcases  on  ground  were  horribly  prostrate. 


Which  when  he  heard,  and  saw  the  tokens  trew. 
His  hart  with  great  affection  was  embay d, 
And  to  the  prince,  with  bovring  reverence  dew. 
As  to  the  patrone  of  his  life,  thus  sayd  ; 
"  My  lord,  my  liege,  by  whose  most  gratious  ayd 
I  live  this  day,  and  see  ray  foes  subdewd. 
What  may  suflice  to  be  for  meede  repayd 
Of  so  great  graces  as  ye  have  me  shewd. 
But  to  be  ever  bound" — 


To  whom  the  infant  thus  ;  "Fayre  sir,  what  need 
Good  tumes  be  counted,  as  a  servile  bond. 
To  bind  their  dooers  to  receive  their  meed  ? 
Are  not  all  knightes  by  oath  bound  to  withstonrl 
Oppressours  powre  by  armes  and  puissant  bond? 
Suffise,  that  1  have  done  my  dew  in  place." 
So  goodly  purpose  they  together  fond 
Of  kindnesso  and  of  courteous  aggrace  ; 
The  whiles  false  Archimage  and  Atin  fled  apace. 


Canto  IX.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


101 


CANTO  IX. 


The  House  of  Temperaunce,  in  wbich 

Doth  sober  Alma  dwell, 
Besiegd  of  many  foes,  whom  straunge- 

er  knightes  to  flight  compell. 


Of  all  Gods  workes,  which  doe  this  worlde  adome, 

There  is  no  one  more  faire  and  excellent 

Then  is  mans  body,  both  for  powre  and  forme, 

Whiles  it  is  kept  in  sober  government  ; 

But  none  then  it  more  fowie  and  indecent, 

Distempred  through  misrule  and  passions  bace ; 

It  grows  a  monster,  and  incontinent 

Doth  lose  his  dignity  and  native  grace  : 

Behold,  who  list,  both  one  and  other  in  this  place. 


After  the  Paynim  brethren  conquer'd  were, 
The  Briton  prince  recov'ring  his  stolne  sword. 
And  Guyon  his  lost  shield,  they  both  yfere 
Forth  passed  on  their  way  in  fayre  accord, 
Till  him  the  prince  with  gentle  court  did  bord  ; 
'  Sir  knight,  mote  I  of  you  this  court'sy  read. 
To  weet  why  on  j'our  shield,  so  goodly  scord, 
Beare  ye  the  picture  of  tliat  ladies  head  ? 
FuU  lively  is  the  semblaun*,  though  the  substance 
dead." 


"  Fayre  sir,"  sayd  he,  "  if  in  that  picture  dead 

Such  life  ye  read,  and  vertue  in  vaine  shew  ; 

What  mote  ye  weene,  if  the  trew  lively-head 

Of  that  most  glorious  visage  he  did  vew  ! 

But  yf  the  beauty  of  her  mind  ye  knew, 

That  is,  her  bount)',  and  imperiall  powre. 

Thousand  times  fairer  then  her  mortall  hew, 

O  !  how  great  wonder  would  your  thoughts  devoure. 

And  infinite  desire  into  your  spirite  poure  ! 


"  She  is  the  mighty  Queene  of  Faery, 
Whose  faire  retraitt  I  in  my  shield  doe  beare  ; 
Shee  is  the  flowre  of  grace  and  chastity. 
Throughout  the  world  renowmed  far  and  neare. 
My  life,  my  liege,  my  soveraine,  my  deare. 
Whose  glory  shineth  as  the  morning  starre. 
And  with  her  light  the  earth  enlumines  cleare  ; 
Far  reach  her  mercies,  and  her  praises  farre, 
As  well  in  state  of  peace,  as  puissaunce  in  warre." 


Said  Guyon,  "  Noble  lord,  what  meed  so  great, 

Or  grace  of  earthly  prince  so  soveraine, 

But  by  your  wondrous  worth  and  warlike  feat 

Ye  well  may  hope,  and  easely  attaine  ? 

But  were  your  will  her  sold  to  entertaine, 

And  numbred  be  mongst  Knights  of  Maydenhed, 

Great  guerdon,  well  I  wote,  sliould  you  remaine, 

And  in  her  favor  high  bee  reckoned, 

As  Arthegall  and  Sophy  now  beene  honored." 


"  Certes,"  then  said  the  prince,  "  I  God  avow, 
That  sith  I  armes  and  knighthood  first  did  plight, 
My  whole  desire  hath  beene,  and  yet  is  now, 
To  serve  that  queene  with  al  my  powre  and  might. 
Now  hath  the  sunne  with  his  lamp-burning  light 
Walkt  rnund  about  the  world,  and  I  no  lesse, 
Sith  of  that  goddesse  I  have  sought  the  sight. 
Yet  no  where  can  her  find  :  such  liappinesse 
Heven  dotli  to  me  envy  and  fortune  lavourlesse." 


"  Fortune,  the  foe  of  famous  chevisaunce. 
Seldom,"  said  Guyon,  "yields  to  vertue  aide. 
But  in  her  way  throwes  mischiefe  and  mischaunce. 
Whereby  her  course  is  stopt  and  passage  staid. 
But  you,  faire  sir,  be  not  herewith  dismaid, 
But  constant  keepe  the  way  in  which  ye  stand  ; 
Which  were  it  not  that  I  am  els  delaid 
Wiih  hard  adventure,  v\hich  I  hiive  in  hand, 
I  labour  would  to  guide  you  through  al  Fary  land." 


"  Gramercy  sir,"  said  he  ;  "  but  mote  I  weete 
What  straunge  adventure  doe  ye  now  pursew  ? 
Perhaps  my  succour  or  advizement  meete 
Mote  stead  you  much  your  purpose  to  subdew. ' 
Then  gan  Sir  Guyon  all  the  story  shew 
Of  false  Acrasia,  and  her  wicked  wiles  ; 
Which  to  avenge,  the  palmer  him  forth  drew 
From  Faery  court.     So  talked  they,  the  whiles 
They  wasted  had  much  way,  and   measurd  many 
nules. 


*  Thrise  happy  man,"  said  then  the  Briton  knight, 
"  Whom  gracious  lott  and  thy  great  valiaunce 
Have  made  thee  soldier  of  that  princesse  bright. 
Which  with  her  bounty  and  glad  countenaunce 
Doth  blesse  her  servaunts,  and  them  high  advaunce! 
How  may  straunge  knight  hope  evfr  to  aspire, 
Bj'  faithful!  service  and  meete  amenaunce 
Unto  such  blissel  sufficient  were  that  hire 
For  losse  of  thousand  lives,  to  die  at  her  desire." 


And  now  faire  Phoebus  gan  decline  in  haste 

His  weary  wa,L;on  to  the  westerne  va'e. 

Whenas  they  spide  a  goodly  castle,  jiiaste 

Foreby  a  river  in  a  pleasaunt  dale  ; 

Which  choosing  for  that  evenings  hospitale. 

They  thether  marcht :   but  when  they  came  in  sight. 

And  from  their  sweat)^  coursers  did  avale. 

They  found  the  gates  fast  barred  long  ere  night. 

And  every  loup  fast  lockt,  as  fearing  foes  despight. 


102 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


Wliich  when  they  saw,  they  weened  fowle  reproch 
Was  to  them  doen,  their  entraunce  to  tbrstall  ; 
Till  that  the  squire  gan  nigher  to  approch, 
And  wind  his  home  under  the  castle  wall, 
That  with  the  noise  it  shooke  as  it  would  fall. 
Eftsoones  forth  looked  from  the  higiiest  spire 
The  watch,  and  lowd  unto  the  knights  did  call, 
To  weete  what  they  so  rudely  did  require: 
Who  gently  answered,  they  entraunce  did  desire. 


"  Fly,  fly,  good  knights,"  said  he,  "  fly  fast  away, 
If  that  your  lives  ye  love,  as  meete  ye  should  ; 
Fly  fast,  and  save  joursehes  from  neare  decay  ; 
Here  mav  ye  not  have  entraunce,  though  we  would  : 
We  would  and  would  againe,  if  that  we  could  ; 
But  thousand  enemies  about  us  rave. 
And  with  long  siege  us  in  this  castle  hould  : 
Seven  veares  this  wize  they  us  besieged  have. 
And  many  good  knights  slaine  that  have  us  sought 
to  save." 


Thus  as  he  spoke.  Ice  !  with  outragious  cry 
A  thousand  villeins  rownd  about  them  swarmd 
Out  of  the  rockes  and  caves  adioyning  nye  ; 
Vile  caitive  wretches,  ragged,  rude,  deformd. 
All  threatning  death,  all  in  straunge  manner  armd  ; 
Some  with  unweldy  clubs,  some  with  long  sjieares, 
Some  rusty  knives,  some  staves  in  fier  warmd  : 
Sterne  was  their  louke ;  like  wild  amazed  steares, 
Staring  with  hollow  eies,  and  stiff  upstanding  heares. 


Fierslv  at  first  those  knights  they  did  assayle, 

And  drove  them  to  recoile  :  but,  when  againe 

Tliey  gave  fresh  charge,  their  forces  gan  to  fayle, 

Unhable  their  encounter  to  sustaine  ; 

For  with  such  puissauiice  and  impetuous  maine 

Those  champions  broke  on  them,  that  forst  them  fly, 

Like  scattered  sheejie,  whenas  the  shepherds  swaine 

A  lion  and  a  tigre  doth  espye 

With  greedy  pace  forth  rushing  from  the  forest  nye. 


A  while  they  fled,  but  soon  retournd  againe 
With  greater  furv  then  before  was  found  ; 
And  evermore  their  cruell  capitaine 
Sought  with  his  raskall  routs  t'enclose  them  rownd. 
And  ovcrronne  to  tread  them  to  the  grownd  : 
But  soone  the  knights  with  their  bright-burning  blades 
Broke  their  rude  troujies,  and  orders  did  confownd. 
Hewing  and  slashing  at  their  idle  shades  ; 
I'or  thoug'h  tliey  bodies  seem,  yet  substaunce  from 
them  fades. 


As  when  a  swarme  of  gnats  at  eventide 
Out  of  the  fennes  of  AUati  doe  arise. 
Their  murmuring  small  trompctts  sownden  wide. 
Whiles  in  the  aire  their  clusiring  army  flies, 
That  as  a  cloud  doth  seeme  to  dim  the  skies ; 
Ne  man  nor  beast  may  rest  or  take  repast  ■ 
For  their  sharpe  wounds  and  novous  iniuries, 
Till  the  fierce  northerne  wina  with  blustring  blast 
Doth  blow  them  quite  away,  and  in  the  ocean  cast. 


Thus  when  they  had  that  troublous  rout  disperst^ 

Unto  the  castle  gate  they  come  againe. 

And  entraunce  crav'd,  wliich  was  denied  erst. 

Now  when  report  of  that  their  perlous  paine, 

And  combrous  conflict  which  they  did  sustaine, 

Came  to  the  ladies  eare  which  there  did  dwell, 

Shee  forth  issewed  with  a  goodly  traine 

Of  squires  and  ladies  equipaged  well, 

And  entertained  them  right  fairely,  as  befell. 


Alma  she  called  was  ;  a  virgin  bright. 

That  had  not  yet  felt  Cupides  wanton  rage  ; 

Yet  was  shee  woo'd  of  many  a  gentle  knight. 

And  many  a  lord  of  noble  parentage. 

That  sought  with  her  to  lincke  in  marriage  : 

For  shee  was  faire,  as  faire  mote  ever  bee. 

And  in  the  flowre  now  of  her  freshest  age  ; 

Yet  full  of  grace  and  goodly  modestee. 

That  even  heven  reioyced  her  sweele  face  to  see. 


In  robe  of  lilly  white  she  was  arayd, 

That  from  her  shoulder  to  her  heele  downe  raught; 

The  traine  whereof  loose  far  behind  her  stravd, 

Braunched  witli  gold  and  perle  most  richly  wrought 

And  borne  of  two  faire  damsels  which  were  taught 

That  service  well :  her  yellow  golden  heare 

Was  trimly  woven,  and  in  tresses  wrought, 

Ne  other  tire  she  on  her  head  did  weare, 

But  crowned  with  a  garland  of  sweete  rosiere. 


Goodly  shee  entertaind  those  noble  knights. 
And  brought  them  up  into  her  castle  hall ; 
U'here  gentle  court  and  gracious  delight 
Shee  to  them  made,  with  mildnesse  virginall, 
Shewing  herselfe  both  wise  and  liberall. 
There  when  they  rested  had  a  season  dew, 
They  her  besought  of  fiivour  speciall 
Of  that  faire  castle  to  affoord  them  vew  : 
Shee  graunted  ;  and,  them   leading  forth,  the  same 
did  shew. 


First  she  them  led  up  to  the  castle  wall, 

That  was  so  high  as  foo  might  not  it  clime 

And  all  so  faire  and  fcnsible  withall  ; 

Not  built  of  bricke,  ne  yet  of  stone  and  lime. 

But  of  thing  like  to  that  .Egyptian  slime, 

Whereof  king  Nine  whilome  built  Babeil  towre  : 

But  O  great  pittv,  that  no  Icngi  r  time 

So  goodlv  workmanshiji  should  not  endure  ! 

Soone  it  must  turne  to  earth :  no  earthly  thing  is  sura. 


The  frame  thereof  seemd  partly  circulare. 
And  part  triangulare  :   O  worke  divine  ! 
Those  two  tiie  first  and  last  pro])ortions  are  ; 
Tlie  one  imperfect,  mortall,  frrmiiiine  ; 
Th'  other  immorfall,  perfect,  masculine  ; 
And  twixt  them  both  a  (|uaurate  was  the  base, 
Proportioiid  equally  by  seven  and  nine  ; 
Nine  was  the  circle  seit  in  lieavens  jilace  : 
All  which  compacted,  made  a  goodly  diapase. 


Canto  IX.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


103 


Therein  two  gates  were  placed  seemly  well : 

The  one  before,  by  which  all  in  did  pas, 

Did  th'  other  far  in  workmanship  excell ; 

For  not  of  wood,  nor  of  enduring  bras, 

But  of  more  worthy  substance  fram'd  it  was  : 

Doubly  disparted,  it  did  locke  and  close, 

That,  when  it  locked,  none  might  thorough  pas. 

And,  when  it  opened,  no  man  might  it  close ; 

Still  opened  to  their  friendes,aQd  closed  to  their  foes. 


Of  hewen  stone  the  porch  was  fayrely  wrought, 
Stone  more  of  valew,  and  more  smooth  and  fine, 
Then  iett  or  marble  far  from  Ireland  brought ; 
Over  the  which  was  cast  a  wandring  vine, 
Encbaced  with  a  wanton  yvie  twine  : 
And  over  it  a  fayre  portcullis  hong, 
Which  to  the  gate  directly  did  incline 
With  comely  compasse  and  comjiacture  strong. 
Nether  unseemly  skort,  nor  yet  exceeding  long. 


Within  the  barbican  a  porter  sate. 

Day  and  night  duely  keeping  watch  and  ward ; 

Nor  wight  nor  word  mote  passe  out  of  the  gate, 

But  in  good  order,  and  with  dew  regard  ; 

Utterers  of  secrets  he  from  thence  debai  d, 

Bablers  of  folly,  and  blazers  of  cryme : 

His  larum-bell  might  lowd  and  wyde  be  hard 

When  cause  requyrd,  but  never  out  of  time; 

Early  and  late  it  rong,  at  evening  and  at  prime. 


And  rownd  about  the  porch  on  every  syde 

Twise  sixteene  warders  satt,  all  armed  briglit 

In  glistring  Steele,  and  strongly  fortifyde  : 

Tall  yeomen  seemed  they  and  of  great  might, 

And  were  enraunged  ready  still  for  fight. 

By  them  as  Alma  passed  with  her  guestes. 

They  did  obevsaunce,  as  beseemed  right. 

And  then  againe  retourned  to  their  restes  : 

The  porter  eke  to  her  did  lout  with  humble  gestes. 


Thence  she  them  brought  into  a  stately  hall, 
Wherein  were  many  tables  fayre  dispred, 
And.  ready  dight  with  drapets  festivall, 
Against  the  viaundes  should  be  ministred. 
At  th' upper  end  there  sate,  yclad  in  red 
Downe  to  the  ground,  a  comely  personage. 
That  in  his  hand  a  white  rod  menaged  ; 
He  steward  was,  hight  Diet;  rype  of  age, 
And  in  demeanure  sober,  and  in  counsel!  sage. 


And  through  the  hall  there  walked  to  and  fro 

A  iolly  yeoman,  marshall  of  the  same. 

Whose  name  was  Appetite ;  he  did  bestow 

Both  guestes  and  meate,  whenever  in  they  came, 

And  knew  them  how  to  order  without  blame. 

As  him  the  steward  badd.     They  both  attone 

Did  dewty  to  their  lady,  as  became  ; 

Who,  passint;  by,  forth  ledd  lier  guestes  anone 

Intc  the  kitchin  rowme,  ne  spard  for  nicenesse  none. 


It  was  a  vaut  ybuilt  for  great  dispence, 
With  many  raunges  reard  along  the  wail, 
j   And  one  great  chimney,  whose  long  tonnell  thence 
The  smoke  forth  threw  :  and  in  tlie  midst  of  all 
There  placed  was  a  caudron  wide  and  tall 
Upon  a  mightie  fornace,  burning  whott, 
]\Iore  whott  then  Aetn',  or  flaming  INIongiball : 
For  day  and  night  it  brent,  ne  ceased  not. 
So  long  as  any  thing  it  in  the  caudron  gott. 


But  to  delay  the  heat,  least  by  mischaunce 
It  might  breake  out  and  set  the  whole  on  fyre, 
There  added  was  by  goodly  ordinaunce 
An  huge  great  payre  of  bellowes,  which  did  styre 
Continually,  and  cooling  breath  inspyre. 
About  the  caudron  many  cookes  accoyld 
With  hookes  and  ladles,  as  need  did  requyre ; 
The  whyles  the  viaundes  in  the  vessell  boyld. 
They  did  about  their  businesse  sweat,  and   sorely 
toyld. 

XXXI. 

The  maister  cooke  was  cald  Concoction ; 
A  carefuU  man,  and  full  of  comely  guyse; 
The  kitchin  clerke,  that  hight  Digestion, 
Did  order  all  th'  achates  in  seemely  wise. 
And  set  them  forth,  as  well  he  could  devise. 
The  rest  had  severall  offices  assynd ; 
Some  to  remove  tlie  scum  as  it  did  rise ; 
Others  to  beare  the  same  away  did  niynd; 
And  others  it  to  use  according  to  his  kynd. 


But  all  the  liquour,  which  was  fowle  and  waste. 
Not  good  nor  serviceable  elles  for  ought. 
They  in  another  great  rownd  vessell  plaste. 
Till  by  a  conduit  pipe  it  thence  were  brought ; 
And  all  the  rest,  that  noyous  was  and  nought, 
By  secret  waves,  that  none  might  it  espy. 
Was  close  convaid,  and  to  the  backgate  brought. 
That  cleped  was  Port  Esquiline,  whereby 
It  was  avoided  quite,  and  throw  ne  out  privily. 


Which  goodly  order  and  great  workmans  skill 
Whenas  those  knights  beheld,  with  rare  delight 
And  gazing  wonder  they  their  mindes  did  fill; 
For  never  had  they  seene  so  strauuge  a  sight. 
Thence  backe  againe  faire  Alma  led  them  right. 
And  soone  into  a  goodly  parlour  brought, 
That  was  with  royall  aiTas  richly  dight, 
In  which  was  nothing  pourtrahed  nor  wrought ; 
Not  wrought  nor  podrtrahed,  but  easie  to  be  thought ' 


And  in  the  midst  thereof  upon  the  floure 
A  lovely  bevy  of  faire  ladies  sute. 
Courted  of  many  a  iolly  paramoure. 
The  which  them  did  in  modest  wise  araate. 
And  each  one  sought  his  lady  to  aggrate : 
And  eke  emongst  them  little  Cupid  playd 
His  wanton  sportes,  being  retourned  lute 
From  his  fierce  warres,  and  having  from  him  layd 
His  cruell   bow,  wherewith   be  thousands  hath  dis* 
mayd. 


104 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IL 


Diverse  delights  they  fownd  themselves  to  please  ; 

Some  song  in  sweet  consort ;  some  laught  for  ioy ; 

Some  plaid  with  strawes  ;  some  ydly  satt  at  ease  ; 

But  other  some  could  not  abide  to  toy, 

All  pleasaunce  was  to  them  griefe  and  annoy  : 

Thisfround;  that  faund ;  the  third  for  shame  did  blush  ; 

Another  seemd  envious,  or  coy  ; 

Another  in  her  teeth  did  gnaw  a  rush  : 

But  at  these  straungers  presence  every  one  did  hush. 

xxxvr. 

Soone  as  the  gracious  Alma  came  in  place, 
Thev  all  attonce  out  of  their  seates  arose, 
And  to  her  homage  made  witli  humble  grace: 
Whom  when  the  kniglits  beheld,  they  gan  dispose 
Themselves  to  couit,  and  each  a  damzell  chose  : 
The  prince  by  cliaunce  did  on  a  lady  light, 
That  was  right  faire  and  fresh  as  morning  rose. 
But  somwhat  sad  and  solemne  eke  in  sight. 
As  if  some  pensive  thought  constraind  her  gentle 
sprig  ht. 

XXXVII. 

In  a  long  purple  pall,  whose  skirt  with  gold 

Was  fretted  all  about,  she  was  arayd ; 

And  in  her  hand  a  poplar  braunch  did  hold  : 

To  whom  tlie  prince  in  courteous  maner  sayd; 

"  Gentle  Madame,  wliy  beene  ye  tlius  disraayd, 

And  your  fiiire  beautie  doe  with  sadnes  spill? 

Lives  any  that  you  hath  this  ill  apayd ! 

Or  doen  you  love,  or  doen  you  lack  your  will? 

Whatever  bee  the  cause,  it  sure  beseemes  you  ill." 


"  Fayre  sir,"  said  she,  halfe  in  disdaineful  wise, 
"  How  is  it  that  this  word  in  me  ye  blame. 
And  in  yourselfe  doe  not  the  same  advise? 
Him  ill  beseemes  anothers  fault  to  name. 
That  may  unwares  be  blotted  with  the  same : 
Pensive  I  yeeld  I  am,  and  sad  in  mind. 
Through  great  desire  of  glory  and  of  fame  ; 
Ne  ought  I  weene  are  ye  therein  behynd, 
That  have  twelve  months  sought  one,  yet  no  where 
can  her  find." 


The  prince  was  inly  moved  at  her  speach, 

Well  weeting  trew  what  she  had  rasldy  told ; 

Yet  with  faire  semblaunt  sought  to  hyde  the  breach, 

Which  chaunge  of  colour  did  perforce  unfold, 

Now  seeming  flaming  wliott,  now  stony  cold  : 

Tho,  turning  soft  aside,  he  did  inquyre 

Wliat  wight  she  was  that  poplar  brauncli  did  hold : 

It  answered  was,  her  name  was  Prays-desire, 

That  by  well  doing  sought  to  honour  to  aspyre. 


The  whiles  the  Faery  knight  did  entertaine 

Another  damsoll  of  tliat  gentle  crew. 

That  was  right  favre  ana  modest  of  demuyne. 

But  that  too  oft  she  chaung'd  lier  native  1)pw: 

Straunge  was  her  tyre, and  all  her  garment  blew. 

Close  rownd  about  her  tuckt  with  many  a  plight  : 

Upon  her  fist  the  bird  which  shonneth  vew 

And  keeps  in  coverts  close  from  living  wight, 

Did  sitt,  as  yet  ashnrnd  how  rude  Pan  did  her  dight. 


So  long  as  Guvon  with  her  communed. 

Unto  the  grownd  she  cast  her  modest  eye. 

And  ever  and  anone  with  rosy  red 

The  bashfuU  blood  her  snowy  cheekes  did  dye, 

l^hat  her  became  as  polisht  yvory 

Which  cunning  craftesman  hand  hath  overlayd 

With  fayre  vermilion  or  pure  castory. 

Gneat  wonder  had  tlie  knight  to  see  the  mayd 

So  straungely  passioned,  and  to  her  gently  said , 


"  Fayre  damzell,  seemeth  by  your  troubled  cheare, 

That  eitlier  me  too  bold  ye  weene,  this  wise 

You  to  molest,  or  other  ill  to  feare 

That  in  the  secret  of  your  hart  close  lyes, 

From  whence  it  dotli,  as  cloud  from  sea,  aryse  : 

If  it  be  I,  of  pardon  I  you  pray  ; 

But,  if  ought  else  that  I  mote  not  devyse, 

I  will,  if  please  you  it  discure,  assay 

To  ease  you  of  that  ill,  so  wisely  as  I  may." 


She  answerd  nought,  but  more  abasht  for  shame 
Held  downe  her  head,  the  whiles  her  lovely  face 
The  flashing  blood  with  blushing  did  inflame, 
And  the  strong  passion  mard  lier  modest  grace, 
Tliat  Guyon  mervayld  at  her  uncouth  cace  j 
Till  Alma  him  bespake  ;  "  Why  wonder  yee, 
Faire  sir,  at  tliat  which  ye  so  much  embrace  1 
She  is  tlie  fountaine  of  your  modestee  ; 
You  shamefast  are,  but  Shamefastnes  itselfe  is  shee." 


Thereat  the  Elfe  did  blush  in  privitee. 
And  turnd  his  face  away  ;  but  she  the  same 
Dissembled  faire,  and  faynd  to  oversee. 
Thus  they  awhile  with  court  and  goodly  game 
Themselves  did  solace  each  one  with  his  dame. 
Till  that  great  lady  thence  away  them  sought 
To  vew  her  castles  other  wondrous  frame  : 
Up  to  a  stately  turret  she  tliem  brought. 
Ascending  by  ten  steps  of  alabaster  wrought. 


That  turrets  frame  most  admirable  was. 
Like  highest  heaven  compassed  around, 
And  lifted  high  above  this  earthly  masse, 
\Vhich  it  survewd,  as  hils  doen  lower  ground : 
But  not  on  ground  mote  like  to  this  be  found; 
Not  that,  which  anticjue  Cadmus  whylome  built 
III  Thebes,  which  Alexander  did  confound  ; 
Nor  that  proud  tovvre  of  Troy,  though  richly  guilt. 
From  which  young  Hectors  blood  by  cruell  Greekea 
was  spilt. 

xi.vi. 

Tlie  roofo  hereof  was  arched  over  head. 

And  dt'ckt  with  flowres  and  herbars  daintily ; 

Two  goodly  beacons,  set  in  watches  stead. 

Therein  gave  light,  and  flamd  continually : 

For  they  of  living  fire  most  subtilly 

Were  made,  and  set  in  silver  sockets  bright, 

Cover'd  with  lids  deviz'd  of  substance  sly, 

I'liat  readily  they  shut  and  open  might. 

O,  who  can  tell  the  prayses  of  that  makers  might ' 


Canto  IX.] 


THE   FAERIE   QUEENE. 


105 


Ne  can  I  tell,  ne  can  I  stay  to  tell, 

This  parts  great  workemanship  and  wondrous  powre, 

That  all  this  otlier  workles  worke  doth  excell. 

And  likest  is  unto  that  heavenly  towre 

That  God  hath  built  for  his  owne  blessed  bowre. 

Therein  were  divers  rowmes,  and  divers  stages; 

But  three  the  chiefest  and  of  greatest  powre, 

In  which  there  dwelt  three  honorable  sages. 

The  wisest  men,  I  weene,  that  lived  in  their  ages. 


Not  he,  whom  Greece,  the  nourse  of  all  good  arts. 
By  Phoebus  doome  the  wisest  thought  alive. 
Might  be  compar'd  to  these  by  many  parts  : 
Nor  that  sage  Pylian  syre,  which  did  survive 
Three  ages,  such  as  morlall  men  contrive. 
By  whose  advise  old  Priams  cittie  fell. 
With  these  in  praise  of  pollicies  mote  strive. 
These  three  in  these  three  rowmes  did  sondry  dwell, 
And  counselled  faire  Alma  how  to  governe  well. 


XLIX. 

The  first  of  (hem  could  things  to  come  foresee ; 

The  next  could  of  thinges  present  best  advize  ; 

The  third  tilings  past  lould  keep  in  memoree  : 

So  that  no  time  nor  reason  could  arize, 

But  that  the  same  could  one  of  these  compnze. 

Forthy  the  first,  did  in  the  forepart  sit. 

That  nought  mote  hinder  his  quicke  preiudize  ; 

He  had  a  sharpe  foresight  and  working  wit 

That  never  idle  was,  ne  once  would  rest  a  whit. 


His  chamber  was  dispainted  all  within 
With  sondry  colours,  in  the  which  were  writ 
Infinite  shapes  of  thinges  dispersed  thin  ; 
Some  such  as  iii  the  world  were  never  yit, 
Ne  can  devized  be  of  mortall  wit ; 
Some  daily  seene  and  knowen  by  their  names. 
Such  as  in  idle  fantasies  do  flit  ; 
lufernall  hags,  centaurs,  feendes,  hippodames. 
Apes,  lyons,  aegles,  owles,   fooles,  lovers,  children, 
dames. 


And  all  the  chamber  filled  was  with  flyes 
Which  buzzed  all  about,  and  made  such  sound 
That  they  enconibred  all  mens  eares  and  eyes  ; 
Like  many  swarmes  of  bees  assembled  round, 
After  their  hives  with  h^ainy  do  abound. 
All  those  were  idle  thoughtes  and  fantasies. 
Devices,  dreames,  opinions  unsound, 
Shewes,  visions,  sooth-sayes,  and  jtrojihesies ; 
And  all  that  fained  is,  as  leasings,  tales,  and  lies. 


Emongst  them  all  sate  he  which  wonned  there. 
That  bight  Phantastes  by  his  nature  trew  ; 
A  man  of  yeares  yet  fresh,  as  mote  ap;  ere. 
Of  swarth  complexion,  and  of  crabbed  hew. 
That  him  full  of  melancholy  did  shew; 
Bent  hollow  beetle  browes,  sharpe  staring  eyes 
1  liat  mad  or  foolish  seemd  :  one  bv  his  vew 
iMote  deenip  him  borne  with  ill-dispo.>-ed  skyes, 
Wheu  oLliijue  Saturne  sate  in  th'  house  of  agonyes. 


Whom  Alma  having  shewed  to  her  guestes, 

Thence  brought  them  to  the  second  rowme,  whose 

Were  painted  faire  with  memorable  gestes         [wals 

Of  famous  wisards  ;  and  with  picturals 

Of  magistrates,  of  courts,  of  tribunals. 

Of  commen  wealthes,  of  states,  of  ))ollicy. 

Of  lawes,  of  iudgementes,  and  of  decretals. 

All  artes,  all  science,  all  philosophy. 

And  all  that  in  the  world  was  ay  thought  wittily. 


Of  those  that  rowme  was  full ;  and  them  among 
There  sate  a  man  of  ripe  and  perfect  age, 
Who  did  them  meditate  all  his  life  long, 
That  through  contmuall  practise  and  usage 
He  now  was  growne  right  wise  and  wondrous  sage: 
Great  plesure  had  those  straunger  knightes  to  see 
His  goodly  reason  and  grave  personage. 
That  his  di>ciples  both  desyrd  to  bee : 
But  Alma  thence  them  led  to  th'  hindmost  rowme  of 
three. 


Tliat  chamber  seemed  ruinous  and  old. 
And  therefore  was  removed  far  behind. 
Yet  were  the  wals,  that  did  the  same  uphold. 
Right  firmeandstrong.tliough  somwhat  they  declind; 
And  therein  sat  an  old  old  man,  halfe  blind. 
And  all  decrepit  in  his  feeble  corse. 
Yet  lively  vigour  rested  in  his  mind. 
And  recomj>enst  them  with  a  better  scorse  : 
Weake  body  well  is  chang'd  for  minds  redoubled 
forse. 


This  man  of  infinite  remembraunce  was. 
And  things  foregone  through  many  ages  held. 
Which  he  recorded  still  as  they  did  pas, 
Ne  suffred  them  to  perish  through  long  eld. 
As  all  things  els  the  which  this  world  doth  weld  ; 
But  laid  them  up  in  his  immortall  serine, 
Where  they  for  ever  incorrupted  dweld : 
The  warre-s  he  well  remembred  of  king  Nine, 
Of  old  Assaracus,  and  Inachus  divine. 


The  yeares  of  Nestor  nothing  were  to  his, 

Ne  yet  Blathusalem,  though  longest  liv'd  ; 

For  he  remembred  both  their  iufancis  : 

Ne  wonder  then  if  that  he  were  depriv'e 

Of  native  strength  now  that  he  them  surviv'd. 

His  chamber  all  was  hangd  about  with  rolls 

And  old  reL6rds  from  auncient  times  derivd. 

Some  made  in  books,  some  in  long  parchment  scrolls, 

That  were  all  worm-eaten  and  full  of  canker  holes. 


Amidst  them  all  he  in  a  chaire  was  sett. 

Tossing  and  turning  them  withouten  end; 

But  for  he  was  unhable  them  to  fett, 

A  little  boy  did  on  him  still  attend 

To  reach,  whenever  he  for  ought  did  send  ; 

And  oft  when  thinges  were  lost,  or  laid  amis, 

That  boy  them  sought  and  unto  him  did  lend  : 

Therefore  he  Anamnestes  cleped  is  ; 

And  that  old  man  Eumnestes,  by  their  propertis. 


106 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IL 


The  kiiig^lites  there  entring  did  him  reverence  dew, 

And  vvoiidred  at  hi.s  endlesse  exercise. 

Tlieii  as  tljey  gun  his  library  to  vew, 

And  antii|ne  reg'esters  for  to  avise, 

'J'hiMe  chaunced  to  the  princes  hand  to  rize 

An  auiu'ioiit  booke,  hig-ht  Briton  Moniments, 

'I'liat  of  this  lands  first  conquest  did  devize, 

And  old  division  into  regiments, 

lili  it  reduced  was  to  one  mans  governeraents. 


Sir  Guyon  chaunst  eke  on  another  booke, 
That  liiglit  Antiquitee  of  Faery  Land: 
In  which  whenas  he  greedily  did  looke, 
Th'  ofspring  of  Elves  and  Faryes  there  he  fond, 
As  it  delivered  was  from  bond  to  bond  : 
Whereat  they,  burning  both  with  fervent  fire 
Their  countreys  auncestry  to  understond, 
Crav'd  leave  of  Alma  and  that  aged  sire 
To  read  those  bookes  ;   who  gladly  graunted  theii 
desire. 


CANTO  X. 

A  chronicle  of  Briton  kings. 
From  Brute  to  Utbers  rayne; 

And  rolls  of  Elfin  emperours, 
Till  time  of  Gloriane. 


Who  now  shall  give  unto  me  words  and  sound 

Ek|u;ill  unto  this  haughty  enterprise  ? 

Or   who  shall  lend   me    wings,    with    which    from 

My  lowly  verse  may  loftily  arise,  [ground 

And  lift  itselfe  unto  the  highest  skyes  ? 

IMore  ample  spirit  than  hetherto  was  wount 

Here  needes  me,  whiles  the  famous  auncestrj'es 

Of  my  most  dreadred  soveraigne  I  recount, 

By  which  all  earthly  princes  she  doth  far  sunnount. 


Xe  under  sunne  that  shines  so  wide  and  faire, 
W'htiice  all  tliat  lives  does  borrow  life  and  light, 
I.!vt-s  ought  that  to  her  linage  may  compaire  ; 
\\'liich  though  from  earth  it  be  derived  right, 
Yet  doth  itselfe  stretch  forth  to  hevens  bight, 
Anfl  all  the  world  with  wonder  overspred; 
A  labor  huge,  exceeding  far  my  might ! 
Ilow  shall  fraile  pen,  with  fear  disparaged. 
Conceive  such  soveraine  glory  and  great  bountyhed  ! 


Argument  worthy  of  ]Ma'onian  quill  ; 

Or  rather  worthy  of  great  Phoebus  rote, 

\\  hereon  the  ruines  of  great  Ossa  hill. 

And  triumphes  of  Phlcgra-an  love,  he  wrote, 

That  all  the  gods  admird  his  lofty  note. 

But,  if  some  relish  of  that  hevenly  lay 

His  learned  daughters  would  to  me  report 

To  decke  my  song  withall,  I  would  assay 

Ihy  name,  0  soveraine  Queene,  to  blazon  far  away. 


Thy  name,  O  soveraine  Queene,  thy  realm,  and  race. 

From  this  renowmed  prince  derived  aire, 

W'lio  mightily  upheld  that  royall  mace 

\\']ii(di  now  thou  Ijear'st,  to  thee  descended  farre 

From  mighty  kings  and  conquerours  in  warre, 

Thy  fathers  and  great  grandfathers  of  old. 

Whose  noble  deeds  above  the  northern  starre 

Immortall  Fame  for  ever  hath  enrold  ; 

As  in  that  old  mans  booke  they  were  in  order  told. 


The  land  which  warlike  Britons  now  possesse, 
And  therein  have  their  mighty  empire  raysd, 
In  antique  times  was  salvage  wildernesse, 
Unpeopled,  unmannurd,  unprovd,  unpraysd  ; 
Ne  was  it  island  then,  ne  was  it  paysd 
Amid  the  ocean  waves,  ne  was  it  sought 
Of  merchants  farre  for  profits  therein  praysd  ; 
But  was  all  desolate,  and  of  some  thought 
By  sea  to  have  bene   from  the   Celticke  mayn-land 
brouj^lit. 


Ne  did  it  then  deserve  a  name  to  have. 

Till  that  the  venturous  mariner  that  way 

Learning  his  ship  from  those  white  rocks  to  save, 

Which  all  along  the  southerne  sea-coast  lay 

Tlireatning  unheedy  wrecke  and  rash  decay, 

For  saftety  that  same  his  sea-marke  made, 

And  nara'd  it  Albiox  :   but  later  day. 

Finding  in  it  fit  ports  for  fishers  trade, 

Gan  more  the  same  frequent,  and  further  to  invade. 


But  far  in  land  a  salvage  nation  dwelt 

Of  hideous  giaunts,  and  halfe-beastly  men, 

That  never  tasted  grace,  nor  goodnes  felt  ; 

But  wild  like  beastes  lurking  in  loathsome  den, 

And  flying  fast  as  roebucke  through  the  fen. 

All  naked  witiiout  shame  or  care  of  cold. 

By  hunting  and  by  spoiling  liveden  ; 

Of  stature  huge,  and  eke  of  corage  bold. 

That  sonnes  of  men  amazd  their  sternesse  to  behold. 


But  whence  they  sprong,  or  how  they  were  begott, 

Uneath  is  to  assure  ;  uneath  to  wene 

That  monstrous  error  which  doth  some  assott. 

That  Dioclesians  fifty  daughters  shene 

Into  this  land  by  chaunce  have  driven  bene; 

Where,  companirig  with  feends  and  filthy  sprights 

Through  vaiiie  illusion  of  their  lust  unelene, 

'J'hey  brought  forth  geaunts,  and  such  dreadful  wighti 

As  far  exceeded  men  in  their  immeasurd  mights. 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


107 


They  held  tliis  land,  and  with  their  filthinesse 
Polluted  this  same  gentle  sovle  long-  time  ; 
That  their  owne  mother  loatlid  their  beastlinesse, 
And  oau  abhorre  her  broods  unkindly  crime. 
All  were  tliey  b-irne  of  her  owne  native  slime  : 
Until  that  Brutus,  anciently  deriv'd 
From  roiall  stocke  of  old  Assaracs  line, 
Driven  by  fatall  error  here  arriv'd, 
And  them  of  their  unjust  possession  depriv'd. 


But  ere  he  had  established  his  throne, 
And  spred  his  empire  to  the  utmost  shore, 
He  foun;ht  great  batteils  with  his  salvage  fone ; 
In  which  he  them  defeated  evennore, 
And  many  giauiits  left  oi,  rroning  flore  : 
That  well  can  witnes  vet  unto  this  day 
The  westerne  Hogh,  besprincled  with  the  gore 
Of  mighty  GotJmot,  whome  in  stout  fray 
Corineus  conquered,  and  cruelly  did  slay. 


And  eke  that  ample  pitt,  yet  far  renownd 

For  the  larue  leape  which  Uebon  did  eompell 

Coulin  to  make,  being  eight  lugs  of  grovvnd, 

Into  the  which  retourning  backe  he  fed  : 

But  those  three  monstrous  stones  doe  most  excell, 

Which  that  huge  sonne  of  hideous  Albion, 

Whose  father  Hercules  in  Fraunce  did  quell, 

Great  Godmer  threw,  in  fierce  contention, 

At  bold  Canutui  i  but  of  him  was  slaine  anon. 


In  meed  of  these  great  conquests  by  them  gott, 
Corineus  had  that  province  utmost  west 
To  him  assigned  for  his  worthy  lott, 
Which  of  his  name  and  memorable  gest 
He  called  Cornwaile,  yet  so  called  best : 
And  Debous  shayre  was,  that  is  Devonsbyre  : 
But  Canute  had  his  portion  from  the  rest. 
The  which  he  cald  Canutium,  for  his  hyre  ; 
Now  Cantium,  which  Kent  we  comenly  inquyre. 


Thus  Brute  this  realme  unto  his  rule  subdewd, 

And  raigned  long  in  great  felicity, 

Lov'd  of  his  freends,  and  of  his  foes  eschewd  : 

He  left  three  sonnes,  his  famous  progeny, 

Borne  of  fayie  Inogene  of  Italy  ; 

Mongst  whom  he  parted  his  imperiall  state. 

And  Locrine  left  chiefe  lord  of  liritany. 

At  last  ripe  age  bad  him  surrender  late 

His  life,  and  long  good  fortune,  unto  final!  fate. 


Locrine  was  left  the  soveraine  lord  of  all  ; 

But  Albanact  had  all  the  northerne  part. 

Which  of  himselfe  Albania  he  did  call ; 

And  Camber  did  possesse  the  westerne  quart, 

W'bich  Severne  now  from  Logris  doth  depart  : 

And  each  his  portion  peaceably  enioyd, 

Ne  was  there  outward  breath,  nor  grudge  in  hart, 

That  once  their  cjuiet  government  annoyd ; 

But  each  his  paynes  to  others  profit  still  employd. 


Untill  a  nation  straung,  with  visage  swart 

And  corage  fierce  that  all  men  did  aflray. 

Which  through  the  world  then  swarmd  in  every  part. 

And  overflowd  all  countries  I'ar  away, 

Like  Noves  great  flood,  with  their  importune  sway. 

This  land  invaded  with  like  violence, 

And  did  themselves  through  all  the  north  display : 

Untill  that  Locrine  for  his  realmes  defence. 

Did  head  against  them  make  and  strong  munificence 


He  them  encountred,  a  confused  rout, 

Foreby  the  river  that  whvlome  was  bight 

The  ancient  Abus,  where  with  courage  stout 

He  them  defeated  in  victorious  fight, 

And  chaste  so  fiercely  after  fearefuli  flight. 

That  forst  their  chiefetain,  for  his  safeties  sake, 

(Tlieir  chiefetain  Humber  named  was  aright,) 

Unto  the  mighty  streame  him  to  betake, 

Where  he  an  end  of  batteill  and  of  life  did  make. 


The  king  retourned  proud  of  victorv 
And  insolent  wox  through  unwonted  ease. 
That  shortly  he  forgot  the  ieopardy, 
Which  in  bis  land  he  lately  did  appease, 
And  fell  to  vaine  voluptuous  disease: 
He  lov'd  faire  Ladie  Estrild,  leudly  lov'd. 
Whose  wanton  jileasures  him  too  much  did  please, 
That  quite  his  hart  from  Guendolene  remov'd, 
From  Guendolene  his  wife,  though  ahvaies  faithfu 
prov'd. 

XVIII. 

The  noble  daughter  of  Corineus 

Would  not  endure  to  bee  so  vile  disdaind. 

But,  gathering  force  and  coraj;e  valorous, 

Encountred  him  in  battedl  well  ordaind, 

In  which  him  vanquisht  she  to  fly  constraind: 

But  she  so  fast  pursewd,  that  him  she  tooke 

And  threw  in  bands,  where  he  till  death  remaiud; 

Als  his  faire  leman  flying  through  a  brooke 

She  overheut,  nought  moved  with  her  piteous  looke, 


But  both  herselfe,  and  eke  her  daughter  deare 
Begotten  by  her  kingly  paramoure, 
The  faire  Sabrina,  almost  dead  with  feare. 
She  there  attached,  far  from  all  succoiire: 
The  one  she  slew  in  that  impatient  stoure; 
But  the  sad  virgin  innocent  of  all 
Adowne  the  rolling  river  she  did  poure. 
Which  of  her  name  now  Severne  men  do  call  : 
Such  was  the  end  that  to  disloyall  love  did  fall 


Then  for  her  sonne,  which  she  to  Locrin  bore, 
(^Madan  was  young,  unmeet  the  rule  to  sway,) 
In  her  owne  hand  the  crowne  she  kept  in  store. 
Till  ryper  years  he  raught  and  stronger  stay: 
During  which  time  hei-  powre  she  did  display- 
Through  all  this  realme,  the  glory  of  her  sex. 
And  first  taught  men  a  woman  to  obay  : 
But,  when  her  sonne  to  mans  estate  did  wex. 
She  it  surrendred,  ne  her  selfe  would  lenger  vei. 


108 


THE     FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II 


The  INIadan  raigrid,  unworthie  of  his  race  ; 
For  witli  all  shame  that  sacred  throne  he  fild. 
Next  jMemprise,  as  unworthy  of  that  place, 
In  which  being  consorted  with  iNIanild, 
For  thirst  of  single  kingdom  him  he  kild. 
But  Ebianck  salved  both  tlieir  infamies 
With  noble  deedes,  and  warreyd  on  Brunchild 
In  Henault,  where  yet  of  his  victories 
Brave   monimeuts    remaine,    which    yet  that  land 
envies. 


An  hajipy  man  in  his  first  dayes  he  was, 
And  happy  father  of  faire  progeny  : 
For  all  so  many  weekes,  as  the  yeare  has, 
So  manv  children  he  did  multiply  ; 
Of  which  were  twentie  sonnes,  which  did  apply 
Their  miudes  to  prayse  and  chevalrous  desyre  : 
Those  germans  did  subdew  all  Germany, 
Of  whom  it  hight  ;  but  in  the  end  their  syre 
With  foule  repulse   from    Fraunce    was    forced   to 
re  tyre. 

xxui. 

Which  blott  his  sonne  succeeding  in  his  seat, 
The  second  Brute,  the  second  both  in  name 
And  eke  in  semblaunce  of  his  puissaunce  great. 
Right  well  recur'd,  and  did  away  that  blame 
With  recompence  of  everlasting  fame  : 
He  with  his  victour  sword  first  opened 
The  bowels  of  wide  Fraunce,  a  forlorne  dame. 
And  tauglit  her  first  how  to  be  conquered  ; 
Since   which,  with  sondrie   spoiles    she  hath  been 
ransacked. 


Let  Scaldis  tell,  and  let  tell  Hania, 
And  let  the  marsh  of  Esthambruges  tell. 
What  colour  were  their  waters  that  same  dav. 
And  all  the  moore  twixt  Elversham  and  Dell, 
With  blood  of  Henaiois  wliich  therein  fell. 
How  oft  th:U  (lav  did  sad  liruiichildis  see 
The  greeiie  shield  dvde  in  dolorous  vermeil  ? 
That  not  sciiitli  guiridh  it  mote  ^sel'me  to  bee. 
But  rather  y  acuith  gogh,  signe  of  sad  crueltee. 


His  sonne  king  Leill,  by  fathers  labour  long, 
Kniovd  an  heritage  of  lasting  ptace, 
And  built  (nirleill,  and  built  Cairleon  strong. 
Next  Ihuldibras  his  realme  did  not  encrease, 
But  taught  ti.e  land  from  «■  aiie  wars  to  cease. 
Whose  foiifste])S  Uladiid  following,  in  artes 
Exceld  at  Athens  all  the  learned  preace,  [parts. 

From    whence    he   brought   them   to  these    salvage 
And  with  sweet  science   mollilide   tlieir  stubborne 
harts. 


Ensample  of  his  wondrous  faculty. 
Behold  the  bovling  baths  at  Cairdahan, 
Which  seeih  with  secret  fire  (!ternallv, 
And  in  their  entrailles.  full  of  quick  brimstim. 
Nourish  the  flames  whi(  h  thev  are  warmd  ujion, 
That  to  their  peojde  wealth  thev  forth  do  well, 
And  health  to  every  forrevne  nation  : 
Vet  he  at  last,  contending  to  excell 
The  reach  of  men,  through  flight  into  fond  mischief 
fell. 


Next  him  king  Leyr  in  happie  peace  long  raynd, 

But  had  no  issue  male  him  to  succeed, 

But  three  faire  daughters,  which  were  well  uptraind 

In  all  that  seemed  fitt  for  kingly  seed  ; 

IVIongst  whom  his  realme  he  equally  decreed 

To  have  divided  :  tho,  when  feeble  age 

Nigh  to  his  utmost  date  he  saw  proceed. 

He  cald  his  daughters,  and  with  speeches  sage 

Inquyrd,  which  of  them  most  did  love  her  parentage 


The  eldest  Gonorill  gan  to  protest. 
That  she  much  more  than  her  owne  life  him  lov'd  ; 
And  Regan  greater  love  to  him  profest 
Then  all  the  world,  whenever  it  wereproov'd  ; 
But  Cordeill  said  she  loved  him  as  belioov'd  : 
Whose  simple  answere,  wanting  colours  fayre 
To  paint  it  forth,  him  to  displeasaunce  moov'd. 
That  in  his  crown  he  counted  her  no  hayre, 
But  twixt  the  other  twain  his  kingdom  whole   did 
shayre. 


So  wedded  th'  one  to  INIaglan  king  of  Scottes, 
And  th'  other  to  the  king  of  Cambria, 
And  twixt  them  sliayrd  his  realme  by  equall  lottes ; 
But,  without  dowre,  the  wise  Cordelia 
Was  sent  to  Aganip  of  Celtica  : 
Their  aged  syre,  thus  eased  of  his  crowne, 
A  private  life  ledd  in  Albania 
With  Gonorill,  long  had  in  great  renowne. 
That  nought  him  griev'd  to  beene  from  rule  deposed 
downe. 


But  true  it  is  that,  when  the  oyle  is  spent 

The  light  goes  out,  and  weeke  is  throwne  away ; 

So,  when  he  had  resignd  his  regiment. 

His  daughter  gan  despise  his  drouping  day. 

And  wearie  wax  of  his  continuall  stay  : 

Tho  to  his  daughter  Reyan  he  repayrd. 

Who  him  at  first  well  used  every  way  ; 

J5ut,  when  of  his  departure  she  despayrd. 

Her  bountie  she  abated,  and  his  cheare  empayrd. 


The  wretclied  man  gan  then  avise  too  late, 

That  love  is  not  where  most  it  is  profest ; 

Too  truelv  tryde  in  his  extremest  state! 

At  last,  resolv'd  likewise  to  prove  the  rest, 

He  to  Cordelia  hiiiis(>lfe  addrest. 

Who  with  eiityre  atl'ection  him  receav'd, 

As  for  lier  syre  and  king  her  seemed  best ; 

And  after  idl  an  army  strong  she  leav'd. 

To  war  on  those  which  liim  iiad  of  liis  realme  bereav'd. 


So  to  his  crowne  she  him  restord  agame  ; 

In  which  he  dyde,  made  ripe  for  death  by  eld. 

And  after  wild  it  should  to  her  remaine  : 

Who  per.ceably  tlie  same  long  ,ime  did  weld, 

And  all  mens  liarts  in  dew  obedience  held  ; 

Till  that  her  sisters  children,  woxen  strong. 

Through  proud  timhition  against  her  rebeld. 

And  overcommen  kejit  in  ])rison  long, 

Till  weary  of  that  wretched  life  herselfe  she  hong. 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


109 


riien  sran  the  bloody  brethren  both  to  raine  : 

But  fierce  Cundah  gan  shortly  to  envy 

His  brother  Morgan,  prickt  with  proud  disdaine 

To  have  a  pere  in  part  of  soverainty  ; 

And,  kindling  coles  of  cruell  enmity, 

Raisd  warre,  and  him  in  batteill  overthrew  ; 

Whence  as  he  to  those  woody  hilles  did  fly, 

Which  hight  of  him  Glamorgan,  there  him  slew  : 

Then  did  he  raigne  alone,  when  he  none  equal  knew. 


His  Sonne  Rivall'  his  dead  rowme  did  supply ; 
In  whose  sad  time  blood  did  from  heaven  rayne. 
Next  great  Gurgustus,  then  faire  Caecily, 
In  constant  peace  their  kingdomes  did  contayne, 
After  whom  Lago  and  Kmmarke  did  rayne. 
And  Gorbogud,  till  far  in  years  he  grew  : 
Then  his  ambitious  sonnes  unto  them  twayne 
Arraught  the  rule,  and  from  their  father  drew  ; 
Stout  Ferrex  and  sterne  Porrex  him  in  prison  threw- 


But  O  !  the  greedy  thirst  of  royall  crowne. 
That  knowes  no  kinred,  nor  regardes  no  right, 
Stird  Porrex  up  to  put  his  brother  downe  ; 
Who,  unto  him  assembling  forreigne  might, 
Made  warre  on  him,  and  fell  himselfe  in  fight : 
W^hose  death  t'  avenge,  his  mother  mercilesse. 
Most  mercilesse  of  women,  Wyden  hight. 
Her  other  sonne  last  sleeping  did  oppresse. 
And  with  most  cruell  hand  kim  murdred  pittilesse. 


Here  ended  Brutus  sacred  progeny, 

Which  had  seven  hundred  years  this  sceptre  borne 

With  high  renowme  and  great  felicity : 

The  noble  braunch  from  th'  antique  stocke  was  torne 

Through  discord,  and  the  roiall  throne  forlorne. 

Thencefortli  this  realme  was  into  factions  rent, 

W^hilest  each  of  Brutus  boasted  to  be  borne. 

That  in  the  end  was  left  no  moniment 

Of  Brutus,  nor  of  Britons  glorie  auncient. 


Then  up  arose  a  man  of  matchlesse  might. 

And  wondrous  wit  to  menage  high  affayres, 

Who,  stird  with  pitty  of  the  stressed  plight 

Of  this  sad  realme,  cut  into  sondry  shayres 

By  such  as  claymd  themselves  Brutes  rightfull  hayres. 

Gathered  the  princes  of  the  people  loose 

To  taken  counsell  of  their  common  cares ; 

W^ho,  with  his  wisedom  won,  him  streight  did  choose 

llieir  king,  and  swore  him  fealty  to  win  or  loose. 


Then  made  he  head  against  his  enimies. 
And  Ymner  slew  of  Logris  miscreate  ; 
Then  Ruddoc  and  proud  Stater,  both  allyes. 
This  of  Albany  newly  nominate. 
And  that  of  Cambry  king  confirmed  late. 
He  overthrew  through  his  owne  valiaunce  , 
Whose  countries  he  redus'd  to  quiet  state. 
And  shortly  brought  to  civile  governaunce. 
Now  one,  which  earst  were  many  made   through 
variaunce. 


Then  made  lie  sacred  lawes,  which  some  men  say 

Were  unto  him  reveald  in  vision  ; 

By  which  he  freed  tlie  travellers  high-way. 

The  churches  part,  and  ploughmans  portion. 

Restraining  stealth  and  strong  extortion  ; 

The  gratious  Numa  of  great  Britany  : 

For,  till  his  dayes,  the  chiefe  dominion 

By  strength  was  wielded  witliout  pollicy  : 

Therefore  he  first  wore  crowne  of  gold  for  dignity 


Donwallo  dyde,  (for  what  may  live  for  ay?) 

And  left  two  sonnes,  of  pearelesse  prowesse  both. 

That  sacked  Rome  too  dearely  did  assay. 

The  recompence  of  their  periured  oth  ; 

And  ransackt  Greece   wel  tryde,  when  they   were 

Besides  subiected  France  and  Germany,        [wroth , 

Which  yet  their  praises  speake,  all  be  they  loth, 

And  inly  tremble  at  the  memory 

Of  Brennus  and  Belinus,  kinges  of  Britany. 


Next  them  did  Gurgunt,  great  Belinus  sonne, 
In  rule  succeede,  and  eke  in  fathers  praise  ; 
He  Easterland  subdewd,  and  Denmarke  wonne. 
And  of  them  both  did  foy  and  tribute  raise, 
The  which  was  dew  in  his  dead  fathers  dales  : 
He  also  gave  to  fugitives  of  Spayne, 
Whom  he  at  sea  found  wandring  from  their  waies, 
A  seate  in  Ireland  safely  to  remayne, 
Which  they  should  hold  of  him  as  subiect  to   Bri- 
tkyne. 

ZLn. 

After  him  raigned  Guitheline  his  hayre, 
Tlie  iustest  man  and  trewest  in  Jiis  daies. 
Who  had  to  wife  Dame  Mertia  the  fayre, 
A  woman  worthy  of  immortal]  praise, 
Which  for  this  realme  found  many  goodly  layes. 
And  wholesome  statutes  to  her  husband  brought : 
Her  many  deemd  to  have  beene  of  the  Fayes, 
As  was  Aegerie  that  Numa  tought : 
Those  yet  of  her  be  Mertian  lawes  both  nam'd  and 
thought. 

TLIII. 

Her  sonne  Sifillus  after  her  did  rayne  ; 

And  then  Kimarus  ;  and  then  Danius  : 

Next  whom  Morindus  did  the  crowne  sustayne  ; 

Who,  had  he  not  with  wrath  outrageous 

And  cruell  rancour  dim'd  his  valorous 

And  mightie  deedes,  should  matched  have  the  best 

As  well  in  that  same  field  victorious 

Against  the  forreine  Morands  he  exprest ; 

\  et  lives  his  memorie,  though  carcase  sleeps  in  rest 


Five  sonnes  he  left  begotten  of  one  wife. 
All  which  successively  by  turnes  did  rayne  : 
First  Gorboman,  a  man  of  virtuous  life  ; 
Next  Archigald,  who  for  his  proud  disdayne 
Deposed  was  from  princedome  soverayne. 
And  pitteous  Elidure  put  in  his  sted  ; 
Who  sliortly  it  to  him  restord  agayne, 
Till  by  his  death  I:e  it  recovered  ; 
But  Peridure  and  Vigent  him  disthronized  : 


I  to 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II 


?n  wretched  prison  lonc^  he  did  remaine, 
rill  they  out-raigaed  had  their  utmost  date, 
And  then  therein  reseized  was  againe, 
And  ruled  long  with  honorable  state, 
Till  he  surrendred  realme  and  life  to  fate. 
Then  all  the  sonnes  of  these  five  brethren  raynd 
By  dew  successe,  and  all  their  nephewes  late  ; 
Even  thrise  eleven  descents  the  crowne  retaynd, 
Till  aged  flely  by  dew  heritage  it  gaynd. 


He  hud  two  sonnes,  whose  eldest,  called  Lud, 

Left  of  his  life  most  famous  memory, 

And  endlesse  moniments  of  his  great  good  : 

The  ruin'd  wals  he  did  retedifve 

Of  Trovnovant,  gainst  force  of  enimy, 

And  built  that  gate  which  of  his  name  is  hight, 

By  wnich  he  iyes  entombed  solemnly  : 

He  left  two  sonnes,  too  young  to  rule  aright. 

Androgens  and  Tenantius,  pictures  of  his  might. 


Whilst  they  were  young,  Cassibalane  their  eme 

Was  by  the  people  chosen  in  their  sled. 

Who  on  him  tooke  the  roiall  diademe, 

And  goodly  well  long  time  it  governed  ; 

Till  the  prowde  Romanes  him  disquieted. 

And  warlike  Cresar,  tempted  with  the  name 

Of  this  sweet  island  never  conquered. 

And  envying  the  Britons  blazed  fame, 

(O  hideous  hunger  of  dominion!)  hether  came. 


Yet  tvcise  they  were  repulsed  backe  againe. 
And  twise  renforst  backe  to  their  ships  to  fly  ; 
The  whiles  with  blood  they  all  the  shore  did  staine, 
And  the  gray  ocean  into  purple  dy  : 
Ne  had  they  footing  found  at  last  perdie. 
Had  not  Androgens,  false  to  native  soyle, 
And  envious  of  uncles  soveraintie, 
Betrayd  his  country  unto  forreine  spoyle. 
Nought  els  but  ti-eason  from  the  first  this  land  did 
foyle ! 

XLIX. 

So  by  him  Cffisar  got  the  victory. 

Through  great  bloodshed  and  many  a  sad  assay, 

In  which  himselfe  was  charged  heavily 

Of  hardy  Nennius,  whom  he  yet  did  slay. 

But  lost  his  sword,  yet  to  be  seene  this  day. 

Thenceforth  this  land  was  tributarie  made 

T'  ambitious  Rome,  and  did  their  rule  obay, 

Till  Arthur  all  that  reckoning  defrayd  : 

Yet  oft  the  Briton  kings  against  them  strongly  swayd. 


Next  him  Tenantius  raignd  ;  then  Kimbeline, 
What  time  th'  Eternall  Lord  in  fleshly  slime 
Enwombed  was,  from  wretched  Adams  line 
To  purge  away  the  guilt  of  sinful  crime. 
O  ioyous  memorie  of  happy  time, 
That  heavenly  grace  so  plenteously  displayd  '. 
O  too  high  ditty  for  my  simj)le  rime  !  — 
Soone  alter  this  the  Romanes  him  warrayd  ; 
For  that  their  tribute  he  refusd  to  let  be  payd. 


Good  Claudius,  that  next  was  emperour, 

An  army  brought,  and  with  him  batteile  fought, 

In  which  the  king  was  by  a  treachetour 

Disguised  slaine,  ere  any  thereof  thought : 

Yet  ceased  not  the  bloody  fight  for  ought : 

For  Arvirage  his  brothers  place  supplyde 

Both  in  his  armes  and  crowne,  and  by  that  draught 

Did  drive  the  Romanes-  to  the  weaker  syde, 

Tnat  they  to  peace  agreed.     So  all  was  pacifyde. 


Was  never  king  more  highly  magnifide. 

Nor  dredd  of  Romanes,  then  was  Arvirage  : 

For  which  the  emperour  to  him  allide 

His  daughter  Genuiss'  in  marriage  : 

Yet  shortly  he  reiiounst  the  vassallage 

Of  Rome  againe,  who  hether  hastly  sent 

^^espasian,  that  with  great  spoile  and  rage 

Forwasted  all,  till  Genuissa  gent 

Persuaded  him  to  ceasse,  and  her  lord  to  relent. 


He  dide  ;  and  him  succeded  Marius, 

Who  ioyd  his  dayes  in  great  tranquillity. 

Then  Coyll  ;  and  after  him  good  Lucius, 

That  first  received  Christianity, 

The  sacred  pledge  of  Christes  Evangely, 

Yet  true  it  is,  that  long  before  that  day 

Hither  came  loseph  of  Arimathy, 

Who  brought  with  him  the  Holy  Grayle,  (they  say.) 

And  preachtthe  truth  ;  but  since  it  greatly  did  decay. 


This  good  king  shortly  without  issew  dide. 
Whereof  great  trouble  in  the  kingdome  grew. 
That  did  herselfe  in  sondry  parts  divide. 
And  with  her  powre  her  owne  selfe  overthrew, 
Whilest  Romanes  daily  did  the  weake  subdew  : 
Which  seeing,  stout  Bunduca  up  arose, 
And  taking  armes  the  Britons  to  her  drew  ; 
With  whom  she  marched  straight  against  lier  foes, 
And  them  unwares  besides  the  Severne  did  enclose. 


There  she  with  them  a  cruell  batteill  tryde. 

Not  with  so  good  successe  as  shee  deserv'd  ; 

By  reason  that  the  captaines  on  her  syde. 

Corrupted  by  Paulinus,  from  her  swerv'd; 

Yet  such,  as  were  through  former  flight  preserv'd, 

Gathering  againe   her  host  she  did  renew. 

And  with  fresh  corago  on  the  victor  servd  : 

But  being  all  defeated,  save  a  kw, 

Rather  than  fly,  or  be  captiv'd  heirselfe  she  slew 


O  famous  moniment  of  womens  prayse ! 

Matchahle  either  to  Semiramis, 

Whom  ;'inti(]ue  history  so  high  doth  rayse, 

Or  to  llyj>siphir,  or  to  Thomiris  : 

Her  host  two  hundred  thousand  numbrcd  is, 

Who,  whiles  good  fortune  favoured  her  might 

'J'riuniplicd  oft  against  her  enemis  ; 

And  yet,  though  overcome  in  haplesse  fight, 

Shee  triumphed  on  death,  in  enemies  despight. 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


Ill 


Her  reliques  Fulgent  having  gathered, 

Fought  with  St'verus,  and  liim  overthrew ; 

Yet  in  the  chace  was  slaine  of  them  that  fled  : 

So  made  them  victors  whome  he  did  subdew. 

Then  gan  Carausius  tirannize  anew, 

And  gainst  the  Romanes  bent  their  proper  powre  ; 

But  Iiim  Allectus  treacherously  slew, 

And  tooke  on  him  the  robe  of  emperoure  ; 

Nath'lesse  the  same  enioyed  but  short  happy  howre. 


For  Asclepiodate  him  <?i'ercame. 

And  left  inglorious  on  the  vanquisht  playne. 

Without  or  robe  or  rag  to  hide  his  shame  : 

Then  afterwards  he  in  his  stead  did  raigne  ; 

But  shortly  was  by  Coyll  in  1  atteill  slaine  : 

Who  after  long  debate,  since  Lucies  tyme, 

Was  of  th-e  Britons  first  crownd  soveraine  : 

Then  gan  this  realme  renew  her  passed  prime  : 

He  of  his  name  Coylchester  built  of  stone  and  lime. 


Which  when  the  Romanes  heard,  they  hether  sent 

Constantius,  a  man  of  mickle  might. 

With  whome  king  CovH  made  an  agreement. 

And  to  him  gave  for  wife  his  daughter  bright, 

Faire  Helena,  the  fairest  living  wight, 

Who  in  all  godly  thewes  and  goodly  praise 

Did  far  excell,  but  was  most  famous  hight 

For  skil  in  musicke  of  all  in  her  daies. 

As  well  in  curious  instruments  as  cunning  laies  : 


Of  whome  he  did  great  Constantine  begett. 

Who  afterward  was  emperour  of  Rome  ; 

To  which  whiles  absent  he  his  mind  did  sett, 

Octavius  here  lept  into  his  roome, 

And  it  usurped  by  unrighteous  doome  : 

But  he  his  title  iustifide  by  might. 

Slaying  Traherne,  and  having  overcome 

The  Roraane  legion  in  dreadfull  fight : 

So  settled  he  his  kingdoine,  and  confirmd  his  right: 


But,  wanting  yssew  male,  his  daughter  deare 

He  gave  in  wedlocke  to  Maximian, 

And  him  with  her  made  of  his  kingdome  heyre, 

Who  soone  b}'  meanes  thereof  the  empire  wan. 

Till  murdred  by  the  freends  of  Ciratian. 

Then  gan  the  Hunnes  and  Picts  invade  this  land. 

During  the  raigne  of  JMaximiiiian  ; 

Who  dying  left  none  heirc-  them  to  withstand : 

But  that  they  oyerran  all  pans  u-ith  easy  hand. 


The  weary  Britons,  whose  war-hable  youth 
Was  by  iNIaximian  lately  ledd  away. 
With  wretched  miseryes  and  woefull  ruth 
Were  to  those  pagans  made  an  open  pray. 
And  daily  spectacle  of  sad  decay  :  [yearea 

Whome  Romane  wanes,  which  now  fowr  hundred 
And  more  had  wasted  could  no  whit  dismay  ; 
Til,  by  consent  of  Commons  and  of  Peares, 
They  crownd  the  second  Constantine  with  iojous 
teares. 


Who  having  oft  in  batteill  vanquished 

Those  spoyiefuU  Picts,  and  swarming  Easterlinfs, 

Long  time  in  peace  his  realme  established, 

Fet  oft  annoyd  with  sondry  bordragings 

Of  neighbour  Scots,  and  forrein  scatterlings 

With  which  the  world  did  in  those  dayes  abound . 

Which  to  outbarre,  with  painefuU  pyonings 

From  sea  to  sea  he  heapt  a  mighty  mound. 

Which  fromAlcluid  to  Panwelt  did  thatborderbo^vnd 


Three  sonnes  he  dying  left,  all  under  age  , 
By  meanes  whereof  their  uncle  A^ortigere 
Usurpt  the  crowne  during  their  pupillage  ; 
Which  th'  infants  tutors  gathering  to  feare, 
Them  closely  into  Armorick  did  beare  : 
For  dread  of  whom,  and  for  those  Picts  annoy es, 
He  sent  to  Germany  straunge  aid  to  reaie  ; 
From  whence  eftsoones  arrived  here  three  hoyes 
Of  Saxons,  whom  he  for  his  safety  imployes. 


Two  brethren  were  their  capitayns,  which  hight 
Hengistand  Horsus,  well  appniv'd  in  warre, 
And  both  of  them  men  of  renowmed  might; 
Who  making  vantage  of  their  civile  iarre. 
And  of  those  forreyners  which  came  from  farre. 
Grew  great,  and  got  large  portions  of  land, 
That  in  the  realme  ere  long  they  stronger  arre 
I'hen  they  which  sought  at  first  their  helping  hand. 
And  Vortiger  enfoist  the  kingdome  to  aband. 


But,  by  the  helpe  of  Vortimere  his  Sonne, 

He  is  agaiiie  unto  his  rule  restord  ; 

And  Hengist,  seeming  sad  for  that  was  donne, 

Received  is  to  grace  and  new  accord. 

Through  his  faire  daughters  face  and  flattring  word 

Soone  after  which,  three  hundred  lords  he  slew 

Of  British  blood,  all  !^itting  at  his  bord  ; 

Whose  dolefull  moniments  who  list  to  rew, 

Th'  eternall  marks  of  treason  may  at  Stonheng  vew. 


By  this  the  sonnes  of  Constantine,  which  fled, 

Ambrose  and  Uther,  did  ripe  yeares  attayne, 

And,  here  arriving,  strongly  challenged 

The  crowne  which  Vortiger  did  long  detayne: 

Who,  flying  from  his  guilt,  bv  them  was  sluyne; 

And  Hengiht  eke  soone  brought  to  shametull  death. 

Thenceforth  Aurelius  peaceably  did  r;ivne, 

Till  that  through  povson  stopped  was  his  breath; 

So  now  entombed  lies  at  Stoiieheng  by  the  heath. 


After  him  Uther,  which  Pendragon  hight, 
Succeeding — There  abruptly  it  did  end. 
Without  full  point,  or  other  cesure  right  ; 
As  if  the  rest  some  wicked  hand  did  rend. 
Or  th'  author  selfe  could  not  at  least  attend 
To  finish  it :  that  so  untimely  breach 
The  prince  himselfe  halfe  seemed  to  oflfend  ; 
Yet  secret  pleasure  did  oflence  empeach. 
And  wonder  of  antiquity  long  sto])t  his  speach. 


112 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boor  II. 


At  last,  quite  ravislit  with  delight  to  heare 

The  royall  ofspring  of  his  native  land, 

Crvde  out ;  "  Deare  countrey  !   O  how  dearely  deare 

Ouo-bt  thy  remembraunce  and  perpetuall  band 

Be°to  thy  foster  child,  that  from  thy  hand 

Did  commun  breath  and  nouriture  receave  ! 

How  brutish  is  it  not  to  understand 

How  much  to  her  we  owe,  that  all  us  gave  ; 

That  gave  auto  us  all  whatever  good  we  have  !" 

LXX. 

But  Guyon  all  this  while  his  books  did  read, 

Ne  yet  has  ended  :  for  it  was  a  great 

And  ample  volume,  tliat  doth  far  excead 

I\Iy  leasure  so  long  leaves  here  to  repeat : 

It  'told  how  first  Prometheus  did  create  ^ 

A  man,  of  many  parts  from  beasts  deryv'd, 

And  then  stole  fire  from  heven  to  animate 

His  worke,  for  which  he  was  by  love  depryv'd 

Of  life  himselfe,  and  bart-strings  of  an  aegle  ry  v'd. 


That  man  so  made  he  called  Elfe,  to  weet 
Quick,  the  first  author  of  all  Elfin  kynd  ; 
Who,  wandring  through  the  world  with  wearie  feet, 
Did  in  tlie  gardins  of  Adonis  fynd 
A  goodly  creature,  whom  he  deemd  in  mynd 
To^be  no  earthly  wight,  but  either  spright, 
Or  angell,  th'  authour  of  all  woman  kynd  ; 
Therefore  a  Fay  he  her  according  bight. 
Of  whom  all  Faryes  spring,  and  fetch  their  lignage 
right. 

LXXII. 

Of  these  a  mighty  people  shortly  grew, 

And  puissant  kinges  which  all  the  world  warrayd. 

And  to  themselves  all  nations  did  subdew  : 

The  first  and  eldest,  wliich  that  scepter  swayd, 

Was  Elfin  ;  him  all  India  obayd. 

And  all  that  now  America  men  call : 

^ext  h'm  was  noble  Elfinan,  who  laid 

Cleopolis  foundation  first  of  all  : 

But  Elliliae  enclosd  it  with  a  golden  wall. 


His  Sonne  was  Elfinell,  wLo  overcame 
The  wicked  Gobbelines  in  bloody  field  ; 
But  Elfant  was  of  most  renowmed  fame. 
Who  all  of  christall  did  Panthea  build  • 
Then  Elfar,  who  two  bretiiren  gyauntes  kild, 
Tlie  one  of  which  had  two  heades,  th'  other  tlirMi 
Then  Elfinor,  who  was  in  magick  skild  ; 
He  built  by  art  upon  the  glassy  see 
A  bridge    of  bras,   whose   sound   hevens  thunder 
seem'd  to  be. 


He  left  three  sonnes,  the  which  in  order  raynd. 

And  all  their  ofspring,  in  their  devi^  descents ; 

Even  seven  hundred  princes,  which  maintaynd 

With  migbtie  deedes  their  sondry  governments  j 

That  were  too  long  their  infinite  contents 

Here  to  record,  ne  much  materiall  : 

Yet  should  they  be  most  famous  moniments, 

And  brave  ensample,  both  of  martiall 

And  civil  rule,  to  kinges  and  states  imperiall. 


After  all  these  Elficleos  did  rayne, 
The  wise  Elficleos  in  great  maiestie, 
Who  mightily  that  scepter  did  sustayne. 
And  with  rich  spoyles  and  famous  victorie 
Did  high  ndvaunce  the  crowne  of  FatJry  : 
He  left  tw  >  sonnes,  of  which  faire  Elferon, 
The  eldest  brother  did  untimely  dy  ; 
Whose  emptie  place  the  migbtie  Oberon 
Doubly  supplide,  in  spousall  and  dominion. 


Great  was  his  power  and  glorie  over  all 
Which,  him  before,  that  sacred  seate  did  till 
That  yet  remaines  his  wide  memoriall : 
He  dying  left  the  fairest  Tanaquill, 
Him  to  succeede  thereun,  by  his  last  will : 
Fairer  and  nobler  liveth  none  this  hovvre, 
Ne  like  in  grace,  ne  like  in  learned  skill  ; 
Therefore  they  Glorian  call  that  glorious  flowre . 
Long  mayst  thou,  Glorian,  live  in  glory  and  grpat 
powre  ! 


LXXVII, 

Beguyld  thus  with  delight  of  novelties. 

And  naturall  desire  of  countryes  state. 

So  long  they  redd  in  those  antiquities, 

That  how  the  time  was  fled  they  quite  forgate ; 

Till  gentle  Alma,  seeing  it  so  late. 

Perforce  their  studies  broke  and  them  besought 

To  tbinke  how  supper  did  them  long  awaite : 

So  belfe  unwilling  from  their  bookes  them  bro-^ght, 

AJid  fayrely  feasted  as  so  noble  knightes  she  ought. 


Ci-VTo  XL] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


113 


CANTO  XI. 


The  enimies  of  Temperaunce 

Besiege  her  dwelling;  place  ; 
Prince  Arthure  them  repelles,  and  fowls 

Maleger  doth  deface. 


What  warre  so  cruel,  or  what  siege  so  sore. 

As  that,  which  strong  Affections  doe  apply 

Against  the  forte  of  Reason  evermore. 

To  bring  the  sowle  into  captivity  ! 

Their  force  is  fiercer  through  infirmity 

Of  the  fraile  flesh,  relenting  to  their  rage  ; 

And  exercise  most  bitter  tyranny 

Upon  the  partes,  brought  into  their  bondage . 

No  wretchednesse  is  like  to  sinfull  vellenage. 


But  in  a  body  which  doth  freely  yeeld 

His  partes  to  Reasons  rule  obedient, 

And  letteth  lier  that  ought  the  scejjter  weeld. 

All  happy  peace  and  goodly  government 

Is  setled  there  in  sure  establishment. 

There  Alma,  like  a  Virgin  Queene  most  bright, 

Doth  florish  in  all  beautie  excellent  ; 

And  to  her  guestes  doth  bounteous  banket  dight, 

Attempred  goodly  well  for  health  and  for  delight. 


Early,  before  the  mome  with  cremosin  ray 
The  windowes  of  bright  heaven  opened  had, 
Through  which  into  the  world  the  dawning  day 
Might  looke,  that  maketh  every  creature  glad. 
Uprose  Sir  Guyon  in  bright  armour  clad, 
And  to  his  purposd  iourney  him  prepar'd  : 
With  him  the  palmer  eke  in  habit  sad 
Himselfe  addrest  to  that  adventure  hard  : 
So  to  the  rivers  syde  they  both  together  far'd : 


Them  in  twelve  troupes  their  captein  did  dispart, 
And  round  about  in  fittest  steades  did  place, 
Where  each  might  best  offend  his  proper  part. 
And  his  contrary  obiect  most  deface. 
As  every  one  seem'd  meetest  in  that  cace. 
Seven  of  the  name  against  the  castle-gate 
In  strong  entrenchments  he  did  closely  place. 
Which  with  incessaunt  force  and  endlesse  hate 
They  battred  day  and  night,  and  entrauncedid  awate. 


The  other  five  five  sondry  wayes  he  sett 

Against  the  five  great  bulwarkes  of  that  pyle, 

And  unto  each  a  bulwarke  did  arrett, 

T'  assayle  with  open  force  or  hidden  guyle, 

In  hope  thereof  to  win  victorious  spoile. 

They  all  that  charge  did  fervently  apply 

With  greedie  malice  and  importune  toyle, 

And  planted  there  their  huge  artillery, 

With  which  they  dayly  made  most  dreadfull  batterv 


The  first  troupe  was  a  monstrous  rablement 

Of  fowle  misshapen  wightes,  of  which  some  were 

Headed  like  owles,  with  beckes  uncomely  bent ; 

Others  like  dogs  ;  others  like  grj^hons  dreare  ; 

And  some  had  wings,  and  some  had  clawes  to  teare: 

And  every  one  of  them  had  IjTices  eyes  ; 

And  every  one  did  bow  and  arrowes  beare: 

All  those  were  lawless  Lustes,  and  corrupt  Envyes, 

And  covetous  Aspects,  all  cruel  enimyes. 


Where  them  awaited  ready  at  the  ford 

The  Ferriman,  as  Alma  had  behight, 

With  his  well-rigged  bote  :  they  goe  abord. 

And  he  eftsoones  gan  launch  his  barke  fortliright. 

Ere  long  they  rowed  were  quite  out  of  sight. 

And  fast  the  land  behynd  them  fled  away. 

But  let  them  pas,  whiles  winde  and  wether  right 

Doe  serve  their  tumes :  here  I  a  while  must  stay. 

To  see  a  cruell  fight  doen  by  the  Prince  this  day. 


For,  all  so  soone  as  Guyon  thence  was  gon 

Upon  his  voyage  with  his  trustie  guyde. 

That  wicked  band  of  villeins  fresh  begon 

That  castle  to  assaile  on  every  side, 

And  lay  strong  siege  about  it  far  and  wyde. 

So  huge  and  infinite  their  numbers  were. 

That  all  the  land  they  under  them  did  hyde  ; 

So  fowle  and  ugly,  that  exceeding  feare 

Their  visages  imprest,  when  they  approuhed  neare. 


Those  same  against  the  bulwarke  of  the  Sight 

Did  lay  strong  siege  and  battailous  asssult, 

Ne  once  did  yield  it  respitt  day  nor  night ; 

But  soone  as  Titan  gan  his  head  exault, 

And  soone  againe  as  he  his  light  withhault. 

Their  wicked  engins  they  against  it  bent ; 

That  is,  each  thing  by  which  the  eyes  may  fault  • 

But  two  then  all  more  huge  and  violent, 

Beautie  and  Money,  they  that  bulwarke  sorely  rent. 


The  second  bulwarke  was  the  Hearing  Sence, 
Gainst  which  the  second  troupe  dessignment  makes, 
Deformed  creatures,  in  straunge  difference  : 
Some  having  heads  like  harts,  some  like  to  snakes. 
Some  like  wild  bores  late  rouzd  out  of  the  brakes  : 
Slaunderous  Reproches,  and  fowle  Infamies, 
Leasinges,  Backbytinges,  and  vain-glorious  Crakes, 
Bad  Counsels,  Prayses,  and  false  Flatteries  : 
All  those  aprainst  that  fort  did  bend  their  batteries. 


lU 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  11. 


Likewise  that  same  third  fort,  that  is  the  Smell, 

Of  tliat  third  troupe  was  cruelly  assayd  ; 

Whose  hideous  shapes  were  like  to  feendes  of  hell, 

Some  like  to  houndes,  some  like  to  apes,  dismayd; 

Some,  like  to  puttockes,  all  in  plumes  arayd ; 

All  shnp't  according  their  conditions  : 

For,  bv  those  ugly  formes,  weren  pourtrayd 

Foolish  Delights  and  fond  Abusions, 

Which  doe  that  sence  besiege  with  fond  illusions. 


And  that  tourth  band  which  cruell  battry  bent 

Against  the  fourth  bulwarke,  that  is  the  Taste, 

Was  as  the  rest,  a  grysie  rablement ; 

Some  mouth'd  like  greedy  oystriges  ;  some  faste 

Like  loathly  toades ;  some  fashioned  in  the  waste 

Like  swine :  for  so  deformd  is  Luxury, 

Surfeat,  Misdiet,  and  unthriftie  Waste, 

Vaine  Feastes,  and  ydle  Superfluity: 

All  those  this  sences  fort  assayle  incessantly. 


But  the  fift  troupe,  most  horrible  of  hew 

And  ferce  of  force,  is  dreadfull  to  report ; 

For  some  like  snailes,  some  did  like  spyders  shew, 

And  some  like  ugly  urchins  thick  and  short : 

Cruelly  they  assayled  that  fift  fort. 

Armed  with  dartes  of  sensuall  Delight, 

AV'ith  sfinges  of  carnall  Lust,  and  strong  effort 

Of  feeling  Pleasures,  with  which  day  and  night 

Against  that  same  fift  Bulwarke  they  continued  fight. 


Thus  these  twelve  troupes  with  dreadfull  puissaunce 
A  gainst  that  castle  restlesse  siege  did  lay, 
Aud  evermore  their  hideous  ordinaunce 
Upon  the  bulwarkes  cruelly  did  play. 
That  now  it  gan  to  threaten  neare  decay: 
And  evennore  their  wicked  capitayn 
Provoked  them  the  breaches  to  assay, 
Sometimes  with  tlireats,  sometimes  with  hope  of  gay. 
Which  bv  the  ransack  of  that  peece  they  should  at- 
tayn. 

On  th'  other  syde,  th'  assieged  castles  ward 
Their  steadfast  stonds  did  mightily  maintaine, 
And  many  bold  repulse  and  many  hard 
Atchievement  wrought,  with  peril!  and  with  payne, 
That  goodly  frame  from  ruine  to  sustaine : 
And  tiiose  two  brethren  gyauntes  did  defend 
'J'he  walles  so  stoutly  with  their  sturdie  mayne. 
That  never  entraunce  any  durst  pretend, 
But  tliey  to  direfuU  death  their  gioning  ghosts  did 
send. 


The  noble  virgin,  ladie  of  the  place. 

Was  much  dismayed  with  that  dreadful  sight, 

(For  never  was  she  in  so  evill  cace,) 

Till  that  the  prince,  seeing  her  wofull  plight, 

•Gan  her  recomfort  from  so  sad  afl'right, 

OS'ring  his  service  and  his  dearest  life 

For  her  defence  against  that  carle  to  fight, 

V\  Inch  was  their  chiefe  and  th'  author  of  that  strife- 

She  him  remercied  as  the  patrone  of  her  life. 


Eftsoones  himselfe  in  glitterand  armes  he  dight, 

And  his  well  proved  weapons  to  him  hent ; 

So  taking  courteous  conge,  be  behight 

Those  gates  to  he  unbar'd,  and  forth  he  went. 

Fayre  mote  he  thee,  the  prowest  and  most  gent, 

That  ever  brandished  bright  Steele  on  hye  ! 

Whom  soone  as  that  unruly  rablement 

Wim  nis  gay  squyre  issewing  did  espye, 

They  reard  a  most  outrageous  dreadfull  yelling  cry  ; 


And  therewithal!  attonce  at  him  let  fly 
Their  fluttring  arrowes,  thicke  as  flakes  of  snow, 
And  round  about  him  flocke  impetuously, 
Like  a  great  water-flood,  tliat  tombling  low 
From  the  high  mouiitaines,  threates  to  overflow 
With  suddein  fury  all  the  fertile  playne, 
And  the  sad  husbandmaiis  long  hope  doth  throw 
Adowne  tlie  streame,  and  all  his  vowes  make  vayne , 
Nor  bounds  nor  banks  his  headlong  ruine  may  sus- 
tayne. 

XIX. 

Upon  his  shield  their  heaped  liayle  he  bore. 

And  with  his  sword  disperst  the  raskall  flockes, 

Which  fled  asonder,  and  him  fell  before; 

As  withered  leaves  drop  from  their  dryed  stockes, 

When  the  wroth  western  wind  does  reave  their  locks. 

And  underneath  him  his  courageous  steed. 

The  fierce  Spuraador,  trode  them  down  like  docks  , 

The  fierce  Spumador  borne  of  heavenlie  seed  ; 

Such  as  Laomedan  of  Phoibus  race  did  breed. 


Which  suddeine  horrour  and  confused  cry 
When  as  their  capteine  heard,  in  haste  he  yode 
The  cause  to  weet,  and  fault  to  remedy : 
Upon  a  tygre  swift  and  fierce  he  rode, 
That  as  Uif)  winde  ran  underneath  his  lode, 
Whiles  his  long  legs  nigh  raught  unto  the  ground  : 
Full  large  he  was  of  limbe,  and  shoulder^  brode  ; 
But  of  such  subtile  substance  and  unsound. 
That  like  a  ghost  he  seem'd  whose  grave-clothes  were 
unbound : 


And  in  his  hand  a  bended  bow  was  seene. 
And  many  arrowes  under  his  right  side. 
All  deadly  daungerous,  all  cruell  keene. 
Headed  with  flint,  and  fethers  bloody  dide  ; 
Such  as  tlie  Indians  in  their  ([uivers  hide  : 
Those  could  he  well  direct  and  streight  as  line. 
And  bid  them  strike  the  marke  wliich  he  had  eyde ; 
Ne  was  there  salve,  ne  was  there  medicine. 
That  mote   recure  then-  woundes;  so  inly  they  did 
tine. 


As  pale  and  wan  as  ashes  was  his  looke; 
His  body  leane  and  meagre  as  a  rake; 
And  skin  all  witliered  like  a  dryed  rooko; 
Tliereto  as  cold  and  drery  as  a  snake; 
That  seemd  to  tremble  evermore  and  quake : 
All  in  a  canvas  thin  he  was  bedight, 
And  girded  with  a  belt  of  twisted  brake: 
Upon  Ids  head  he  wore  an  helmet  light, 
IMade  of  a  dead  mans  skull,  that  seemd  a  ghastly 
sight: 


Canto  XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


115 


Mulep;'er  was  his  name  :  and  after  him 
Tnere  tbllow'd  fast  at  liand  two  wicked  has;'s, 
With  hoary  lockes  all  loose,  and  visage  grim  ; 
Their  feet  unshod,  their  hodies  wrapt  in  i"ags, 
And  both  as  swift  on  foot  as  chased  stags  ; 
And  yet  the  one  her  other  legge  had  lame, 
Which  witli  a  stafte  all  full  of  litle  snags 
She  did  support,  and  Impotence  her  name  : 
But  th'  other  was    Impatience  armd   with   raging 
flame. 


Soone  as  tlie  carle  from  far  the  prince  espyde 
Glistring  in  armes  and  warlike  ornament, 
His  beast  he  felly  prickt  on  either  syde, 
And  his  mischievous  bow  full  readie  bent. 
With  which  at  him  a  cruell  shaft  he  sent : 
But  he  was  warie,  and  it  warded  well 
Upon  his  shield,  that  it  no  further  went. 
But  to  the  ground  the  idle  quarrell  fell : 
Then  he  another  and  another  did  expell. 


Which  to  prevent,  the  prince  his  mortall  speare 

Soone  to  hira  raught,  and  fierce  at  him  did  ride, 

To  be  avenged  of  that  shot  whyleare  : 

But  he  was  not  so  hardy  to  abide 

That  bitter  stownd,  but,  turning  quicke  aside 

His  light-foot  beast,  fled  fast  away  for  feare  , 

Whom  to  poursue,  the  Infant  after  hide 

So  fast  as  his  good  courser  could  him  beare : 

But  labour  lost  it  was  to  weene  approch  him  neare. 


Far  as  the  winged  wind  his  tigre  fled, 
That  vew  of  eye  could  scarse  him  overtake, 
Ne  scarse  his  feet  on  ground  were  seene  to  tred  ; 
Through  hils  and  dales  he  speedy  way  did  make, 
Ne  hedge  ne  ditch  his  readie  passage  brake, 
And  in  his  flight  the  villeine  turn'd  his  face, 
(As  wonts  the  Tartar  by  the  Caspian  lake, 
Whenas  the  Russian  him  in  fight  does  chace,) 
Unto  his  tygres  taile,  and  shot  at  him  apace. 


Apace  he  shot,  artd  yet  he  fled  apace. 
Still  as  the  greedy  knight  nigh  to  him  drew ; 
And  oftentimes  he  would  relent  his  pace. 
That  him  his  foe  more  fiercely  should  poursew  : 
But,  when  his  uncouth  monner  he  did  vew. 
He  gan  avize  to  follow  him  no  more. 
But  keepe  his  standing,  and  his  shaftes  eschew, 
Untill  he  quite  had  spent  his  perlous  store. 
And  then  assayle  hira  fresh,  ere  he  could  shift  for 
more. 


But  that  lame  hag,  still  as  abroad  he  strew 
His  wicked  arrowes,  gathered  them  againe, 
And  to  him  brought,  fresh  batteill  to  renew  ; 
Which  he  espying  cast  her  to  restraine 
From  yielding  succour  to  that  cursed  swaine. 
And  her  attaching  thouglit  her  hands  to  tye  ; 
But,  soone  as  him  dismounted  on  the  plaine 
That  other  bag  did  far  away  espye 
Bmding  her  sister,  she  to  him  ran  hastily  ; 


And  catching  hold  of  him,  as  downe  he  lent. 
Him  backewarde  overthrew,  and  downe  him  stayd 
Witli  their  rude  handes  and  gryesly  graplemeut  ; 
Till  that  the  villein,  comming  to  their  ayd, 
Upon  him  fell,  and  lode  upon  him  layd  • 
Full  litle  wanted,  but  he  had  him  slaine, 
And  of  the  battell  balefull  end  had  made. 
Had  not  his  gentle  squire  beheld  his  paine, 
And  commen  to  his  reskew  ere  his  bitter  bane. 


So  greatest  and  most  glorious  thing  on  ground 
May  often  need  the  lielpe  of  weaker  hand ; 
So  feeble  is  mans  state,  and  life  unsound. 
That  in  assuraunce  it  may  never  stand, 
Till  it  dissolved  be  from  earthly  band  ! 
Proofe  be  thou,  prince,  the  pro  west  man  alvve, 
And  noblest  borne  of  all  in  Briton  land  ; 
Yet  thee  fierce  Fortune  did  so  nearely  drive. 
That,  had  not  Grace  thee  blest,  thou  shouldest  not 
survive. 

XXX.. 

The  squyre  arriving,  fiercely  in  his  armes 

Snatcht  first  the  one,  and  then  the  other  jade. 

His  chiefest  letts  and  authors  of  his  harmes, 

And  them  perforce  withheld  with  threatned  blade. 

Least  that  his  lord  they  should  behinde  invade  ; 

The  whiles  the  prince,  prickt  with  reprocliful  shame. 

As  one  awakte  out  of  long  slombring  shade, 

Revivyng  thought  of  glory  and  of  fame, 

United  all  his  powres  to  purge  himselfe  from  blame. 

xxxir. 

Like  as  a  fire,  the  which  in  hollow  cave 

Hath  long  bene  underkept  and  down  supprest, 

AVith  murmurous  disdayne  doth  inly  rave, 

And  grudge,  in  so  streight  prison  to  be  prest. 

At  last  breakes  forth  with  furious  unrest. 

And  strives  to  mount  unto  his  native  seat; 

All  that  did  earst  it  hinder  and  molest, 

Yt  now  devoures  with  flames  and  scorching  heat. 

And  carries  into  smoake  with  rage  and  hon'or  great, 


So  mightely  the  Briton  prince  him  rouzd 
Out  of  his  holde,  and  broke  his  cavtive  bands  ; 
And  as  a  beare,  whom  angry  curres  have  touzd. 
Having  ofF-shakt  them  and  escapt  their  hands. 
Becomes  more  fell,  and  all  that  him  withstands 
Treads  down  and  overthrowes.       Now  had  the  carle 
Alighted  from  his  tigre,  and  his  hands 
Discharged  of  his  bow  and  deadly  quar'le, 
To  seize  upon  his  foe  flatt  lying  on  the  marie. 


Which  now  him  tumd  to  disavantage  deare  •, 
For  neither  can  he  fly,  nor  other  harme. 
But  trust  unto  his  strength  and  manhood  meare, 
Sitli  now  he  is  far  from  his  monstrous  swanne. 
And  of  his  weapons  did  himselfe  disarme. 
The  knight  yet  wrothfuU  for  his  late  disgrace. 
Fiercely  advaunst  his  valorous  right  arme, 
And  him  so  sore  smott  with  his  vron  mace. 
That  groveling    to  the  ground   he  fell,  and   fild  his 
place.  I  2 


116 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II 


We\  weened  hee  tliat  field  was  then  his  owne, 
And  all  liis  labor  brought  to  happy  end  ; 
When  suddein  up  the  villeme  overthron-ne 
Out  of  his  swowne  arose,  fresh  to  contend, 
And  gan  himselfe  to  second  battaill  bend, 
As  hurt  he  had  not  beene.     Thereby  there  lay 
An  huge  great  stone,  which  stood  upon  one  end, 
And  had  not  bene  removed  many  a  day : 
Some  land-marke  seemd  to  bee,  or  signe  of  sundry 
way: 

XXXVI. 

The  same  he  snatcht,  and  with  exceeding  sway 
Threw  at  his  foe,  who  was  right  well  aware 
To  shonne  the  engine  of  his  meant  decay  ; 
It  booted  not  to  thinke  that  throw  to  beare. 
But  grownd  he  gave,  and  lightly  lept  areare  ; 
Eft  fierce  retourning,  as  a  foulcon  fayre. 
That  once  hath  failed  of  her  souse  full  neare, 
Remounts  againe  into  the  open  ayre. 
And  unto  better  fortune  doth  herselfe  prepayre  : 


So  brave  retourning,  with  his  brandisht  blade, 
He  to  the  carle  himselfe  agayn  addrest, 
And  strooke  at  him  so  stemely,  that  he  made 
An  open  passage  through  his  riven  brest. 
That  halfe  the  Steele  behind  his  backe  did  rest ; 
Which  drawing  backe,  he  looked  evermore 
When  the  hart  blood  should  gush  out  of  his  chest. 
Or  his  dead  corse  should  fall  upon  the  flore  ; 
But  his  dead  corse  upon  the  flore  fell  nathtimore  : 

XXXVIII. 

Ne  drop  of  blood  appeared  shed  to  bee, 

All  were  the  wownd  so  wide  and  wonderous 

That  through  his  carcas  one  might  playnly  see. 

Halfe  in  amaze  with  horror  hideous, 

And  halfe  in  rage  to  be  deluded  thus. 

Again  through  both  the  sides  he  strooke  him  quight, 

Tliat  mi.de  his  spright  to  grone  full  piteous  ; 

Yet  nathemore  forth  fled  his  groning  spright. 

But  freshly,  as  at  first,  prepard  himselfe  to  fight. 


Thereat  he  smitten  was  with  great  aff"right, 

And  trembling  terror  did  his  hart  appall ; 

Ne  wist  he  wliat  to  thinke  of  tliat  same  sight, 

ZV  e  what  to  say,  ne  what  to  doe  at  all  : 

He  doubted  least  it  were  some  magicall 

Illusion  that  did  beguile  his  sense. 

Or  wanilring  gliost  tliat  wanted  funerall. 

Or  aery  spirite  under  false  pretence. 

Or  hellish  feend  raysd  up  through  divelish  science. 


His  wonder  far  exceeded  reasons  reach. 
That  he  began  to  doubt  his  dazeled  sight. 
And  oft  of  error  did  himselfe  appeach; 
Flesh  without  blood,  a  [lerson  witliout  spright, 
Wounds  without  hurt,  a  body  without  miglit. 
That  could  doe  harme,  yet  could  not  harmed  bee. 
That  could  not  die,  yet  seemd  a  niortall  wight. 
That  was  most  strong  in  most  infinuitoe  ; 
lAke  did  he  never  heare,  like  did  he  never  see. 


Awhile  he  stood  in  this  astonishment. 

Yet  would  he  not  for  all  his  great  dismay 

Give  over  to  eflect  his  first  intent, 

And  th'  utmost  meanes  of  victory  assay. 

Or  th'  utmost  yssew  of  his  owne  decay. 

His  owne  good  sword  RI  ordure,  that  never  fayld 

At  need  till  now,  he  lightly  threw  away. 

And  his  bright  shield  that  nought  him  now  avayld^ 

And  with  his  naked  hands  him  forcibly  assay  Id. 


Twixt  his  two  mighty  armes  him  up  he  snatcht, 

And  crusht  his  carcas  so  against  his  brest, 

That  the  disdainfull  sowle  he  thence  dispatcht. 

And  th'  ydle  breath  all  utterly  exprest : 

Tho,  when  he  felt  him  dead,  adowne  he  kest 

The  lumpish  corse  unto  the  sencelesse  grownd  ; 

Adowne  he  kest  it  with  so  puissant  wrest, 

That  backe  againe  it  did  alofte  rebownd. 

And  gave  against  his  mother  Earth  a  gronefuU  sownd. 


As  when  loves  harnesse-bearing  bird  from  hye 
Stoupes  at  a  flying  heron  with  proud  disdayne. 
The  stone-dead  quarrey  falls  so  forciblye. 
That  yt  rebownds  against  the  lowly  playne, 
A  second  fall  redoubling  backe  agayne. 
Then  thought  the  prince  all  peril  sure  was  past, 
And  that  he  victor  onely  did  remayne ; 
No  sooner  thought,  then  that  the  carle  as  fast 
Gan  heap  huge  strokes  on  him,  as  ere  he  down  was 
cast. 


Nigh  his  wits  end  then  woxe  th'  amazed  knight. 
And  tliought  his  labor  lost,  and  travcll  vayne. 
Against  this  lifelesse  shadow  so  to  fight : 
Yet  life  he  saw,  and  felt  his  mighty  luayne, 
That,  whiles  he  marveild  still,  did  still  him  payne; 
Forthy  he  gan  some  other  wayes  advize. 
How  to  take  life  from  that  dead-living  awayne. 
Whom  still  he  marked  freshly  to  arize 
Froui  th'  earth,  and  from  Ifer  womb  new  spirits  to 
reprize. 

XLV. 

He  then  remembred  wdl,  that  had  bene  sayd. 

How  th'  Earth  his  mother  was,  and  first  him  bore; 

She  eke,  so  often  as  his  life  decayd. 

Did  life  with  usury  to  him  restore. 

And  reysd  him  up  much  stronger  than  before, 

So  soone  as  he  unto  her  wombe  did  fall : 

Therefore  to  grownd  he  would  him  cast  no  more, 

Ne  liiin  committ  to  grave  terrestriall. 

But  beare  him  farre  from  hope  of  succour  usuall. 


Tho  up  he  caught  him  twixt  his  puissant  hands, 
And  having  scruzd  out  of  his  carrion  corse 
The  lotlifuU  life,  now  loosd  from  sinfull  bands, 
Upon  his  shoulders  carried  him  perforse 
Above  three  furlongs,  taking  his  full  course. 
Until  lie  came  unto  a  standing  lake  : 
Him  tliereinto  he  threw  without  remorse, 
Ne  stinl,  till  hope  of  life  did  him  forsake  : 
So  end  of  tliat  carles  dayes  and  his  owne  paynes  did 
make. 


Canto  XII.] 


TflE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


117 


XLVII. 

Which  when  those  vcickul  hao-s  from  far  did  spye, 
Like  two  mad  dogs  they  ran  about  the  lands ; 
And  th'  one  of  them  witli  (h-eadfuU  yt-Uino-  crye, 
Throwing-  awaye  her  l)ruken  chaines  and  bands, 
And  having  quencht  her  binning-  fier-brands, 
Hedlong-  herselfe  did  cast  into  tliat  lake; 
But  Impotence  witli  her  owne  wilfull  hands 
One  of  Malegers  curbed  dunes  did  take, 
So  ryv'd  her  trembling  hart,  and  wicked  end  did  make. 


Thus  now  alone  he  conqueror  remaines : 

'I'ho,  cumming  to  his  squyre  that  kept  his  steed, 

Thought  to  have  mounted;  but  his  feeble  vaines 

Him  faild  thereto  and  served  not  his  need,      [bleed 

Through  losse  of  blood  wliich  from  his  wounds  did 

'i'hat  he  began  to  faint,  and  life  decay : 

But  his  good  stpiyre,  him  helping  up  with  speed, 

With  stedfast  hand  upon  his  horse  did  stay, 

And  led  Lim  to  the  castle  by  the  beaten  way. 


\^'here  many  groomes  and  squiers  ready  were 

To  take  him  from  his  steed  full  tenderly  ; 

And  eke  the  faviest  Alma  mett  him  there 

With  balrae,  and  wine,  and  costly  spicery, 

To  comfort  him  in  his  infirmity : 

Eftsoones  she  causd  him  up  to  be  convayd, 

And  of  his  annes  despoyled  easily 

In  sumptuous  bed  shee  made  him  to  be  l-ayd  ; 

And,  al  the  while  his  wounds  were  dressing,  by  him  stayd. 


CANTO    XII. 

Guvon  by  palmers  governaunce, 
Passing  ti'.rough  perilles  great. 

Doth  overthrow  the  Bowre  of  Blis, 
And  Acrasy  defeat. 


Now  g-innes  that  goodly  frame  of  Temperaunce 
Fayrely  to  rise,  and  her  adorned  lied 
To  pricke  of  highest  pravse  fortli  to  advaunce. 
Formerly  grounded  and  fast  setteled 
On  firmc  foundation  of  true  bountyhed  : 
And  this  brave  knight,  that  for  this  vertue  fightes, 
Now  comes  to  point  of  that  same  perilous  sted. 
Where  Pleasure  dwelles  in  sensuall  delights, 
MoDgst  thousand  dangers  and  ten  thousand  magick 
mights. 


Two  daves  now  in  that  sea  he  savled  has, 

Ne  ever  land  beheld,  rie  living  wight, 

Ne  ought  save  perill,  siill  as  lie  did  pas  : 

Tho,  when  appeared  the  tliird  morrow  bright 

Upon  the  waves  to  sprt-d  her  trrmbling  light, 

An  hideous  roaring  far  away  they  heard. 

That  all  their  sences  filled  with  aft'right ; 

And  streight  they  saw  the  i-agiiig  surges  reard 

Up  to  the  skyes,  that  them  of  drownmg  made  atleard. 


Said  then  the  boteman,  "  Palmer,  stere"  aright 

And  keepe  an  even  course  ;   for  yonder  way 

We  needes  must  pas  ((iod  doe  us  well  aciiuight!) 

Tliat  is  the  Gulfe  cf  Gnedinesse,  they  say, 

That  deepe  engorgeth  ail  this  worldes  pray; 

Which  having  swallowd  uji  excessively, 

He  soone  in  vomit  up  againe  doth  1-ay, 

And  belcheth  forth  his  supi  rtiuity, 

That  all  the  seas  for  tea  re  doe  seeme  away  to  fly. 


"  On  th'  other  syde  an  hideous  rock  is  pight 
Of  mightie  magnes  stone,  whose  craggie  clift 
Depending  from  on  high,  dreadfull  to  sight, 
Over  the  waves  his  rugged  annes  doth  lift, 
And  thre-atneth  downe  to  throw  his  ragged  rift 
On  whoso  Cometh  nigh  :  yet  nigh  it  drawes 
All  passengers,  th-at  none  from  it  can  shift: 
For,  whiles  they  fly  that  gulfe's  devouring  iawes, 
They  on   the  rock  are  rent,  and  sunck  in  helple9 
wawes." 


Forward  they  passe,  and  strongly  he  them  rowes, 
I'ntdl  they  nigh  unto  that  gulfe  arryve, 
\\'here  streame  more  violent  and  greedy  growes: 
Then  he  with  all  his  puisaunce  doth  stryve 
To  strike  his  oares,  and  mightily  doth  dryve 
The  hollow  vessell  through  the  threatfull  wave; 
Which,  gaping  wide  to  swallow  them  alyve 
In  th'  huge  abysse  of  his  engulfing  grave. 
Doth  rore  at  them  in  vaine,  and  with  gre-at  terrour 
rave. 

VI. 

They,  passing  by,  that  grisely  mouth  did  see 
Sucking  the  seas  into  his  entr-alles  deepe. 
That  seemd  more  hoi-rible  than  hell  to  bee, 
Or  that  darke  dreadfull  hole  of  Tartai-e  steepe 
Through  which  the  damned  ghosts  doen  often  erf  i 
J5acke  to  the  world,  bad  livers  to  torment: 
But  nought  that  falles  into  this  direfuU  deepe, 
Ne  that  approclieih  nigh  tlie  wyde  descent, 
]\lay  backe  retourne,  but  is  condemned  to  be  drent 


118 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  II. 


On  th'  other  side  they  saw  that  perilous  rocke, 

Tlireatning-  itselfe  on  them  to  ruinute, 

On  whose  sharp  cliftes  the  rihs  of  vessels  broke ; 

And  shivered  ships,  which  had  beene  wrecked  late, 

Yet  stuck  with  carcases  exanimate 

Of  such,  as  having  all  their  substance  spent 

In  wanton  ioves  and  lusles  intemperate. 

Did  afterwardes  make  shipwrack  violent 

Both  of  their  life  and  fame  for  ever  fowly  blent. 


Forthy  this  hight  the  Rock  of  vile  Reproch, 

A  daungerous  and  detestable  place, 

To  which  nor  fish  nor  fowle  did  once  approch, 

But  yelling  raeawes,  with  seagulles,  hoars,  and  bace, 

And  cormoyraunts,  with  birds  of  ravenous  race, 

AVhich  still  sat  wayting  on  that  wastfuU  clift 

For  spoile  of  wretches,  wliose  unhappy  cace. 

After  lost  credit  and  consumed  thrift. 

At  last  them  driven  hath  to  this  despairefuU  drift. 


The  palmer,  seeing  them  in  safetie  past. 

Thus  saide :  "  Behold  th'  ensamples  in  our  siglites 

Of  lustfull  luxurie  and  thriftlesse  wast  ! 

What  now  is  left  of  miserable  wightes, 

Which  spent  their  looser  daies  in  lend  delightes. 

But  sliame  and  sad  reproch,  here  to  be  red 

By  these  rent  reliques  speaking  their  ill-plightes  ! 

Let  all  that  live  hereby  be  counselled 

To  shunne  Hock  of  Reproch,  and  it  as  death  to  dread !" 


So  fortli  they  rowed  ;  and  that  ferryman 

With  his  stiffe  oares  did  brush  the  sea  so  strong, 

That  the  hoare  waters  from  his  frigot  ran. 

And  tl.'e  light  bnbles  daunced  nil  along. 

Whiles  the  salt  brine  out  of  the  biHovves  sprong. 

At  last,  far  off,  they  many  islandes  spy 

On  every  side  floting  the  floodes  emong  : 

Then  said  the  knight  ;  "  Lo  !   I  the  land  descry  ; 

Therefore,  old  syre,  thy  course  doe  thereunto  ajtply. 


"  Tliat  may  not  bee,"  said  then  the  ferryman, 
"  Least  wee  unweeting  hap  to  he  fjrdoiine  : 
For  those  same  islands,  seeming  now  and  than, 
Are  not  firme  land,  nor  any  certein  wonne, 
But  stragling  plots,  which  to  and  fro  doe  ronne 
In  the  wide  waters  :  thererefore  are  they  hight 
The  Wandring  Islands  :  therefore  doe  them  shonne  ; 
For  they  liave  oft  drawne  many  a  wandring  wight 
Into  most  deadly  daunger  and  distressed  plight. 


"  Yet  well  they  seeme  to  him,  that  farre  doth  vew. 

Both  faire  and  fiuitfull,  and  the  grownd  dispred 

With  grassy  greene  of  delectable  hew  ; 

And  ihe  tall  trees  with  leaves  apjjareled 

Are  deckt  with  blossoms  dyde  in  whit(!  and  red, 

That  mote  the  passengers  i hereto  allure  ; 

But  whosoever  once  hath  fastened 

His  foot  thereon,  may  never  it  recure, 

But  wandreth  evermore  uncertein  and  unsure, 


•  As  th'  isle  of  Delos  whylome,  men  report. 
Amid  th'  Aega^an  sea  long  time  did  stray, 
Ne  made  for  shipping  anv  certeine  port. 
Till  that  Latona  traveiling  that  way, 
Flying  from  lunoes  wnith  and  hard  assay. 
Of-  her  fayre  twins  was  there  delivered. 
Which  afterwards  did  rule  the  night  and  da 
Thenceforth  it  rirmely  was  established, 
And  for  Apolloes  temple  highly  berried." 


They  to  him  hearken,  as  beseemeth  meete  ; 
And  ]iasse  on  forward  :  so  their  way  does  Iv, 
That  one  of  those  same  islands,  which  doe  fleet 
In  the  wide  sea,  they  ueedes  must  passen  by. 
Which  seemd  so  sweet  and  pleasaunt  to  the  eye. 
That  it  would  tempt  a  man  to  touchen  there  ; 
Upon  the  banck  they  sitting  did  espy 
A  daintie  damsell  dressing  of  her  heare. 
By  whom  a  little  skippet  lioting  did  appeai'e. 


She  them  espying,  loud  to  them  gan  call. 

Bidding  them  nigher  draw  unto  the  shore. 

For  she  had  cause  to  busie  them  withall ; 

And  therewith  lowdly  laught  •  but  natlit'more 

Would  they  once  turne,  but  kept  on  as  afore  : 

Which  when  she  saw,  she  left  her  lockes  undight. 

And  running  to  her  boat  withouten  ore. 

From  the  departing  land  it  launched  light, 

And  after  them  did  drive  with  all  her  power  and  might. 


Whom  overtaking,  she  in  merry  sort 

Them  gan  to  bord,  and  purpose  diversly  ; 

Now  faining  dalliaunce  and  wanton  sport, 

Now  throwing  forth  lewd  wordes  immodestly; 

Till  that  the  palmer  gan  i'ull  bitterly 

Her  to  rebuke,  for  being  loose  and  light  : 

W  hich  not  abiding,  but  more  scornfully 

Scoffing  at  him  that  did  her  iustly  wite. 

She  turnd  her  bote  about,  and  from  them  rowed  quitfe 


That  was  the  wanton  Phadria,  which  late 

Did  ft-riy  him  over  the  Idle  Lake  : 

Whom  nought  regarding  they  kept  on  their  gate. 

And  all  her  vaine  allurements  did  forsake ; 

VVlien  them  the  wary  boteman  thus  bespake ; 

"  Here  now  behoveth  us  well  to  avyse. 

And  of  our  safety  good  heede  to  take  ; 

For  here  before  a  perlous  passage  lyes. 

Where  many  mermayds  haunt,  making  false  melodies 


"  But  by  the  way  there  is  ;i  great  quicksand. 
And  a  whirlepoole  of  hidden  leopard v  ; 
Tlicrefore,  Sir  Palmer,  keejie  an  even  hand  ; 
For  tvvixt  tht  m  both  the  narrow  wav  doth  ly." 
Scarse  had  he  saide,  when  hard  at  hand  they  spy, 
That  (piicksand  nigh  with  water  covered  ; 
But  by  the  checked  wave  they  did  descry 
It  j)laine,  and  by  the  sea  di.-coloured  : 
It  called  was    the  Quickesand  of  Unthriftyhed. 


CiiNTO    XII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


119 


They,  passing  by,  a  goodly  ship  did  see 

Laden  from  far  with  precious  mercliandize, 

And  bravely  furnished  as  ship  might  bee. 

Which  through  great  disaventure,  or  mesprize, 

Herselfe  had  ronne  into  that  hazardize  ; 

^Vhose  mariners  and  merchants  with  much  toyle 

Labour'd  in  vaine  to  have  recur'd  their  prize, 

And  the  rich  wares  to  save  from  pitteous  spoyle  ; 

But  neither  toyle  nor  traveill  might  herbackt  recoyle. 


On  th'  other  side  they  see  that  perilous  poole, 

I'liat  called  was  the  Whirlepoole  of  Decay  ; 

In  which  full  many  had  with  haplesse  doole 

BeeHe  suncke,  of  whom  no  memorie  did  stay  : 

\Miose  circled  waters  rapt  with  whirling  sway. 

Like  to  a  restlesse  wheele,  still  ronning  round, 

Did  covet,  as  they  passed  by  that  way. 

To  draw  their  bote  within  the  utmost  bound 

Of  his  wide  labyrinth,  and  then  to  have  them  dround. 


But  th'  heedful  boteman  strongly  forth  did  stretch 

His  brawnie  armes,  and  all  his  bodie  straine, 

That  th'  utmost  sandy  breach  they  shortly  fetch. 

Whiles  the  dredd  daunger  does  behind  remaine. 

Suddeine  they  see  from  midst  of  all  the  maine 

The  surging  waters  like  a  mountaiiie  rise 

And  the  great  sea,  puft  up  with  proud  disdaine, 

To  swell  above  the  measure  of  his  guise. 

As  threatning  to  devoure  all  that  his  powre  despise. 


The  waves  come  rolling,  and  the  billowes  rore 

Outragiously,  as  they  enraged  were, 

Or  wrathfull  Neptune  did  them  drive  before 

His  whirling  charet  for  exceeding  feare  ; 

For  not  one  pufFe  of  winde  there  did  appeare  ; 

That  all  the  three  thereat  woxe  much  afrayd, 

Unweeting  what  such  horrour  straunge  did  reare. 

Eftsoones  they  saw  an  hideous  boast  arrayd 

Of  huge  sea-monsters,  such  as  living  sencedismayd  ; 


Most  ugly  shapes  and  horrible  aspects. 
Such  as  dame  Nature  selfe  mote  feare  to  see, 
Or  shame,  that  ever  should  so  fowle  defects 
From  her  most  cunning  hand  escaped  bee  : 
All  dreadfuU  pourtraicts  of  deformitee  : 
Spring-headed  hydres  ;  and  sea-shouldring  wliales  ; 
Great  whirlpooles,  which  all  fishes  make  to  flee  ; 
Bright  scolopendraes  arm'd  with  silver  scales  ; 
Mighty  monoceros  with  immeasured  tayles ; 


The  dreadful  fish,  that  hath  deserv'dthe  name 
Of  Death,  and  like  him  lookes  in  dreadfull  hew  ; 
The  griesly  wa'-serman,  that  makes  his  game 
The  flying  ships  with  swiftnes  to  pursew  ; 
The  horrible  sea-satyre,  that  doth  shew 
His  fearefull  face  in  time  of  greatest  storme  ; 
Huge  zitfius,  whom  mariners  eschew 
No  lesse  then  rockes,  as  travellers  informe  ; 
And  greedy  rosmarines  with  visages  deforme : 


All  these,  and  thousand  thousands  many  more. 
And  more  deformed  monsters  thousand  fold, 
W^ith  dreadfull  noise  and  hollow  rombling  rore 
Came  rushing,  in  the  fomy  waves  enrold 
Which  seem'd  to  fly  for  feare  tliem  to  behold  : 
Ne  wonder,  if  these  did  the  knight  appall  ; 
For  all  that  here  on  earth  we  dreadfull  hold. 
Be  but  as  bugs  to  fearen  babes  wirhall, 
Compared  to  the  creatures  in  the  seas  entrall. 


"  Feare  nought,"  then  saide  the  palmer  well  aviz'l, 

"  For  these  same  monsters  are  not  these  in  deed. 

But  are  into  these  fearefull  shapes  disguiz'd 

B}''  that  same  wicked  witch,  to  worke  us  dreed. 

And  draw  from  on  this  iourney  to  proceed." 

Tho,  lifting  up  his  vertuous  staffe  on  bye. 

He  smote  the  sea,  which  calmed  was  with  speed, 

And  all  that  dreadfull  armie  fast  gan  flye 

Into  great  Tethys  bosome,  where  they  hidden  iye. 


Quit  from  that  danger  forth  their  course  they  kept ; 

And  as  they  went  they  heard  a  ruefuU  cry 

Of  one  that  wayld  and  pittii'uUy  wept, 

That  through  the  sea  th'  resounding  plaints  did  fly . 

At  last  they  in  an  island  did  espy 

A  seemely  maiden,  sitting  by  the  sh;)re. 

That  witli  great  sorrow  and  sad  agony 

Seemed  some  great  misfortune  to  deplore, 

And  lowd  to  them  for  succour  called  evermore. 


Which  Guyon  hearing,  streight  his  palmer  bad 

To  stere  the  bote  towaras  that  dolefull  mayd, 

That  he  might  know  and  ease  Iier  sorrow  sad  • 

Who,  him  avizing  better,  to  him  sayd  ;    . 

"  Faire  sir,  be  not  displeasd  if  disobayd  : 

For  ill  it  were  to  hearken  to  her  cry  ; 

For  she  is  inly  nothing  ill  apayd  ; 

But  onely  womanish  tine  forgery, 

Your  stuhborne  hart  t'aff'ect  with  fraile  infirmity 


"  To  which  when  she  your  courage  hath  inclind 
Through  foolish  pitty,  then  her  guilefull  bayt 
She  will  embosome  deeper  in  your  mind, 
And  for  your  ruine  at  the  last  awayt." 
The  knight  was  ruled,  and  the  boteman  stray t 
Held  on  his  course  with  stayed  stedfastnesse, 
Ne  ever  shroncke,  ne  ever  sought  to  bayt 
His  tyred  armes  for  toylesome  wearinesse  ; 
But  with  his  oares  did  sweepe  the  watry  wilder- 
nesse. 


And  now  they  nigh  approched  to  the  sted 
Whereas  those  mermayds  dwelt :  it  was  a  siill 
And  calm3r  bay,  on  th'  one  side  sheltered 
With  the  brode  sliadow  of  an  hoarie  hill ; 
On  th'  other  side  an  high  i-ocke  toured  still, 
That  twixt  them  botli  a  pleasaunt  port  they  made. 
And  did  like  an  halfe  theatre  fulfill : 
There  those  five  sisters  bad  continuall  trade, 
Andusd  to  bath  themselves  in  that  deceiptfuU  sbsda 


120 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Booz  II. 


Tbpy  were  faire  ladies,  till  tliey  fondly  striv'd 
AVith  th*  Heliconian  Maides  for  maystei y  ; 
Of  whom  they  over-comen  were  depriv'd 
Of  their  proud  beautie,  and  tli'  one  moyity 
Transforin'd  to  fish  for  their  bold  surquedry  ; 
But  th'  upper  halfe  their  hew  retayned  still. 
And  their  sweet  skill  in  wonted  melody ; 
Which  ever  after  they  abusd  to  ill, 
T'  allure  weake  traveillers,  whom   gotten  they  did 
kill. 


So  now  to  Guyon,  as  be  passed  by, 
Their  pleasaunt  tunes  they  sweetly  thus  ajiplyde ; 
"  O  thou  fayre  sonne  of  gentle  Fat'ry, 
That  art  in  mi^litie  armes  most  majnifyde 
Above  all  knights  that  ever  batteil  tryde, 
O  turne  thy  rudder  hetherward  awhile  : 
Here  may  thy  storrae-bett  vessel  1  safely  ryde ; 
This  is  the  port  of  rest  from  troublous  toyle. 
The  worlds  sweet  in  from  paine  and  wearisome  tur- 
moyle." 


With  that  the  rolling  sea,  resounding  soft. 

In  his  big  base  them  titly  answered  ; 

And  on  the  rocke  the  waves  breaking  aloft 

A  solemne  meane  unto  them  measured  ; 

The  whiles  sweet  Zephyrus  lowd  whisteled 

His  treble,  a  straunge  kinde  of  harmony  ; 

Which  Guyons  senses  softly  tickeled, 

That  he  the  boteman  bad  row  easily. 

And  let  him  heare  some  part  of  their  rare  melody. 


But  liim  the  palmer  from  that  vanity 

With  temperate  advice  discounselled, 

That  they  it  j)ast,  and  shortly  gan  descry 

The  land  to  which  tlieir  course  tliey  levelled ; 

When  suddeinly  a  grosse  fog  over  spred 

With  his  dull  vapour  all  that  desert  has. 

And  heavens  chearefuU  face  enveloped, 

That  all  things  one,  and  one  as  nothing  was, 

And  this  great  universe  seerad  one  confused  mas. 


Thereat  they  greatly  were  dismayd,  ne  wist 

IIov.'  to  (iiivct  theyr  way  in  darkenes  wide, 

But  feard  to  wander  in  that  wasteful!  mist. 

For  tonibling  into  mischiefe  unespyde  : 

Worse  is  the  daunger  hidden  then  descride. 

Suddeinly  an  innumerable  (light 

Of  harmefuU  fowles  about  them  fluttering  cride, 

And  with  their  wicked  wings  tliem  ofte  did  smight, 

And  sore  annoyed,  groping  in  that  griesly  night. 

XXXVI. 

Even  all  tho  nation  of  unfortunate 

A  id  fatall  birds  about  tiieni  flocked  were, 

Si  ch  a«  by  nature  men  abliorre  and  liate  ; 

T..e  ill-fasle  owle,  deaths  dreadfull  messengere ; 

The  hoars  night-raven,  trump  of  dolefull  drere  j 

Tile  lether-winged  baft,  dayes  eniiny  ; 

The  ruefull  strich,  still  waiting  on  the  here  ; 

The  whistler  shrill,  tliat  wlioso  heares  doth  dy ; 

The  hellish  harpyes,  prophets  of  sad  destiny: 


All  those,  and  all  that  els  does  horror  breed, 
About  them  flew,  and  iild  their  sayles  with  feare  : 
Yet  stayd  they  not,  but  forward  did  proceed, 
Whiles  th'  one  did  row,  and  th'  other  stifly  steare ; 
Till  that  at  last  the  weather  gan  to  cleare, 
And  the  fiiire  land  itselfe  did  playnly  show. 
Said  then  the  palmer  ;  "  Lo  !  where  does  appeare 
The  sacred  soile  where  all  our  perills  grow  ! 
Therefore,  Sir  Knight,  your  ready  arms  about  you 
throw." 


He  hearkned,  and  his  armes  about  him  tooke. 

The  whiles  the  nimb'e  bote  so  well  her  sped. 

That  with  her  crookod  keele  the  land  she  strooke : 

Then  forth  the  noble  Guyon  sallied. 

And  his  sage  palmer  that  him  governed; 

But  th'  other  by  his  bote  behind  did  stay. 

They  marched  fayrlv  forth,  of  nought  ydred, 

Both  firmely  annd  for  every  hard  assay, 

With  constancy  and  care,  gainst  daunger  and  dismay. 


Ere  long  they  lieard  an  hideous  bellowing 

Of  many  beasts,  that  roard  outrageously. 

As  if  that  hungers  poynt  or  Venus  sting 

Had  them  enraged  with  fell  surquedry  ; 

Vet  nought  they  feard,  but  past  on  hardily, 

Untill  they  came  in  vew  of  those  wilde  beasts. 

Who  all  attonce,  gaping  full  greedily. 

And  rearing  fercely  th.-ir  upstaring  crests. 

Ran  towards  to  devour  those  unexpected  guests. 


But,  soone  as  tliey  approcht  with  deadly  threat, 
The  palmer  over  them  his  stafl'e  upheld. 
His  mighty  staffe,  that  could  all  charmes  defeat : 
Eftsoones  tlieir  stubborne  corages  weie  queld. 
And  high  advaunced  crests  downe  meekely  feld  j 
Instead  of  fraying  they  themselves  did  feare. 
And  trembled,  as  them  jiassing  they  beheld  : 
Such  wondrous  powre  did  in  that  staft'e  appeare. 
All  monsters  to  subdevv  to  him  that  did  it  beare 


Of  that  same  wood  it  fram'd  was  cunningly. 
Of  which  Caducciis  whilome  was  made, 
Caduciius,  the  rod  ot  ]\Iercury, 
\Vith  which  he  wonts  the  Stygian  realmes  invade 
Through  ghastly  horror  and  eternall  shade  ; 
Th'  iiifernall  feends  with  it  he  can  asswage. 
And  Orcus  tame,  uhome  nothing  can  ])ersuade. 
And  rule  the  Furyes  when  they  most  doe  rage; 
Such  vertue  m  his  staffe  h.id  eke  this  palmer  sag« 


Tlience  passing  forth,  they  shortly  doe  arryvo 
Whereas  the  Bovvre  of  Bliss  was  situate  ; 
A  j)lace  ])ickt  out  by  choyce  of  best  alyve, 
That  natures  worke  by  art  can  imitate  : 
In  which  whatever  in  tliis  worldly  state 
Is  sweeii'  and  pleasing  unto  living  sense, 
Or  that  niav  dayiitest  fantasy  aggrate, 
Was  poured  forth  with  plcntifull  dispence, 
And  made  there  to  abound  v/ilh  lavish  affluencu. 


Canto  XII.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


121 


Goodly  it  was  enclosed  rownd  about, 

As  well  their  entred  guestes  to  keep  vfitliin. 

As  those  unrul}-  beasts  to  hold  without ; 

Yet  was  the  fence  thereof  but  weake  and  thin  ; 

Nought  feard  their  force,  that  fortilage  to  win, 

But  Wisedomes  powre,  and  Temperaunces  might, 

By  which  the  mightiest  things  eft'orced  bin  : 

And  eke  the  gate  was  wrought  of  substaunce  light, 

Rather  for  pleasure  then  for  battery  or  fight. 


Yt  framed  was  of  precious  y^ory. 
That  seemd  a  worke  of  admirable  witt  ; 
And  therein  all  the  famous  history 
Of  lason  and  ^leda-a  was  ywritt ; 
Her  mighty  churmes.  her  furious  loving-  fitt; 
His  goodlv  conquest  of  th-  golden  tleece. 
His  falsed  fayth,  and  love  too  lightly  Uitt; 
The  wondied  Avgo,  which  in  venturous  peece 
First  throu^h  the  Euxiue  seas  bore  all  the  flowr  of 
Greece. 


Ye  miglit  liave  seen  'he  frothy  billowes  fry 
I'nder  the  sliip  as  thorouL,h  them  she  went, 
1  hat  seenid  the  waves  were  into  yvory. 
Or  yvory  into  ti.e  wuves  were  sent  , 
And  otherwhere  the  snowy  substaunce  sprent 
With  vermeil,  like  tlie  boyes  blood  therein  shed, 
A  piteous  spectacle  did  represent ; 
And  otherwliiles  with  gold  besprinkeled 
Yt  seemed  tb'  enchaunted  flame,  which  did  Creusa 
wed. 


All  this  and  more  might  in  that  goodly  gate 

Be  red,  that  ever  open  stood  to  all 

Wliich  thether  came :  but  in  tlie  porcli  there  sate 

A  comely  personage  of  stature  tall, 

And  semblaunce  pleasing,  more  then  natural!, 

That  travellers  to  him  seemd  to  entize  ; 

His  looser  garment  to  the  ground  did  foil, 

And  flew  about  his  heeles  in  wanton  wize, 

Not  fitt  for  speedy  pace  or  manly  exercize. 


They  in  that  place  him  Genius  did  call : 

Not  that  celestiall  Powre,  to  whom  the  care 

Of  life,  and  generation  of  all 

That  lives,  perteines  in  charge  particulare. 

Who  wondrous  things  concerning  our  welfare. 

And  straunge  phantomes,  doth  lett  us  ofte  foresee. 

And  ofte  of  secret  ills  bids  us  beware  : 

That  is  our  Selfe,  whom  though  we  do  not  see. 

Yet  each  doth  in  himselfe  it  well  perceive  to  bee  : 


Therefore  a  god  him  sage  Antiquity 

Did  wisely  make,  and  good  Agdistes  call ; 

But  this  same  was  to  that  quite  contrary. 

The  foe  of  life,  that  good  envyes  to  all. 

That  secretly  doth  us  procure  to  fall  [see : 

Through   guilefull  semblants,   which  he  makes  us 

He  of  this  gardin  had  the  govtmall, 

And  Pleasures  jiorter  was  devizd  to  bee. 

Holding  a  staffe  in  hand  for  more  fonnalitee. 


With  diverse  flowr^s  he  daintily  was  deckt, 
And  strowed  rownd  about  ;  and  by  his  side 
A  mighty  mazer  bowle  of  wine  was  sett. 
As  if  it  had  to  him  bene  sacrifide  ; 
Wherewith  all  new-come  guests  he  gratyfide  : 
So  did  he  eke  Sir  Guyon  passing  by ; 
But  he  his  ydle  curtesie  defide, 
And  overthi'ew  his  bowle  disdainfully, 
And  broke  his  staft'e,  with  which  he  charmed  sem- 
blants sly. 


Thus  being  entred  they  behold  arownd 
A  large  and  spacious  phiine,  on  every  side 
Strowed  with  pleasauns  ;  whose  fayre  grassy  grownd 
Mantled  with  greene,  and  goodly  beautitide 
With  all  the  ornaments  of  Floraes  pride. 
Wherewith  her  mother  Art,  as  halfe  in  scorne 
Of  niggard  Nature,  like  a  pompous  bride 
Did  decke  her,  and  too  lavishly  adonie, 
^Vhen    forth   from   virgin   bowre    she   comes  in  th 
early  monie. 


Thereto  the  hevens  alwayes  joviall 
Lookte  on  them  lovely,  still  in  stedfaste  state, 
Ne  suflfred  storme  nor  frost  on  them  to  fall. 
Their  tender  buds  or  leaves  to  violate: 
Nor  scorching  heat,  nor  cold  intemperate, 
T'  afflict  the  creatures  which  therein  did  dwell;    ' 
But  the  milde  ayre  with  season  moderate 
Gently  attempred,  and  disposd  so  well, 
That  still  it  breathed  forth  sweet  spirit  and  holesom 
smell : 


More  sweet  and  liolesome  then  the  pleasaunt  hill 

Of  Rhodope,  on  which  (he  nymphe,  that  bore 

A  gyaunt  babe,  her^elfe  for  griefe  did  kill  ; 

Or  the  Thessalian  Tempe,  wliere  of  yore 

Fayre  Daphne  Phtt'bus  hart  with  love  did  gore; 

Or  Ida,  where  the  gods  lov'd  to  repayre. 

Whenever  they  tht  ir  h^  venly  bowres  forlore  ; 

Or  sweet  Parnasse  the  haunt  of  muses  fayre  : 

Or  Eden  selfe,  if  ought  with  Eden  mote  compayre. 


Much  wondred  Guyon  at  the  fayre  aspect 

Of  that  sweet  ])lace',  yet  sufl'red  no  delight 

To  sincke  into  his  seiice  nor  mind  afl'ect ; 

But  passed  forth,  and  lookt  still  forward  right, 

Brydling  his  will  and  maystering  his  might: 

Till  that  he  came  unto  another  gate  ; 

No  gale,  but  like  one,  being  goodly  diglit 

Witii  bowes  and  braunches,  which  did  broad  dilate 

Their  claspin-  armes  in  wanton  wreathings  intricate 


So  fashioned  a  porch  with  rare  device. 

Archt  over  head  with  an  embracing  vine, 

W  hose  bounches  hanging  downe  seenid  to  entica 

All  passers-by  to  taste  their  lushious  wine. 

And  did  themselves  into  their  hands  incline. 

As  ireely  offering  to  be  gathered  ; 

Some  deepe  en;purpled  as  the  hyacine. 

Some  as  the  riibine  laughing  sweetely  red, 

Some  like  faire  emeraudes,  not  yet  well  ripened: 


122 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


And  them  amongst  some  were  of  burnisht  gold, 
So  made  by  art  to  beautify  the  rest, 
Which  did  themselves  emongst  the  leaves  enfold. 
As  lurking  from  the  vew  of  covetous  guest, 
That  the  weake  boughes  with  so  rich  load  opprest 
Did  bow  adowne  as  overburdened. 
Under  that  porch  a  comely  dame  did  rest 
Clad  in  fayre  weedes  but  fowle  disordered, 
\nd  gamients  loose  Uiat  seemd  unmeet  for  woman- 
iied: 


In  lier  left  hand  a  cup  of  gold  she  held. 

And  with  her  right  the  riper  fruit  did  reach, 

\Vhose  sappy  liquor,  that  with  fulnesse  sweld, 

Into  her  cup  she  scruzd  with  daintie  breach 

Of  her  fine  fingers,  without  fowle  empeach. 

That  so  taire  winepresse  made  the  wine  more  sweet : 

Thereof  she  usd  to  give  to  drinke  to  each, 

Whom  passing  by  she  happened  to  meet: 

It  was  her  guise  all  straungers  goodly  so  to  greet. 


So  she  to  Guy  on  offred  it  to  tast ; 

\Vho,  taking  it  out  of  her  tender  bond. 

The  cup  to  ground  did  violently  cast, 

That  all  in  peeces  it  was  broken  fond, 

And  with  the  liquor  stained  all  the  lond : 

Whereat  Excesse  exceedingly  was  wroth. 

Yet  no'te  the  same  amend,  ne  yet  withstond, 

But  suffered  him  to  passe,  all  were  she  loth  ; 

Who,  nought  regarding  her  displeasure,  forward  goth. 


There  the  most  daintie  paradise  on  ground 

Itselfe  doth  offer  to  his  sober  eye. 

In  wliich  all  pleasures  plenteously  abownd, 

And  none  does  others  happinesse  envye ; 

The  painted  flowres ;  the  trees  upshooting  bye ; 

The  dales  for  shade ;  the  hilles  for  breathing  space ; 

The  trembling  groves  ;  the  christall  running  by ; 

And,  that  which  all  faire  workes  doth  most  aggrace, 

The  art,  which  all  that  wrought,  appeared  in  no  place. 


One  would  have  thought,  (so  cunningly  the  rude 

And  scorned  partes  were  mingled  with  the  fine,) 

That  Nature  had  for  wantonesse  ensude 

Art,  and  tliat  Art  at  Nature  did  repine ; 

So  striving  each  th'  other  to  undermine, 

Each  did  the  otliers  worke  more  beautify; 

So  diTriiig  botli  in  willes agreed  in  fine: 

So  all  agreed,  through  sweete  diversity, 

This  gardin  to  adorne  with  all  variety. 


And  in  the  midst  of  all  a  fountaine  stood, 

Of  richest  substance  that  on  earth  might  bee, 

So  pure  and  shiny  that  the  silver  flood 

Through  every  channell  running  one  might  see ; 

Most  goodly  it  with  curious  ymageree 

"VVas  over-wroufiht,  and  shapes  of  naked  boyes, 

Of  wliich  some  seemd  with  lively  iollitee 

io  fly  about,  j)laying  their  wanton  toycs, 

tVhylest  others  did  themselves  embay  in  liquid  ioyes. 


And  over  all  of  purest  gold  was  spred 
A  trayle  of  y  vie  in  his  native  hew  ; 
For  tiie  rich  metall  was  so  coloured. 
That  wight,  who  did  not  well  avis'd  it  vevr, 
W^ould  surely  deeme  it  to  bee  yvie  trew  : 
Low  his  lascivious  amies  adown  did  creepe, 
That  themselves  dipping  in  the  silver  dew 
Their  fleecy  flowres  they  fearefully  did  steepe. 
Which  drops  of  christall  seemd  for   wantones   to 
weep. 

ixn. 

Infinit  streames  continually  did  well 
Out  of  this  fountaine,  sweete  and  fairs  to  see. 
The  which  into  an  ample  laver  fell. 
And  shortly  grew  to  so  great  quantitie, 
That  like  a  litle  lake  it  seemd  to  bee  ; 
Whose  depth  exceeded  not  three  cubits  bight. 
That  through  the  waves  one  might  the  bottom  see, 
All  pav'd  beneath  vs-ith  jaspar  shining  bright, 
That  seemd  the  fountaine  in  that  sea  did  sayle  up- 
right. 


And  all  the  margent  round  about  was  sett 
With  shady  laurell  trees,  thence  to  defend 
The  sunny  beames  which  on  the  billowes  bett, 
And  those  which  therein  bathed  mote  oftend. 
As  Guyon  hapned  by  the  same  to  wend. 
Two  naked  damzelles  he  therein  espyde. 
Which  therein  bathing  seemed  to  contend 
And  wrestle  wantonly,  ne  car'd  to  hyde 
Their  dainty  partes  from  vew  of  any  which  them 
eyd. 

LXIV. 

Sometimes  the  one  would  lift  the  other  quight 

Above  the  waters,  and  then  downe  againe 

Her  plong,  as  over-maystered  by  might, 

Where  both  awhile  would  covered  remaine, 

And  each  the  other  from  to  rise  restraine ; 

The  whiles  their  snowy  limbes,  as  through  a  vele. 

So  through  the  christall  waves  appeared  jilaine: 

Then  suddeinly  both  would  themselves  unhele. 

And  th'  amorous  sweet  spoiles  to  greedy  eyes  revele. 


As  that  faire  starre,  the  messenger  of  morne, 

His  deawy  face  out  of  the  sea  doth  reare: 

Or  as  the  Cyprian  goddesse,  newly  borne 

Ofth'  ocean's  fruitful!  frotli,  did  first  appeare: 

Such  seemed  thev,  and  so  their  yellow  heare 

Christalline  humor  drojiped  downe  ajiace. 

Whom  such  when  Guyon  saw,  lie  drew  him  neare, 

And  somewhat  gan  relent  his  earnest  ])ace; 

His  stubborne  brest  gan  secret  pleasaunce  to  embrace. 


The  wanton  maidens  him  espying,  stood 

Gazing  awhile  at  his  imwoiited  guise ; 

Then  th'  one  herselfe  low  ducked  in  tiie  flood, 

Abasht  that  lier  a  straunger  did  avise  : 

I3ut  th'  other  ralher  higher  did  arise, 

And  her  two  lilly  pajis  aloft  dis{)layd. 

And  all,  that  might  his  melting  hait  entyse 

To  her  delights,  she  unto  him  bewrayd  ; 

The  rest,  hidd  underneath,  him  more  desirous  made. 


Can-to  XI.] 


THE  FAERTE  QUEENE. 


123 


With  that  the  other  likewise  up  arose, 

Ami  her  faire  lockes,  which  foimerly  were  bownd 

Tp  in  one  knott,  she  low  adowue  did  lose, 

^^  hich  flowing  long  and  thick  jier  cloth'd  arownd, 

And  th'  worie  in  golden  mantle  gowud  : 

So  that  faire  spectacle  from  him  was  reft, 

Vet  tliat  which  reft  it  no  lesse  faire  was  fownd  : 

So  hidd  in  lockes  and  waves  from  lookers  theft, 

IN'  ought  but  her  lovely  face  she  for  his  looking  left. 


Withall  she  laughed,  and  she  blusht  withall, 
That  blushing  to  her  laughter  gave  more  grace, 
And  laughter  to  her  blushing,  as  did  fall. 
Now  when  they  spyde  the  knight  to  slacke  his  pace 
Them  to  behold,  and  in  his  sparkling  face 
The  secrete  signes  of  kindled  lust  appeare. 
Their  wanton  merriments  they  did  encreace, 
And  to  him  beckned  to  approch  more  neare, 
And  shewd  him  many  sights  that  corage  cold  could 
reare  : 


On  which  when  gazing  him  the  palmer  saw, 

He  much  rebukt  those  wandring  eyes  of  his. 

And  counseld  well  him  forward  thence  did  draw. 

Now  are  they  come  nigh  to  the  Bowre  of  Blis, 

Of  her  fond  favorites  so  nam'd  amis  ; 

When  thus  the  palmer  ;  "  Now,  sir,  well  avise  ; 

For  here  the  end  of  all  our  traveill  is  : 

Here  wonnes  Acrasia,  whom  we  must  surprise, 

Els  she  will  slip  away,  and  all  our  drift  despise." 


Eftsoones  thev  heard  a  most  melodious  sound. 
Of  all  that  mote  delight  a  daintie  eare, 
Such  as  attonce  might  not  ou  living  ground. 
Save  in  this  paradise,  be  heard  elsewhere  : 
Right  hard  it  was  for  wight  which  did  it  heare. 
To  read  what  manner  musicke  that  mote  bee  ; 
For  all  that  pleasing  is  to  living  eare 
Was  there  consorted  in  one  harmonee  ; 
Birdes,    voices,    instruments,   windes,    waters,   all 
agrree : 


The  ioyous  birdes,  shrouded  in  chearefull  shade, 
ITieir  notes  unto  the  voice  attempred  sweet ; 
Th'  angelicall  soft  trembling  voyces  made 
To  th'  instruments  di\'ine  respondence  meet; 
The  silver-sounding  instruments  did  meet 
With  the  base  murmure  of  the  waters  fall ; 
The  waters  fall  with  difference  discreet, 
Now  soft,  now  loud,  unto  the  wind  did  call ; 
The  gentle  warbling  wind  low  answered  to  all. 


There,  whence  that  musick  seemed  heard  to  bee 

Was  the  faire  witch  herselfe  now  solacino- 

With  a  new  lover,  whom,  through  sorceree 

And  witchcraft,  she  from  farre  did  thether  brino- : 

There  she  had  him  now  laid  a  slomberino- 

In  secret  shade  after  long  wanton  ioyes  ; 

Whilst  round  about  them  pleasauntly  did  sine 

Many  faire  ladies  and  lascivious  boyes, 

That  ever  mixt  their  song  with  light  licentious  toyes. 


And  all  that  while  right  over  him  she  hong' 

With  her  false  eyes  fast  fixed  in  his  siglit, 

As  seeking  medicine  whence  she  was  st'onff. 

Or  greedily  depasturing  delight  ; 

And  oft  inclining  downe  with  kisses  light. 

For  feare  of  waking  him,  his  lips  bedewd. 

And  through  his  humid  eyes  did  sucke  his  spiight. 

Quite  molten  into  lust  and  pleai-ure  lewd; 

Wherewith  she  sighed  soft,  as  if  his  case  she  rewd. 


The  whiles  some  one  did  chaunt  this  lovely  lay  ; 

Ah!  see,  whoso fayre  thing  doestfaine  to  see. 

In  springing  Jioure  Ute  image  of  thy  day  ! 

Ah  !  see  the  virgin  rose,  how  sweetly  shee 

Dothjirst  peepefoorth  witlt  bushfull  modestee. 

That  fairer  seemes  the  lesse  ye  see  her  may  ! 

Lo  !  see,  soone  ajter  how  more  hold  and  free 

Her  bared  bosome  she  doth  broad  display  ; 

Lo  !  see  soone  after  how  she  fades  and  falls  away  ! 


So  passeth,  in  the  passing  of  a  day, 

Of  mortall  life  the  leafe,  the  hud',  iheflowre; 

Ke  more  dothforish  after  first  decay. 

That  earst  was  sought  to  deck  both  bed  and  bowre 

Of  many  a  lady,  and  many  a  paramoure  ! 

Gather  therefore  the  rose  u:J}ilest  yet  is  prime, 

For  soone  comes  age  that  will  her  pride  defiowre  : 

Gather  the  rose  of  lore  luhilest  yet  is  time, 

Whilest  loving  thou  mayst  loved  be  with  equall  crime. 

LXXVI. 

He  ceast;  and  then  gan  all  the  quire  of  birdes 

Their  diverse  notes  t'attune  unto  his  lay. 

As  in  approvaunce  of  his  pleasing  wordes. 

The  constant  payre  heard  all  that 'he  did  say. 

Yet  swarved  not,  but  kept  their  forward  way 

Through  many  covert  groves  and  thickets  close, 

In  which  they  creeping  did  at  last  display 

That  wanton  lady,  with  her  lover  lose. 

Whose  sleepie  head  she  in  her  lap  did  soft  dispose. 


Upon  a  bed  of  roses  she  was  layd. 

As  faint  through  heat,  or  dight  to  pleasant  sin  ; 

And  was  arayd,  or  rather  disarayd. 

All  in  a  vela  of  silke  and  silver  tliin, 

That  hid  no  whit  her  alablaster  skin, 

But  rather  shewd  more  white,  if  more  might  bee : 

More  subtile  web  Arachne  cannot  spin  ; 

Nor  the  fine  nets,  which  oft  we  woven  see 

Of  scorched  deaw,  do  not  in  th'ayre  more  lightly  flee. 


Her  snowy  brest  was  bare  to  ready  spoyle 
Of  hungry  eies,  which  n'ote  therewith'be  fild  ; 
And  yet,  through  languour  of  her  late  sweet  toyle. 
Few  drops,  more  cleare  then  nectar,  forth  distild. 
That  like  pure  orient  perles  adowne  it  trild  ; 
And  her  faire  eyes,  sweet  smyling  in  delight, 
Moystened  their  fierie  beames,  with  which  she  thr 
Fraile  harts,  yet  quenclied  not ;  like  starry  light. 
Which,  sparckling  on  the  silent  waves,  does^soema 
more  bright. 


124 


niE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II. 


The  3-outig:  man,  sleeping-  by  lier,  seemd  to  be 
Some  s;oodly  swaviie  of  lionora])le  place ; 
Tliat  certes  it  great  pittv  was  to  see 
Him  his  nobility  so  fowle  deface  : 
A  sweet  regard  and  amiable  grace, 
Mixed  with  manly  sternesse,  did  appeare, 
Yet  sleejiing,  in  his  well-proportiond  face ; 
And  on  his  tender  lips  the  downy  heare 
Did  not  but  freshly  spring,    and  silken   blossoms 
beare. 


His  warlike  armes,  the  ydle  instruments 
Of  sleeping  praise,  were  hong  upon  a  tree  : 
And  his  brave  shield,  full  of  old  moniments, 
Was  fowly  rns't,  that  none  the  signes  might  see; 
Ne  for  them  ne  for  honour  cared  hee, 
Ne  ought  that  did  to  his  advauncement  tend  ; 
But  in  lewd  loves,  and  wastfull  luxuree, 
His  dayes,  his  goods,  his  bodie  he  did  spend  : 
O  horrible  enchantment,  that  him  so  did  blend  ! 


The  noble  elfe  and  carefull  palmer  drew 
So  nigh  them,  minding  nought  but  lustful!  game, 
That  suddein  forth  they  on  them  rusht,  and  threw 
A  subtile  net,  which  only  for  that  same 
The  skilfull  palmer  formally  did  frame : 
So  held  them  under  fast ;  the  whiles  the  rest 
Fled  all  away  for  feare  of  fowler  shame. 
The  faire  enchauntresse,  so  unwares  opprest, 
Tryde  all  her  arts  and  all  her  sleights  thence  out  to 
wrest ; 


And  eke  her  lover  strove  ;  but  all  in  vaine  : 

For  that  same  net  so  cunningly  was  wound, 

That  neither  guile  nor  force  might  it  distraine. 

They  tooke  them  both, and  both  them  strongly  bound 

In  ca])tive  bandes,  which  there  they  readie  found: 

But  her  in  chaines  of  adamant  he  tyde; 

For  nothing  else  might  keepe  her  safe  and  sound : 

I5ut  Verdant  (so  he  bight)  he  soone  untyde. 

And  counsell  sage  in  steed  thereof  to  him  applyde. 


But  all  those  pleasaunt  bowres,  and  pallace  brave, 
Guyon  broke  dovvne  with  rigour  pittilesse  : 
Ne  ought  their  goodly  workmanship  might  save 
Them  from  the  tempest  of  his  wrathfulnesse 
But  that  their  blisse  he  turn'd  to  balefulnesse  ; 
Tlieir  groves  he  feld  ;  tlieir  gardins  did  deface ; 
Their  arbers  spoyle  ;  tlieir  cabinets  suppresse ; 
Their  banket-houses  burne;  their  buildings  race; 
And,  of  the  fayrest  late,  now  made  the  fowlestplacQ 

LXXXIV. 

Then  led  they  her  away,  and  eke  that  knight 
They  with  them  led,  both  sorrowfuU  and  sad  : 
The  way  they  came,  the  same  retourn'd  thev  right, 
Till  thev  arrived  where  lliey  lately  had 
Charm'd  those  wild  beasts  that  rag'd  with  furie  mad  ; 
Which,  now  awaking,  fierce  at  them  gan  fly. 
As  in  their  mistresse  re-skew,  whom  they  lad; 
But  them  the  palmer  soone  did  pacify. 
Then  Guyon  askt,  what  meant  those  beastes  which 
there  did  ly. 

LXXXV. 

Savd  he  ;  "  These  seeming  beasts  are  men  in  deed, 
^Vliom  this  enchauntresse  hath  transformed  thus-, 
Wliylome  her  lovers,  which  her  lustes  did  feed, 
Now  turned  into  figures  hideous, 
According  to  their  mindes  like  monstruous." 
"  Sad  end,"  quoth  he,  "  of  life  intemperate, 
And  mourneful  meed  of  ioyes  delicious  ! 
But,  palmer,  if  it  mote  thee  so  aggrate, 
Let  them  returned  be  unto  their  former  state." 


Streiglitway  he  with  his  virtuous  stafFe  them  stroote, 

And  streight  of  beastes  they  comely  men  became; 

Yet  being  men  they  did  unmanly  looke, 

And  stared  ghastly  ;  some  for  inward  shame. 

And  some  for  wrath  to  see  their  captive  dame  : 

But  one  above  the  rest  in  speciall 

Tliat  had  an  hog  beene  late,  hight  Grylle  by  name, 

Repvned  greatly,  and  did  him  miscall 

That  had  from  hoggish  forme  him  brought  to  naturnll 


LXXXVII. 

Saide  Guyon;  "See  the  mind  of  beastly  man, 

'I'hat  hath  so  soone  forgot  the  excellence 

Of  his  creation,  when  he  life  began, 

That  now  he  cliooseth  with  vile  difference 

To  be  a  beast,  and  lacke  intelligence  !" 

To  whom  the  ])almer  thus  ;  "  I  he  donghill  kinde 

Delightes  in  filth  and  fowle  incontinence  : 

Let  Gryll  be  Gryll,  and  have  his  hoggish  minde  : 

But  let  us  hence  depart  whilest  wether  serves  and  wmde." 


THE  THIRDE  BOOKE 


THE   FAERIE    QUEENE, 

CONTAYNENO 

THE  LEGEND  OF  BRITOMARTIS,  OR  OF  CHASTITY. 


It  falifs  me  here  to  write  of  Chastity, 
That  fayrest  vertue,  far  above  the  rest : 
For  which  what  needes  me  fetch  from  Faery 
Forreine  ensamples  it  to  have  exprest  ? 
Sith  it  is  shrined  in  my  soveraines  brest, 
And  formd  so  lively  in  each  perfect  part, 
That  to  all  ladies,  which  have  it  jjrofest. 
Need  but  behold  the  pourtraict  of  her  hart ; 
If  pourtrayd  it  might  bee  by  any  living  art : 


But  living  art  may  not  least  part  expresse, 
Nor  life-resembling  pencUl  it  can  paynt : 
All  were  it  Zeuxis  or  Praxiteles, 
His  dffidale  hand  would  faile  and  greatly  faynt. 
And  her  perfections  with  his  error  tajiit : 
Ne  poets  witt,  that  passeth  painter  farre 
In  picturing  the  parts  of  beauty  daynt. 
So  hard  a  workeraauship  adventure  darre, 
For  feare  through  want  of  words  her  excellence  to 
marre. 


HI 


How  then  shall  I,  apprentice  of  the  skill 
That  whilome  in  divinest  wits  did  rayne, 
Presume  so  high  to  stretch  mine  humble  quill? 
Yet  now  my  luckelesse  lott  doth  me  constrayne 
Hereto  perforce:  but,  O  dredd  soverayne. 
Thus  far  forth  pardon,  sith  that  choicest  witt 
Cannot  your  glorious  pourtraict  figure  plajTie, 
That  I  in  colourd  showes  may  shadow  itt. 
And  antique  praises  unto  present  persons  fitt. 


But  if  in  living  colours,  and  right  hew, 
Thyselfe  thou  covet  to  see  pictured, 
Who  can  it  doe  more  lively,  or  more  trew. 
Then  that  sweete  verse,  with  nectar  sprinckeled 
In  which  a  gracious  servaunt  pictured 
His  Cvnthia,  his  heavens  fayrest  light? 
That  with  his  melting  sweetnes  ravished, 
And  v/ith  the  wonder  of  her  beames  bright, 
INIy  sences  lulled  are  in  slomber  of  delight. 


But  let  that  same  delitious  poet  lend 

A  little  leave  unto  a  rusticke  muse 

To  sing  his  mistresse  prayse  ;  and  let  him  mend, 

If  ought  amis  her  liking  may  abuse  : 

Ne  let  his  fayrest  Cynthia  refuse 

In  mirrours  more  then  one  herselfe  to  see  ; 

But  either  Gloriana  let  her  chuse. 

Or  in  Belphuebe  fashioned  to  bee  ; 

In  th'  one  her  rule,  in  tli'  other  her  rare  cLostitee. 


1«6 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III, 


CANTO  L 

Guyon  encountreth  Britomart: 
Fayre  Florimell  is  chaced : 

Duessaes  traines  and  Malecas 
taes  champions  are  defaced. 


The  famous  Briton  prince  and  Faery  knight, 
After  Ions:  ways  and  perilous  paines  endur'd 
Having'  their  weary  limbes  to  perfect  plight 
Restord,  and  sory  wounds  right  -svell  recur'd, 
Of  the  faire  Alma  greatly  were  procur'd 
To  make  there  lenger  soiourne  and  abode  ; 
But,  when  thereto  tliey  might  not  be  allur'd 
From  seeking  praise  and  deedes  of  amies  abrode, 
They  courteous  conge  tooke,  and  forth  together  yode. 


But  the  captiv'd  Acrasia  he  sent, 
Because  of  traveill  long,  a  nigher  way, 
With  a  strong  gard,  all  reskew  to  prevent, 
And  her  to  Faery  court  safe  to  convay; 
That  her  for  witnes  of  his  liard  assay 
Unto  his  Faery  Queene  he  might  present : 
But  he  himselfe  betooke  another  way. 
To  make  more  triall  of  his  hardiment, 
And  seek  adventures,  as   he  with  Prince  Arthure 
went. 


Long  so  they  travelled  through  wastefull  wayes, 

Where  daungers  dwelt,  and  perils  most  did  wonne, 

To  hunt  for  glory  and  renowmed  prayse : 

Full  many  countreyes  they  did  overronne, 

From  the  uprising  to  the  setting  sunne. 

And  many  hard  adventures  did  atchieve ; 

Of  all  the  which  they  honour  ever  wonne. 

Seeking  the  weake  oppressed  to  relieve. 

And  to  recover  right  for  such  as  wrong  did  grieve. 


At  last,  as  through  an  open  plaine  they  yode, 
They  spide  a  knight  that  towards  pricked  fayre; 
And  him  beside  an  aged  squire  there  rode. 
That  seemd  to  couch  under  his  shield  three-square. 
As  if  that  age  badd  him  that  burden  spare, 
And  yield  it  those  that  stouter  could  it  wield: 
He,  them  espying,  ^an  himselfe  prepare, 
And  on  his  anne  addresse  his  goodly  shield 
Tliat  bore  a  liop  passant  in  a  golden  field. 


Which  seeing  good  Sir  Guyon  deare  besought 
The  Prince,  of  grace,  to  let  him  roime  that  turne. 
He  graunted  :  then  the  Faery  quickly  raught 
His  j)oynant  speare,  and  shar])ly  gan  to  spume 
Hisfomv  steed,  whos  fiery  feete  did  burne 
Tlie  verdant  gras  as  he  thereon  did  tread , 
Ne  did  tiie  other  backe  his  foote  returne, 
But  fiercely  forward  came  witliouten  dread. 
And  bent  his  dreadful  speare  against  the  others hoad 


They  beene  jTnett,  and  both  theyr  points  arriv'd ; 
But  Guyon  drove  so  furious  and  fell,  [riv'd ; 

That  seemd  both  shield  and  plate   it   would   have 
Nathelesse  it  bore  his  foe  not  from  his  sell, 
But  made  him  stagger,  as  he  were  not  well : 
But  Guyon  selfe,  ere  well  he  was  aware, 
Nigh  a  speares  length  behind  his  crouper  fell ; 
Yet  in  his  fall  so  well  himselfe  he  bare, 
That  mischievous  mischaunce  his  life  and  limbs  did 
spare. 


Great  shame  and  sorrow  of  that  fall  he  tooke  ; 
For  never  yet,  sith  warlike  armes  he  bore 
And  shivering  speare  in  bloody  field  first  shooke, 
He  fownd  himselfe  dishonoured  so  sore. 
Ah  !   gentlest  knight,  that  ever  armor  bore. 
Let  not  thee  grieve  dismoxmted  to  have  beene, 
And  brought  to  grownd,  that  never  wast  before ; 
For  not  thy  fault,  but  secret  powre  unseene ; 
That  speare  enchaunted  was  which  layd  thee  on  the 
greene ! 


But  weenedst  thou  what  wight  thee  overthrew. 

Much  greater  griefe  and  shamefuUer  regrett 

For  thy  hard  fortune  then  thou  wouldst  renew. 

That  of  a  single  damzell  thou  wert  mett 

On  equall  plaine,  and  there  so  hard  besett : 

Even  the  famous  Britomart  it  was, 

Whom  straunge  adventure  did  from  Britayne  fett 

To  seeke  her  lover  (love  far  sought  alas!) 

Whose  image  shee  had  scene  in  \'enus  looking-glas. 


Full  of  disdainefull  wrath,  he  fierce  uprose 
For  to  revenge  that  fowle  reprochefuU  shame. 
And  snatching  his  bright  sword  began  to  close 
With  her  on  foot,  and  stoutly  forward  came; 
Dye  rather  would  he  then  endure  that  same. 
^V'hich  when  his  palmer  saw,  he  gan  to  feare 
His  toward  ]ierill,  and  untoward  blame. 
Which  by  that  new  rencounter  he  should  reare ; 
For   Death  sate   on  the  point  of    that  enchaunted 
speare : 

X. 

And  hasting  towards  him  gan  fayre  perswade 
Not  to  provoke  misfortune,  nor  to  weene 
His  speares  default  to  mend  with  cmell  blade; 
For  by  his  mightie  science  he  had  seene 
1  ho  secrete  vertue  of  that  weapon  keene, 
Tliat  raortall  jmissaunce  mote  not  withstond  : 
Nothing  on  earth  mote  alvvaies  happy  beene! 
Great  hazard  were  it,  and  adventure  fond. 
To  loose  long-gotten  honour  with  one  evill  bond. 


Ch-inf  1.1 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


iVf 


By  such  good  meanes  lie  him  discounselled 
From  prosecuting  his  revenging  rage  : 
And  eke  tlie  prince  like  treaty  bandeled, 
His  wrath  full  will  with  reason  to  as  wage ; 
And  laid  the  blame,  not  to  his  carriage. 
But  to  his  starting  steed  that  swarv'd  asyde, 
And  to  the  ill  purveyaunce  of  his  page, 
That  had  his  furnitures  not  firmely  tyde  : 
So  is  his  angry  corage  fayrly  pacifyde. 


Thus  reconcilement  was  betweene  them  knitt, 
Through  goodly  temperaunce  and  affection  chaste  ; 
And  either  vowd  witli  all  their  power  and  witt 
To  let  not  others  honour  be  defaste 
Of  friend  or  foe,  whoever  it  embaste, 
Ke  armes  to  bear  against  the  others  syde  : 
In  which  accord  the  prince  was  also  plaste. 
And  with  that  golden  chaine  of  concord  tyde  : 
So  goodly  all  agreed,  tbey  forth  yfere  did  ryde. 


O,  goodly  usage  of  those  antique  t}Tnes, 
In  which  the  sword  was  servauHt  unto  right ; 
When  not  for  malice  and  contentious  crymes, 
But  all  for  prayse  and  proofe  of  manly  might, 
The  martiall  brood  accustomed  to  fight : 
Then  honour  was  the  meed  of  victory, 
And  yet  the  vanquished  had  no  despight : 
Let  later  age  that  noble  use  envy, 
Vyle  rancor  to  avoid  and  cruell  surquedry  ! 


Long  they  thus  travelled  in  friendly  wise. 
Through  countreves  waste,  and  eke  well  edifyde, 
Seeking  adventures  hard,  to  exercise 
Their  puissaunce,  whylome  full  dernly  tryde  : 
At  length  they  came  into  a  forest  wyde. 
Whose  hideous  horror  and  sad  trembling  sownd 
Full  griesly  seemed :  therein  they  long  did  ryde, 
Vet  tract  of  living  creature  none  they  fownd, 
Save   beares,  lyons,  and  buls,  which  romed  them 
arownd. 


All  suddenly  out  of  the  thickest  brush, 
Upon  a  milk-white  palfrey  all  alone, 
A  goodly  lady  did  foreby  them  rush. 
Whose  face  did  seeme  as  cleare  as  christall  stone. 
And  eke,  through  feare,  as  white  as  whales  bone : 
Her  garments  all  were  wrouglit  of  beaten  gold, 
And  all  her  steed  with  tinsell  trappings  shone, 
^V'hich  fledd  so  fast  that  nothing  mote  him  hold, 
And  scarse  them  leasure  gave  her  passing  to  behold. 


Still  as  she  fledd  her  eye  she  backward  threw. 
As  fearing  evill  that  poursewed  her  fast ; 
And  her  faire  yellow  locks  behind  her  fiew, 
Loosely  disperst  with  pufi'  of  every  blast : 
All  as  a  blazing  starre  doth  farre  outcast 
His  hearie  beames,  and  flaming  locks  dispredd. 
At  sight  whereof  the  people  stand  aghast  ; 
But  the  sage  wisard  telles  as  he  has  redd, 
That  it  importunes  death  and  dolefuU  dreryhedd. 


So  as  they  gazed  after  her  awhyle, 
Lo  !  where  a  griesly  foster  forth  did  rush. 
Breathing  out  beastly  lust  her  to  defyle  : 
His  tyreling  jade  he  fiersly  forth  did  ])us(i 
Through  thicke  and  thin,  both  over  banck  and  bush, 
In  hope  her  to  attaine  by  hooke  or  crooke. 
That  from  his  gory  sydes  tlie  blood  did  gush 
Large  were  his  limbes,  and  terrible  his  looke, 
And  in  his  clownish  hand  a  sharp  bore-speare  he 
shooke. 


Which  outrage  when  those  gentle  knights  did  see, 

Full  of  great  envy  and  fell  gealosy 

They  stayd  not  to  avise  who  first  should  bee, 

But  all  spurd  after,  fast  as  they  mote  fly. 

To  reskew  her  from  shamefull  villany. 

The  prince  and  Guyon  equally  bylive 

Herselfe  pursewd,  in  hope  to  win  thereby 

]\Iost  goodly  meede,  the  farest  dame  alive : 

But  after  the  foule  foster  Timias  did  strive. 


The  whiles  faire  Britomart,  whose  constant  mind 
Would  not  so  lightly  follow  beauties  chace, 
Ne  reckt  of  ladies  love,  did  stay  behynd  ; 
And  them  awaited  there  a  certaine  space. 
To  weet  if  they  would  turne  backe  to  that  place  : 
But  when  she  saw  them  gone,  she  forward  went. 
As  lay  her  iourney,  through  that  perlous  pace. 
With  stedfast  corage  and  stout  hardiment ; 
Ne  evil  thing  she  feard,  ne  evill  thing  she  ment. 


At  last  as  nigh  out  of  the  wood  she  came, 
A  stately  castle  far  away  she  spyde. 
To  which  her  steps  directly  she  did  frame. 
That  castle  was  most  goodly  edifyde, 
And  plaste  for  pleasure  nigh  that  forrest  syde  . 
But  faire  before  the  gate  a  spatious  playne, 
jMantled  with  greene,  itselfe  did  spredden  wyde, 
On  wlrich  she  saw  six  knights,  that  did  darrayne 
Fiers   battaill   against  one  with   cruell   might   and 
mayne. 

XXI. 

Mainely  they  all  attonce  upon  him  laid, 

And  sore  besett  on  every  side  arownd, 

That  nigh  he  breathlesse  grew,  yet  nought  dismaid, 

Ne  ever  to  them  yielded  foot  of  grownd, 

All  had  he  lost  much  blood  through  many  a  wowed  ; 

But  stoutly  dealt  his  blowes,  and  every  way. 

To  which  he  turned  in  his  wrathfull  stownd, 

jMade  them  recoile,  and  fly  from  dredd  decay, 

That  none  of  all  the  six  before  him  durst  assay  • 


Like  dastard  curres,  that,  having  at  a  bay 
The  salvage  beast  embost  in  wearie  chace, 
Dare  not  adventure  on  the  stubborne  pray, 
Ne  byte  before,  but  rome  from  place  to  place 
To  get  a  snatch  when  turned  is  his  face. 
In  such  distresse  and  doubtfuU  leopardy 
When  Britomart  him  saw,  she  ran  apace 
Unto  his  reskew,  and  with  earnest  cry 
Badd  those  same  six  forbeare  that  single  enimv. 


128 


THE  FAKRIK  Q  UK  I  INK 


Book  III. 


But  to  lier  cry  tliey  list  not  lenden  eare, 

Ne  out;-lit  the  more  their  nii^htie  strokes  surceasse  ; 

But,  gatlierincj  liim  rownd  about  more  neare. 

Their  direfull  rancour  rather  did  encreasse  ; 

Till  that  she  rushins;  through  the  thickest  preasse 

Perforce  disparted  their  compacted  g;yre, 

And  soone  compeld  to  hearken  unto  peace  : 

Tho  p-an  she  niyldly  of  them  to  inquyre 

The  cause  of  tlieir  dissention  and  outrageous  yre. 


\Vhereto  that  sintjle  k-niglit  did  answere  frame  ; 
"  These  six  would  me  enforce,  by  oddes  of  might, 
To  chaunge  my  liefe,  and  love  another  dame  ; 
That  death  me  liefer  were  then  such  despight, 
So  tmto  wrong  to  yield  my  wrested  right  : 
For  I  love  one,  the  truest  one  on  grownd, 
Ne  list  me  chaunge  ;  she  th'  errant  damzell  hight ; 
For  whose  deare  sake  full  many  a  bitter  stownd 
I  harve  endurd,  and  tasted  many  a  bloody  wownd." 


"  Certes,"  said  she,  "  then  beene  ye  sixe  to  blame, 

To  weene  your  wrong  by  force  to  iustify  : 

For  knight  to  leave  his  lady  were  great  shame 

That  faithfuU  is  ;  and  better  were  to  dy. 

All  losse  is  lesse,  and  lesse  the  infamy. 

Then  losse  of  love  to  him  that  loves  but  one  : 

Ne  may  love  be  compeld  by  maistery  ; 

For,  soone  as  maistery  comes,  sweet  love  anone 

Taketh  his  nimble  winges,  and  soone  away  is  gone.' 


Then  spake  one  of  those  six  ;  "  There  dwelleth  here 

Within  this  castle-wall  a  lady  fayre, 

Whose  soveraine  beautie  hath  no  living  pere  ; 

Thereto  so  bounteous  and  so  debonayre, 

That  never  any  mote  with  her  compayre  : 

She  hath  ordaind  this  law,  which  we  approve, 

Tliat  every  knight  which  doth  this  way  repayre, 

]n  case  he  have  no  lady  nor  no  love. 

Shall  doe  unto  her  service,  never  to  remove  : 


"  But  if  he  have  a  lady  or  a  love, 

Then  must  he  her  forgoe  with  fowle  defame. 

Or  els  with  us  by  dint  of  sword  approve. 

That  she  is  fairer  then  our  fairest  dame  ; 

As  did  this  knight,  before  ye  hether  came." 

"  Perdy,"  -.aid  J5ritomart,  "the  choise  is  hard  ! 

But  what  reward  had  he  that  overcame  1" 

"  He  should  advaunced  bee  to  high  regard," 

Said  they,     and  Lave  our  ladies  love  for  his  reward. 


"  Therefore  aread,  sir,  if  thou  have  a  love." 
'■  Love  have  I  sure,"  (juoth  she,  "  but  lady  none  ; 
Vet  will  I  not  fro  mine  owne  love  remove, 
Ne  to  your  lady  will  I  service  done,  [alone, 

JJut  wreake  your  wronges  wrought  to  this  knight 
And  prove  his  cause."    With  that,  her  mortall  speare 
She  mightily  aventred  towards  one. 
And  downe  him  smot  ere  well  aware  he  weare  ; 
Then  to  the  next  she  rode,  and  dowue  the  next  did 
beare . 


Ne  did  she  stay  till  three  on  ground  she  layd, 
That  none  of  tliem  himselfe  could  reare  againe : 
Tlie  fourth  was  by  that  other  knight  dismayd. 
All  were  he  wearie  of  his  foraier  paine  ; 
Tliat  now  there  do  but  two  of  six  remaine  ; 
VVhicli  two  did  yield  before  she  did  them  smight. 
"  Ah  1 "  said  she  then,  "  now  may  ye  all  see  plaine, 
That  trutli  is  strong,  and  trew  love  most  of  might. 
That  for  his  trusty  servauuts  doth  so  strongly  fight." 


"  Too  well  we  see,"  saide  they,  "  and  prove  too  well 
Our  faulty  weakness,  and  j'our  matchlesse  might  : 
Fortliy,  faire  sir,  yours  be  the  damozell. 
Which  by  her  owne  law  to  your  lot  doth  light, 
And  we  your  liegemen  faith  unto  you  plight." 
So  underneath  her  feet  their  swords  they  mard. 
And,  after,  her  besought,  well  as  they  might 
To  enter  in  and  reape  the  dew  reward  : 
She  grauuted  ;  and  then  in  they  all  altogether  far'd 


Long  were  it  to  describe  the  goodly  frame 

And  stately  port  of  Castle  Joyeous, 

(For  so  that  castle  hight  by  common  name,) 

VVhere  they  were  entertaynd  with  courteous 

And  comely  glee  of  many  gratious 

Faire  ladies,  and  of  many  a  gentle  knight ; 

Who,  through  a  chamber  long  and  spacious, 

Eftsoones  them  brought  unto  their  ladies  sight, 

That  of  them  cleeped  was  the  lady  of  delight. 


But,  for  to  tell  the  sumptuous  aray 
Of  that  great  chamber,  should  be  labour  lost  ; 
For  living  wit,  I  woeue,  cannot  display 
The  roiall  riches  and  exceeding  cost 
Of  every  pillour  and  of  every  post. 
Which  all  of  purest  bullion  framed  were. 
And  with  great  perles  and  pretious  stones  embost ; 
That  tlie  bright  glister  of  their  beames  cleare 
Did  sparckle    forth  great  light,   and   glorious   did 
appeare. 

XXXIII. 

These  stranger  knights,  through  passing,  forth  were 
Into  an  inner  rowme,  whose  royaltee  [led 

And  rich  purveyance  might  uneath  be  red  ; 
Mote  Princes  place  beseeme  so  deckt  to  bee. 
Which  stately  manner  whenas  they  did  see. 
The  image  of  superfluous  riotize. 
Exceeding  much  the  state  of  meane  degree, 
They  greatly  wondred  whence  so  sumjjtuous  guize 
Might  be  maintaynd,  an^^  each  gaii  diversely  devize. 


The  wals  were  round  about  apparelled 

With  costly  clothes  of  Arras  and  of  Totire  ; 

In  which  with  cunning  hand  was  pourtrahed 

The  love  of  X^euus  and  her  paramoure. 

The  fayre  Adonis,  turned  to  a  flowre  ; 

A  work  of  rare  device  and  wondrous  wit. 

First  did  it  shew  the  bitter  balefuU  stowre, 

Which  her  essayd  with  many  a  fervent  fit. 

When  first  her  tender  hart  was  with  his  beautie  Binit 


Canto  I.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN  E. 


129 


Tlien  with  what  sleights  and  sweet  allurements  she 

Entyst  the  boy,  as  well  that  art  she  knew, 

And  wooed  him  her  paramoure  to  bee  ; 

Now  making  girlonds  of  each  flowifa  that  grew, 

To  crowne  his  golden  lockes  with  honour  dew  ; 

Now  leading  him  into  a  secret  shade 

From  his  beauperes,  and  from  bright  heavens  vew, 

Where  him  to  sleepe  she  gently  would  perswade. 

Or  bathe  him  in  a  fountaine  by  some  covert  glade : 


And,  whilst  he  slept,  she  over  him  would  spred 
Her  mantle  colour'd  like  the  starry  skyes, 
And  her  soft  arme  lay  underneath  his  hed. 
And  with  ambrosiall  kisses  bathe  his  eyes  ; 
And,  whilst  he  bath'd.  with  her  two  crafty  spyes 
She  secretly  would  search  each  daintie  lim, 
And  throw  into  the  well  sweet  rosemaryes. 
And  fragrant  violets,  and  paunces  trim ; 
And  ever  with  sweet  nectar  she  did  sprinkle  him. 


So  did  she  steale  his  heedelesse  hart  away, 
And  ioyd  his  love  in  secret  unespyde: 
But  for  she  saw  him  bent  to  cruell  play. 
To  hunt  the  salvage  beast  in  forrest  wyde, 
Dreadfull  of  daunger  that  mote  him  betyde 
She  oft  and  oft  adviz'd  him  to  refraine 
From  chase  of  greater  beastes,  i^hose  brutish  pryde 
Mote  breede  him  scath  unwares  :  but  all  in  vaine  ; 
For  who  can  shun  the  chance  that  dest'ny  doth  or- 
daine? 


Lo  !  where  beyond  he  lyeth  languishing. 
Deadly  engored  of  a  great  wilde  bore  ; 
And  by  his  side  the  goddesse  groveling 
Makes  for  him  endlesse  mone,  and  evermore 
\Vith  her  soft  garment  wipes  away  the  gore 
Which  stajTies  his  snowy  skin  with  hatefuU  hew  : 
But,  when  she  saw  no  helpe  might  him  restore. 
Him  to  a  dainty  flowre  she  did  transmew. 
Which  in  that  cloth  was  wrought,  as  if  it  lively  grew. 


So  was  that  chamber  clad  in  goodly  wize  : 

And  rownd  about  it  many  beds  were  dight, 

As  wh3'lome  was  the  antique  world'es  guize. 

Some  for  untimely  ease,  some  for  delight, 

As  pleased  them  to  use  that  use  it  might : 

And  all  was  full  of  damzels  and  of  squyres, 

Dauncing  and  reveling  both  day  and  night. 

And  swimming  deepe  in  sensuall  desyres  ; 

\nd  Cupid  still  emongest  them  kindled  lustful!  fyres 


And  all  the  while  sweet  musicke  did  divide 

Hei  looser  notes  with  Lydian  harmony ; 

And  all  the  while  sweete  birdes  thereto  applide 

Their  daintie  layes  and  dulcet  melody, 

Ay  caroling  of  love  and  iollity, 

That  wonder  was  to  heare  their  trim  consort,      [eye 

Which  when  those  knights  beheld,  with  scornefuU 

They  sdeignei  such  lascivious  disport. 

And  loath'd  tha  loose  demeanure  of  that  wanton  sort.  ! 


Thence  they  were  brought  to  that  great  ladies  vew, 
Whom  they  found  sitting;  on  a  sumjttuous  bed 
That  glistred  all  with  gold  and  gloiious  shew. 
As  the  proud  Persian  queenes  accustomed  : 
She  seemd  a  woman  of  great  bountihed 
And  of  rare  beautie,  saving  that  askaunce 
Her  wanton  eyes  (ill  signes  of  womanlied) 
Did  roll  too  lightly,  and  too  often  glaunce. 
Without  regard  of  grace  or  comely  amenaunce 


Long  worke  it  were,  and  needlesse,  to  devize 

Their  goodly  entertainement  and  great  glee  : 

She  caused  them  be  led  in  courteous  wize 

Into  a  bowre,  disarmed  for  to  be, 

And  clieared  well  with  wine  and  spiceree  : 

The  Redcrosse  Knight  was  soon  disarmed  there  ■ 

But  the  brave  mayd  would  not  disamied  bee, 

But  onely  vented  up  lier  umbriijre, 

And  so  did  let  her  goodly  visage  to  appere. 


As  when  fayre  Cynthia,  in  darksome  night. 

Is  in  a  noyous  cloud  enveloped. 

Where  she  may  linde  the  substance  thin  and  light, 

Breakes  forth  her  silver  beames,  and  lier  bright  hed 

Discovers  to  the  world  discomfited  ; 

Of  the  poore  traveller  that  went  astray 

With  thousand  blessings  she  is  heried  : 

Such  was  the  beautie  and  the  shining  ray. 

With  which  fayre  Britomart  gave  light  unto  the  day. 


And  eke  those  six,  which  lately  with  her  fought, 

Now  were  disarmd,  and  did  themselves  present 

Unto  her  vew,  and  company  unsought  ; 

For  they  all  seemed  courteous  and  gent, 

And  all  sixe  brethren,  borne  of  one  parent. 

Which  had  tliem  traynd  in  all  civilitee. 

And  goodly  taught  to  tilt  and  turnament ; 

Now  were  they  liegmen  to  this  ladie  free. 

And  her  knights-service  ought,  to  hold  of  her  in  fee. 


The  first  of  them  by  name  Gardante  hight, 

A  iolly  person,  and  of  comely  vew  ; 

The  second  was  Parlante,  a  bold  knight- 

And  next  to  him  locante  did  ensew  ; 

Basciante  did  himselfe  most  courteous  shew  ; 

But  fierce  Bacchante  seemd  too  fell  and  keene ; 

And  yett  in  amies  Noctante  greater  grew  : 

All  were  faire  knights,  and  goodly  well  beseene  ; 

But  to  faire  Britomart  they  all  but  shadowes  beene. 


For  shee  was  full  of  amiable  grace 

And  manly  terror  mixed  therewithall ; 

That  as  the  one  stird  up  affections  bace. 

So  th'  other  did  mens  rash  desires  apall. 

And  hold  them  backe  that  would  in  error  fall  • 

As  hee  that  hath  espide  a  vermeill  rose. 

To  which  sharp  thornes  and  breres  the  way  forstall, 

Dare  not  for  diead  his  hardy  hand  expose, 

But,  wishing  it  far  off,  his  ydle  wish  doth  lose. 


ISO 


THE  FAERIE  QUELNE. 


[Book  III, 


Wliom  when  the  ladv  saw  so  faire  a  wight, 

All  ignorant  of  her  contrary  sex, 

TFor  shea  her  weend  a  fresh  and  lusty  kniglit,) 

Shee  greatly  gan  enamoured  to  wax, 

And  with  vaine  tlioughts  her  falsed  fancy  vax  : 

Her  fickle  hart  conceived  hasty  fyre, 

Like  sparkes  of  fire  which  fall  in  sclender  flax. 

That  shortly  brent  into  extreme  desyre, 

And  riinsackt  all  her  veines  with  passion  entyre. 


Eftsoones  shee  grew  to  great  impatience, 

And  into  termes  of  open  outrage  brust, 

That  plaine  discovered  her  incontinence; 

Ne  reckt  shee  who  her  meaning  did  mistrust; 

For  she  was  given  all  to  fleshly  lust, 

And  poured  forth  in  sensuall  delight. 

That  all  regard  of  shame  she  had  discust. 

And  meet  respect  of  honor  put  to  flight : 

So  shamelesse  beauty  soone  becomes  a  loathly  sight. 


Faire  ladies,  that  to  love  captivad  arre. 

And  chaste  desires  doe  nourish  in  your  mind. 

Let  not  her  fault  your  sweete  affections  marre ; 

Ne  blott  the  bounty  of  all  womankind 

'Rlongst  thousands  gqpd,  one  wanton  dame  to  find 

Emongst  the  roses  grow  some  wicked  weeds  : 

For  this  was  not  to  love,  but  lust,  inclind; 

For  love  does  alwaies  bring  forth  bounteous  deeds, 

And  in  each  gentle  hart  desire  of  honor  breeds. 


Nought  so  of  love  this  looser  dame  did  skill, 
But  as  a  cole  to  kindle  fleshly  flame, 
(jiving  the  bridle  to  her  wanton  will. 
And  treading  under  foote  her  honest  name : 
Such  love  is  hate,  and  such  desire  is  shame. 
Still  did  she  rove  at  her  with  crafty  glaunce 
Of  her  false  eies,  that  at  her  hart  did  ayma. 
And  told  her  meaning  in  her  countenaunce ; 
But  Britomart  dissembled  it  with  ignoraunce. 


Supper  was  shortly  dight,  and  downe  they  satt ; 

Where  they  were  served  with  all  sumptuous  fare, 

Whiles  fruitfull  Ceres  ajid  Lyaius  fatt 

Pourd  out  their  plenty,  without  spight  or  spare ; 

Nought  wanted  there  that  dainty  was  and  rare: 

And  aye  the  cups  their  bancks  did  overflow: 

And  aye  betweene  the  cuj)s  sh«  did  prepare 

Way  to  her  love,  and  secret  darts  did  throw ; 

But  Britomart  would  not  suchguilfull  message  know. 


So,  when  they  slaked  had  the  fervent  heat 

Of  appetite  with  meates  of  every  sort, 

The  lady  did  faire  Britomart  entreat 

Her  to  disarme,  and  with  delightfull  sjjort 

T«  loose  lier  warlike  limbs  and  strong  efiurt  : 

But  wlien  shee  mote  not  thereunto  be  wonne, 

(For  shc-e  her  sexe  under  that  straunge  purport 

Did  use  to  hide,  and  plaine  apparaunce  shonne,) 

In  playaer  wise  to  tell  her  grievaunce  she  begonne  ; 


And  all  attonce  discovered  her  desire  [griefe, 

With    sighes,    and   sobs,   and  plaints,   and  piteous 
The  outward  sparkes  of  her  in-burning  fire  : 
Which  spent  in  vaine,  at  last  she  told  her  briefe. 
That,  but  if  she  did  lend  her  short  reliefe 
And  doe  her  comfort,  she  mote  algates  dye. 
But  the  chaste  damzell,  that  had  never  priefe 
Of  such  malengine  and  fine  forgerye. 
Did  easely  belaeve  her  strong  extremitye. 


Full  easy  was  for  her  to  have  beliefe, 
Who  by  self-feeling  of  her  feeble  sexe. 
And  by  long  triall  of  the  inward  griefe 
Wherewith  imperious  love  her  hart  did  vexe, 
Could  iudge  what  paines  doe  loving  harts  perplexe. 
Who  means  no  guile,  be  guiled  soonest  shall. 
And  to  faire  semblaunce  doth  light  faith  annexe : 
The  bird,  that  knowes  not  the  false  fowlers  call. 
Into  his  hidden  nett  full  easely  doth  fall. 


Forthy  she  would  not  in  discourtaise  wise 
Scorne  the  faire  offer  of  good  will  profest ; 
For  great  rebuke  it  is  love  to  despise. 
Or  rudely  sdeigne  a  gentle  harts  request ; 
But  with  faire  countenaunce,  as  beseemed  best, 
Her  entertaynd  ;  nath'lesse  shea  inly  deemd 
Her  love  too  light,  to  wooe  a  wandring  guest; 
Which  she  misconstruing,  thereby  esteemd 
That  from  like  inward  fire  that  outward  smoke  had 
steemd. 


Therewith  awhile  she  her  flit  fancy  fedd. 
Till  she  mote  winne  fit  time  for  her  desire; 
But  yet  her  wound  still  inward  freshly  bledd. 
And  through  her  bones  the  falsa  instilled  fire 
Did  spred  itselfe,  and  venime  close  inspire. 
Tho  were  the  tables  taken  all  away ; 
And  every  knight,  and  every  gentle  squire, 
Gan  choose  his  dame  with  hasciomani  gay. 
With  whom  he  ment  to  make  his  sport  and  courtly 
play. 

LVII. 

Some  fell  to  daunce  ;  some  fell  to  hazardry ; 
Some  to  make  love  ;  some  to  make  meryment. 
As  diverse  witts  to  diverse  things  apply  : 
I    And  all  the  while  faire  JNIalecasta  bent 
Her  crafty  engins  to  her  close  intent. 
By  this  th'  eternall  lampes,  wherewith  high  love 
Dotli  light  tho  lower  world,  were  halfe  yspent. 
And  the  moist  daughters  of  huge  Atlas  strove 
Into  tho  ocean  deepe  to  drive  their  weary  drove. 


High  time  it  seemed  then  for  everie  wight 
Them  to  betake  unto  their  kindly  rest : 
Eftesoones  long  waxen  torches  weren  light 
Unto  their  bowres  to  guyden  every  guest : 
Tho,  when  the  Britonesse  saw  all  the  rest 
Avoided  cjuite,  she  gan  herselfe  despoile. 
And  safe  ccjmmitt  to  her  soft  fethered  nest; 
Wlier  through  long  watch,  and  late  daies  weary  toile. 
She  soundly  slept,  and  careful!  thoughts  did  quite 
assoile. 


Canto  I.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


131 


Now  whenas  all  the  world  in  silence  deepe 

\'shrowded  was,  and  every  mortall  wight 

Was  drowned  iu  the  depth  of  deadly  sleepe  ; 

Faire  Malecasta,  whose  engrieved  spright 

Could  find  no  rest  in  such  perplexed  plight, 

Lightly  arose  out  of  her  wearie  bed, 

And,  under  the  blacke  vele  of  guilty  night, 

Her  with  a  scarlott  mantle  covered 

That  was  with  gold  and  ermines  faire  enveloped. 


Then  panting  softe,  and  trembling  every  iojTit, 
Her  fearefull  feete  towards  the  bowre  she  mov'd 
Where  she  for  secret  purpose  did  appoynt 
To  lodge  the  warlike  maide,  unwisely  loov'd  ; 
And,  to  her  bed  approching,  first  she  proov'd 
Whether  she  slept  or  wakte  :  with  her  softe  hand 
She  softely  felt  if  any  member  moov'd, 
And  lent  her  wary  eare  to  understand 
If  any  pufie  of  breath  or  signe  of  sence  shee  fond. 


Which  whenas  none  she  fond,  with  easy  shifte, 

For  feare  least  her  unwares  she  should  abrayd, 

Th'  embroder'd  quilt  she  lightly  up  did  lifte, 

And  by  her  side  herselfe  she  softly  layd. 

Of  every  finest  fingers  touch  affrayd ; 

Ne  any  noise  she  made,  ne  worde  she  spake, 

But  inly  sighd.     At  last  the  royall  mayd 

Out  of  her  quiet  slomber  did  awake. 

And  chaungd  her  weary  side  the  better  ease  to  take. 


Where  feeling  one  close  couched  by  her  side. 

She  lightly  lept  out  of  her  filed  bedd. 

And  to  her  weapon  ran,  in  minde  to  gride 

The  loathed  leacbour :  but  the  dame,  halfe  dedd 

Through  suddeine  feare  and  ghastly  drerihedd. 

Did  shrieke  alowd,  that  through  the  hous  it  rong, 

And  the  whole  family  therewith  adredd 

Rashly  out  of  their  rouzed  couches  sprong, 

And  to  the  troubled  chamber  all  in  armes  did  throng. 


And  those  sixe  knightes,  that  ladies  champions, 
And  eke  the  Redcrosse  knight  ran  to  the  stownd, 
Halfe  armd  and  halfe  unarmd,  with  them  attons  ; 
Where  when  confusedly  thej'  came,  they  fownd 
Their  lady  lying  on  the  sencelesse  grownd  ; 
On  th'  otlier  side  they  saw  the  warlike  mayd 
Al  in  her  snow-white  smocke,  with  locks  unbownd, 
Threatning  the  point  of  her  avenging  blade  ; 
That  with  so  U'oublous  terror  they  were  all  dismayd. 


About  their  ladye  first  they  flockt  arownd  ; 
AVhom  having  laid  in  comfortable  couch, 
Shortly  they  reard  out  of  her  frosen  swownd  ; 
And  afterwardes  they  gan  with  fowle  reproch 
To  stirre  up  strife,  and  troublous  contecke  broch  : 
But,  by  ensample  of  the  last  dayes  losse, 
None  of  them  rashly  durst  to  her  approch, 
Ne  in  so  glorious  spoile  themselves  embosse  : 
Her  succourd  eke  the  champion  of  the  bloody  crosse. 


But  one  of  those  sixe  knights,  Gardante  hight. 
Drew  out  a  deadly  bow  and  arrow  keene, 
Which  forth  he  sent  with  felonous  despight 
And  fell  intent  against  the  virgin  sheene  : 
The  mortall  Steele  stayd  not  till  it  was  seene 
To  gore  her  side  ;  yet  was  the  wound  not  deepe. 
But  lightly  rased  her  soft  silken  skin, 
That  drops  of  purple  blood  thereout  did  weepe. 
Which  did  her  lilly  smock  with   staines  of  vermeil 
steep. 

LXVI. 

Wherewith  enrag'd  she  fiercely  at  them  flew. 
And  with  her  flaming  sword  about  her  layd, 
That  none  of  them  foule  mischiefe  could  eschew 
But  with  her  dreadfull  strokes  were  all  dismavd: 
Here,  there,  and  every  where,  about  her  swavd 
Her  wrathfull  Steele,  that  none  mote  it  abyde; 
And  eke  the  Redcrosse  knight  gave  her  good  avd, 
Ay  ioyning  foot  to  foot,  and  syde  to  svde  ; 
That  in  short  space  theii-  foes  they  have  quite  terrify  de. 


Tho,  whenas  all  were  put  to  shamefuU  flight, 

The  noble  Britomartis  her  arayd, 

And  her  bright  armes  about  her  body  dight  ; 

For  nothing  would  she  lenger  there  be  stayd. 

Where  so  loose  life  and  so  ungentle  trade. 

Was  usd  of  knightes  and  ladies  seeming  gent: 

So,  earely,  ere  the  grosse  earthes  gryesy  shade, 

Was  all  disperst  out  of  the  firmament, 

T!  ey  tooke  their  steeds,  and  forth  upon  their  ioumey  wenu 


132 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  II 


CANTO  II. 

Tlie  Redcrosse  kniglit  to  Britoraart 

Describeth  Artegall  : 
The  wondrous  myrrhour,  by  which  she 

In  love  with  him  did  fall. 


Here  have  I  cause  in  men  iust  blame  to  find, 

That  in  their  proper  praise  too  partiall  bee. 

And  not  indifferent  to  woman  kuid, 

To  whom  no  share  in  amies  and  chevalree 

They  doe  impart,  ne  maken  memoree 

0  f  tlieir  brave  gesles  and  prowesse  martiall : 

Scarse  do  they  spare  to  one,  or  two   or  three, 

Rowme  in  their  writtes ;  yet  the  same  writing  small 

Does  all  their  deedes  deface,  and  dims  their  glories  all. 


I'lUt  by  record  of  antique  times  I  finde 

That  wemen  wont  in  warres  to  beare  most  sway, 

And  to  all  great  exploites  themselves  inclin'd. 

Of  which  they  still  tlie  girlond  bore  away  ; 

Till  envious  men,  fearing'  their  rules  decay, 

Gan  coyne  streight  lawes  to  curb  their  liberty  : 

Yet,  sith  they  warlike  amies  have  laide  away, 

Tiiey  have  exceld  in  artes  and  pollicy. 

That  now  we  foolish  men  that  prayse  gin  eke  t'envy. 


Of  warlike  puissaunce  in  ages  spent. 
Be  thou,  faire  Britomart,  whose  prayse  I  wryte  ; 
But  of  all  wisedom  be  thou  precedent, 
O  soveraine  Queene  whose  prayse  1  would  endyte, 
Eudite  I  would  as  dewtie  doth  excyte ; 
But  all !  my  rymes  too  rude  and  rugged  arre. 
When  in  so  high  an  object  tliey  doe  lyte, 
And,  striving  lit  to  make,  I  feare,  doe  marre: 
'I  hyselfe  thy  prayses  tell,  and  make  them  knowen 
farre. 


She,  travelling  with  Guyon,  by  the  wav 

Of  sondry  thinges  faire  purpose  gan  to  find, 

T'  abridg  their  iourney  long  and  lingring  day: 

Mongst  which  it  fell  into  that  l-'airies  mind 

To  aske  this  Briton  IMaid,  what  uncouth  wind 

Brought  her  into  those  ))artes,  and  what  inquest 

I^Iade  lier  dissemble  her  disguised  kind  : 

K.iire  lady  slie  him  seemd  lil;e  lady  drest. 

But  fairest  knight  alive  when  armed  was  her  brest. 


Tlxereat  she  sighing  softlv  had  no  powre 

'Jo  speake  awhile,  ne  ready  answere  make  ; 

])ut  with  hart-tlirillin^  throbs  and  bitter  stowre. 

As  if  she  had  a  fever  fitt,  did  quake. 

And  every  daintie  limbe  with  horrour  shake; 

And  ever  and  anone  the  rosy  red 

Flaslit  througli  lier  face,  as  it  had  beene  a  flake 

Of  liglitnin.;  tlirough  bright  lieven  fulmined: 

At  last,  the  passion  past,  she  thus  him  answered : 


"  Faire  sir,  I  let  you  weete,  that  from  the  howre 

I  taken  was  from  nourses  tender  pap, 

I  have  been  trained  up  in  warlike  stowre. 

To  tossen  speare  and  shield,  and  to  affrap 

The  warlike  ryder  to  his  most  mishap ; 

Sithence  I  loathed  have  my  life  to  lead, 

As  ladies  wont,  in  pleasures  wanton  lap, 

To  finger  the  tine  needle  and  nyce  thread, 

Me  lever  were  with  point  of  foemans  speare  be  dead. 


''  All  my  delight  on  deedes  of  armes  is  sett, 
To  hunt  out  perilles  and  adventures  hard. 
By  sea,  by  land,  wliereso  they  may  be  mett 
Onely  for  honour  and  for  high  regard. 
Without  respect  of  richesse  or  reward  •. 
For  such  intent  into  these  partes  1  came, 
Withouten  compasse  or  withouteii  card. 
Far  fro  my  native  soyle,  that  is  by  name 
Tlie  Greater  Brytayne,  here  to  seeke  for  praise  and 
lame. 


"  Fame  blazed  hath,  that  here  in  Faery  Lond 

Doe  many  famous  knightes  and  ladies  wonnc, 

And  many  straunge  adventures  to  bee  fond. 

Of  which  great  worth  and  worship  may  be  wonne  • 

Which  to  prove,  I  this  voyage  have  begonne. 

But  mote  I  weet  of  you,  right  courteous  knight, 

Tydings  of  one  that  hath  unto  me  donne 

Late  foule  dishonour  and  reprochfuU  spight. 

The  which  I  seek  to  wreake,  and  Arthegall  he  bight. 


The  worde  gone  out  she  backe  againe  would  call. 

As  her  repenting  so  to  have  missayd, 

But  that  he,  it  uplaking  ere  the  fall. 

Her  shortly  answered  ;  "  Faire  martiall  mayd, 

Certes  ye  misavised  beene  t'u])brayd 

A  gentle  knight  with  so  unkniglitly  blame; 

For,  week  ye  well,  of  all  that  e\'er  playd 

At  tilt  or  tourney,  or  like  warlike  game. 

The  noble  Arthegall  hath  ever  borne  the  name. 


"  Forthy  great  wonder  were  it,  if  such  shame 
Should  ever  enter  in  his  bounteous  thouglit. 
Or  ever  doe  that  mote  deserven  blame : 
'J'lie  noble  corage  never  weeneth  ought 
'J'hat  may  unworthy  of  itselfe  be  tliought. 
Therefore,  faire  damzell,  be  ye  well  aware. 
Least  tliat  too  farre  ye  have  your  sorrow  sought : 
You  and  your  country  both  I  wisli  welfare, 
And  honour  both  ;  for  each  of  other  worthy  are." 


Canto  II.J 


THE  i-AEitil.  QUEEXE. 


133 


The  royall  maid  vro\e  inly  wondrous  glad, 

To  heare  her  love  so  highly  magnifyde  ; 

And  ioyd  that  ever  she  affixed  had 

Her  hart  on  knight  so  goodly-glorifyde, 

However  finely  she  it  faind  to  hyde. 

The  loving  mother,  that  nine  monethes  did  heare 

In  the  deare  closett  of  her  painefull  syde 

Her  tender  babe,  it  seeing  safe  appeare, 

Doth  not  so  much  reioyce  as  she  reioyced  theare. 


But  to  occasion  him  to  further  talke, 

To  feed  her  humor  with  his  pleasing  style, 

Her  list  in  stryfull  termes  with  him  to  bailee, 

And  thus  replyde  ;  "  However,  sir,  ye  fyle 

Your  courteous  tongue  his  prayses  to  compyle, 

It  ill  beseemes  a  knight  of  gentle  sort, 

Such  as  ye  have  him  boasted,  te  beguyle 

A  simple  maide,  and  worke  so  hainous  tort, 

In  shame  of  knighthood,  as  I  largely  can  report. 


"  Let  bee  therefore  my  vengeaunce  to  disswade, 

And  read,  where  1  that  Faytour  false  may  find." 

"  Ah  !  but  if  reason  faire  mii;ht  you  perswade 

To  slake  your  wrath,  and  mollify  your  mind," 

Said  he,  "perhaps  ye  should  it  better  find  : 

For  hardie  thing  it  is,  to  weene  bv  might 

That  man  to  hard  conditions  to  bind  ; 

Or  ever  hope  to  matcli  in  equall  fight. 

Whose  prowesse  paragone  saw  never  living  wight. 


Yet  him  in  everie  part  before  she  knew, 
However  list  her  now  her  knowledge  faj-ne, 
Sith  him  wliyhime  in  Hritavne  she  did  vew, 
To  her  revealed  in  a  rairrhour  jilavne  ; 
Whereof  did  grow  her  first  engrafted  payne, 
Whose  root  and  stalke  so  bitter  yet  did  taste, 
That,  but  the  fruit  more  sweetnes  did  contayne, 
Hei-  wretched  dayes  in  dolour  slie  mote  waste. 
And  yield  the  pray  of  love  to  lothsome  death  at  last 


By  straunge  occasion  she  did  him  behold. 
And  much  more  straungely  gan  to  love  his  sight, 
As  it  in  bookes  hath  written  beeiie  of  old. 
In  Deheubarfh,  that  now  South-Wales  is  hight. 
What  time  King  Ryence  raign'd  and  dealed  right, 
The  great  magitien  Rlerlin  had  deviz'd. 
By  his  deepe  science  and  hell-dreaded  might 
A  looking-glasse,  right  wondrously  aguiz'd, 
Whose  vertues  through  thewyde  worlde  soone  were 
solemniz'd. 


It  vertue  had  to  shew  in  perfect  sight 

Whatever  thing  was  in  the  world  contaynd, 

Betwixt  the  lowest  eartli  and  hevens  hight, 

So  that  it  to  the  looker  appertavnd  : 

Whatever  foe  had  wrought,  or  frend  had  faynd, 

Therein  discovered  was,  ne  ought  mote  pas, 

Ne  ought  m  secret  from  the  same  remaynd  ; 

Forthy  it  round  and  hollow  shaped  was, 

Like  to  the  world  itselfe,  and  seemd  a  world  of  glas. 


"  Ne  soothlich  is  it  easie  for  to  read 
Where  now  on  earth,  or  liow,  he  may  be  fownd; 
For  he  ne  wonneth  in  one  certeine  stead, 
But  restlesse  walketh  all  the  world  urownd 
Ay  doing  thinges  that  to  his  fame  redownd, 
Defending  ladies  cause  and  orphans  right, 
Whereso  he  heares  that  any  doth  conlownd 
Them  comfortlesse  through  t\  ranny  or  might ; 
So  is  his  soveraine  honour  rnisde  to  hevens  hisht.' 


His  feeling  wordes  her  feeble  sence  much  pleased. 

And  softly  sunck  inio  her  molten  hart : 

Hart,  that  is  inly  hurt,  is  greatly  eased 

With  hope  of  thing  that  may  ailegge  his  smart; 

For  pleasing  wordes  are  like  to  magick  art, 

That  doth  the  charmed  snake  in  slomber  lay- : 

Such  secrete  ease  felt  gentle  Britomart, 

\  et  list  the  same  efibrce  wich  faind  gainesay ; 

(So  dischord  ofte  in  musick  makesthe  sweeter  lay;) 


And  sayd  ;  "  Sir  knight,  these  ydle  termes  forbeare; 

And,  sith  it  is  uneath  to  find  his  haunt, 

Tell  me  some  niarkes  by  which  he  may  appeare. 

If  chaunce  I  may  him  encounter  jtamvauiit ; 

For  perdy  one  shall  other  slay,  or  daunt : 

What  shajie,  what  shield,  what  armes,  what  steed, 

what  stedd. 
And  whatso  else  his  person  most  may  vaunt?" 
All  which  the  Redcrosse  knight  to  point  ared. 
And  him  in  everie  part  before  her  fashioiied. 


Who  wonders  not, that  reades  so  wonderous  worke? 
But  who  does  wonder,  that  has  red  the  towre 
\\  herein  th'Aegyptian  Phao  long-  did  lurke 
From  all  mens  vew,  that  none  might  her  discoure. 
Yet  she  might  all  men  vew  out  of  her  bowre  ? 
Great  Ptoloma?e  it  for  his  Lemans  sake 
Ybuilded  all  of  glasse,  by  magicke  powre, 
And  al  o  it  impregnable  did  make  ; 
Yet,  when  his  love  was  false,   he  with  a  peaze  it 
brake. 


Such  was  the  glassy  globe  that  IMerlin  made. 
And  gave  unto  King  Ryence  for  his  gard, 
That  never  foes  his  kingdome  might  invade, 
But  he  it  knew  at  home  before  he  hard 
Tydings  thereof,  and  so  them  still  debar'd  : 
It  was  a  famous  present  for  a  prince, 
And  worthy  worke^  of  infinite  reward, 
That  treasons  could  bewray,  and  foes  convince: 
Happy  this  realme,  liad  it  remayned  ever  since  ! 


One  day  it  fortuned  fayre  Britomart 
Into  her  fathers  closet  to  repayre  ; 
For  nothing  he  from  iier  reserv'd  apart. 
Being  liis  onely  diiughter  and  his  hayre  ; 
^^'here  when  slie  had  espyde  that  mirrhour  fayre 
Herselfe  awhile  therein  she  vewd  in  vaine  : 
1  ho,  her  avizing  of  the  vertues  rare 
Which  thereof  spoken  were,  she  gan  againe 
Her  to  hethinke  of  that  mote  to  herselfe  pertaine. 


131 


TlIK  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  TIT 


But  as  it  falleth,  in  the  gentlest  harts 

Imperious  Love  hath  highest  set  bis  throne, 

And  tvrannizetli  in  the  bitter  smarts 

Of  them,  that  to  him  buxome  are  and  prone  : 

So  tl)oui;ht  this  mavd  (as  maydens  use  to  done) 

Wlioiu  fortune  for  lier  husband  would  allot; 

Not  that  she  lusted  after  any  one, 

For  she  was  pure  from  blame  of  sinful!  blott ; 

Yet  wist  her  life  at  last  must  lincke  iu  that  same  knot. 


Eftsoones  there  was  presented  to  her  eye 
A  comely  knight,  all  arm'd  in  complete  wize, 
Through  whose  bright  ventayle  lifted  up  on  bye 
His  manly  face,  that  did  his  foes  agrize 
And  frends  to  termes  of  gentle  truce  eiitize, 
Lookt  foorth,  as  Phcrbus  face  out  of  the  east 
Betwixt  two  shadv  mountaynes  doth  arize  : 
Portly  his  person  was,  and  much  increast 
Throuo-h  his  heroicke  e-race  and  honorable  gest. 


His  crest  was  covered  with  a  couchant  hownd, 
And  all  his  armour  seemd  of  antiejue  mould, 
But  wondrous  massy  and  assured  sownd, 
And  round  about  yfretted  all  with  gold. 
In  which  there  written  was,  with  cyphers  old, 
Achilles  armes  which  Arthegull  did  win  : 
And  on  his  shield  enveloped  sevenfold 
He  bore  a  crowned  little  ermilin, 
That  deckt  the  azure  field  with  her  fayre  pouldred 
skin. 


The  damzell  well  did  vew  his  personage, 
And  liked  well ;  ne  further  fastned  not, 
But  went  her  way  ;  ne  her  unguilty  age 
Did  weene,  unwares,  that  her  unlucky  lot 
Lav  hidden  in  the  bottome  of  the  pot : 
of  hurt  unwist  most  daunger  doth  redound  : 
But  the  false  archer  which  that  arrow  shot 
So  slyly  that  she  did  not  feele  the  wound. 
Did   smyle  full   smoothly  at  her  weetlesse  wofull 
stound. 

XXVII. 

Thenceforth  the  fether  in  her  lofty  crest, 

Ruffed  of  love,  gan  lowly  to  availe; 

And  her  prowd  jjortaunce  and  her  princely  gest. 

With  which  she  ears^  tryum])bed,  now  did  (|uai!e  : 

Sad,  solemne,  sowre,  and  full  of  fancies  frailo, 

She  woxe  ;  yet  wist  she  nether  how,  nor  why  ; 

She  wist  not,  silly  mayd,  what  she  did  aile, 

Yet  wist  she  was  not  well  at  ease  ])erdy  ; 

Yet  thought  it  was  not  love,  but  some  melancholy. 


So  soone  as  Night  had  with  her  pallid  hew 
Defaste  thebeautie  of  the  shyning  skye. 
And  refte  from  men  the  worldes  desired  vew. 
She  with  her  nourse  adowne  to  sleepe  did  lye  ; 
But  sleepe  full  far  away  from  her  did  fly  : 
Instead  thereof  sad  sighes  and  sorrovves  deepe 
Kept  watch  and  ward  about  her  warily  ; 
That  nought  she  did  but  wayle,  and  often  steepe 
Her  dainty  couch  with  teares  which  closely  she  did 
weeoe. 


xyjF.. 

And  if  that  anv  drop  of  slombring  rest 

Did  chaunce  to  still  into  her  weary  spright. 

When  feeble  nature  felt  herselfe  opprest, 

Streightway  with  dreames,  and  with  fantastiek  sight 

Of  dreadfull  things,  the  same  was  put  to  flight  ; 

1'hat  oft  out  of  lier  bed  she  did  astart, 

As  one  with  vew  of  ghastly  feends  affright  : 

Tho  gan  she  to  renew  lier  former  smart, 

And  thinke  of  that  favre  visage  written  ip  her  hart. 


One  night,  when  she  was  tost  with  such  unrest. 
Her  aged  nourse,  whose  name  was  Glauce  bight, 
Feeling  her  leape  out  of  her  loathed  nest. 
Betwixt  lier  feeble  amies  her  (juickly  keighf, 
And  downe  againe  in  her  warme  bed  her  diglit  : 
"  Ah  !  my  deare  daughter,  ah  !  my  dearest  dread. 
What  uncouth  fit,"  savd  she,  "  what  evill  ])light 
Ifath  thee  opprest,  and  with  sad  dreary  head 
Chaunged  thy  lively  cheare,  and   living  made  thee 
dead  ? 


"  For  not  of  nought  these  suddein  ghastly  feares 
All  night  afflict  thy  naturall  repose  : 
And  all  the  day,  whenas  thine  equall  peares 
Their  fit  disports  with  fuire  delight  doe  chose. 
Thou  in  dull  corners  doest  thyself  inclose  ; 
Ne  tastest  princes  pleasures,  ne  doest  spred 
Abroad  thy  fresh  youths  favrest  flowre,  but  lose 
Both  leafe  and  fruite,  both  too  untimely  shed. 
As  one  in  wilfull  bale  for  ever  buried. 


"  The  time  that  mortall  men  their  weary  cares 

Do  lay  away,  and  all  wilde  beastes  do  rest. 

And  every  river  eke  his  course  forbeares, 

Then  doth  this  wicked  evill  thee  infest, 

And  rive  with  thousand  throbs  thy  thrilled  brest  : 

Like  an  huge  Aetn'  of  deepe  engulfed  gryefe. 

Sorrow  is  heaped  in  thy  hollow  chest. 

Whence  foorth  it  breakes  in  sighes  and  anguish  ryfe, 

As  smoke  and  sulphure  mingled  with  confused  stryfe. 


"  Ay  me!  how  much  I  feare  least  love  it  bee  ! 

But  if  that  love  it  be,  as  sure  I  read 

By  knowen  signes  and  passions  which  I  see. 

Be  it  worthy  of  thy  race  and  royall  sead. 

Then  I  avow,  by  this  most  sacred  head 

Of  my  dear  foster  childe,  to  ease  thy  griefe 

And  win  thy  will  :   therefore  away  doe  dread  : 

For  death  nor  daunger  from  thy  dew  reliefe 

Shall  me  debarre  :  tell  me,  theieforo,  my  liefest  liefe  !" 


So  having  sayd,  her  twixt  her  armes  twaine 

Shee  streightly  straynd,  and  colled  tenderly; 

And  every  trenibiing  ioynt  and  every  vaine 

Shee  softly  felt,  and  rubbed  busily. 

To  doe  the  frosen  cold  away  to  fly  ; 

And  her  faire  deawy  eies  with  kisses  deaie 

Shee  olte  did  bathe,  and  ofte  againe  did  dry  : 

And  ever  In  r  irnjiurluud  not  to  feare 

To  let  the  secret  of  her  hart  to  her  appeare 


Canto   II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


135 


The  damzell  pauzd  ;  and  then  thus  fearfully; 
"  All!  nurse,  what  needeth  thee  to  eke  my  payne? 
Ts  not  enough  that  1  alone  doe  dye, 
But  It  must  doubled  bee  with  death  of  twaine  ? 
For  nought  for  me  but  death  there  doth  remaine!" 
"  0  daughter  deare,"  said  she,  "  despeire  no  whit; 
For  never  sore  but  might  a  salve  obtaine : 
That  blinded  god,  which  hath  ye  blindly  smit, 
Another  arrow  hath  your  lovers  hart  to  hit." 


"  But  mine  is  not,"  quoth  she,  "  like  other  wownd ; 
For  which  no  reason  can  finde  remedy." 
"  Was  never  such,  but  mote  the  like  befownd," 
Said  she  ;  "and  though  no  reason  may  apply 
Salve  to  your  sore,  yet  love  can  higher  stye 
Then  reasons  reach,  and  oft  hath  wonders  donne." 
"  But  neither  god  of  love  nor  god  of  skye 
Can  doe,"  said  she,  "  that  which  cannot  be  donne." 
"  Things  oft   impossible,"   quoth  she,  "  seeme  ere 
begonne." 


"These  idlewordes,"  said  she,  "  doe  nought  aswage 
Mv  stubborne  smart,  but  more  annoiaunce  breed  : 
For  no,  no  usuall  fire,  no  usuall  rage 
Yt  is,  O  nourse,  which  on  my  life  doth  feed, 
And  sucks  the  blood  which  from  my  hart  doth  bleed. 
But  since  thy  faithfull  zele  lets  me  not  hyde 
My  crime,  (if  crime  it  be,)  I  will  it  reed. 
Nor  prince  nor  pere  it  is,  whose  love  hath  gryde 
My  feeble  brest  of  late,  and  launched    this  wound 
wyde. 

xxxviir. 

"  Nor  man  it  is,  nor  other  living  wight  ; 
For  then  some  hope  1  might  unto. me  draw; 
But  th'  only  shade  and  semblant  of  a  knight. 
Whose  shape  or  person  yet  I  never  saw, 
Hath  me  subiected  to  loves  cruell  law  : 
The  same  one  day,  as  me  misfortune  led, 
I  in  my  fathers  wondrous  mirrhour  saw. 
And,  pleased  with  that  seeming  goodlyhed, 
Unwares  the  hidden  hooke  with  baite  I  swallowed : 


"  Sithens  it  hath  infixed  faster  hold, 

Within  my  bleeding  bowells,  and  so  sore 

Now  ranckleth  in  this  same  fraile  fleshly  mould, 

That  all  mine  entrailes  flow  with  poisnous  gore, 

And  th'  ulcer  groweth  daily  more  and  more ; 

Ne  can  my  ronning  sore  finde  remedee. 

Other  than  my  hard  fortune  to  deplore. 

Ana  languish  as  the  leafe  fain  from  the  tree, 

Till  death  make  one  end  of  my  daies  and  miseree !' 


"  Daughter,"  said  she,  "  what  need  ye  be  dismavd  ? 

Or  why  make  ye  such  monster  of  your  minde  1 

Of  much  more  uncouth  thing  I  was  aflFrayd: 

Of  filthy  lust,  contrary  unto  kinds  : 

But  this  aftection  nothing  straunge  I  finde ; 

For  who  with  reason  can  vou  aye  reprove 

To  love  the  semblaunt  pleasing  most  your  minde, 

And  yield  your  heart  whence  ye  cannot  remove'! 

No  guilt  in  you,  but  in  the  tyranny  of  love. 


"  Not  so  th'  Arabian  Myrrhe  did  sett  her  mynd; 
Nor  so  did  Biblis  spend  her  pining  hart; 
But  lov'd  their  native  flesh  against  al  kjTid, 
And  to  their  purpose  used  wicked  art: 
Yet  playd  PasipLaii  a  more  monstrous  part. 
That  lov'd  a  bull,  and  learnd  a  beast  to  bee : 
Such  shamefuU  lustes  who  loaths  not,  which  dejiart 
From  course  of  nature  and  of  modestee? 
Swete  love  such  lewdnes  bands  from  his  faire  com« 
panee. 


"  But  thine,  my  deare,  (welfare  thy  heart,  my  deare !) 

Though  straunge  beginning  had,  yet  fixed  is 

On  one  that  worthy  may  perhaps  appeare  ; 

And  certes  seemes  bestowed  not  amis  : 

loy  thereof  have  thou  and  eternall  blis  !" 

With  that,  upleaning  on  her  elbow  weake. 

Her  alablaster  brest  she  soft  did  kis. 

Which  all  that  while  sliee  felt  to  pant  and  quake, 

As  it  an  earth-quake  were :  at  last  she  thus  bespake ; 


"  Beldame,  your  words  doe  worke  me  litle  ease  ; 
For  though  my  love  be  not  so  lewdly  bent 
As  those  ye  blame,  yet  may  it  nought  appease 
My  raging  smart,  ne  ought  my  flame  relent, 
But  rather  doth  my  helpelesse  griefe  augment. 
For  they,  howe\'er  shamefuU  and  unkinde, 
Yet  did  possesse  their  horrible  intent : 
Short  end  of  sorrowes  they  therby  did  finde 
So  was  their  fortune  good,  though  wicked  were  their 
minde. 


"  But  wicked  fortune  mine,  though  minde  be  good. 
Can  have  no  end  nor  hope  of  my  desire, 
But  feed  on  shadowes  whiles  1  die  for  food, 
And  like  a  shadow  wexe,  whiles  with  entire 
Aftection  I  doe  languish  and  expire. 
I,  fonder  then  Cephisus  foolish  chyld, 
Who,  having  vewed  in  a  fountaine  shere 
His  face,  was  with  the  love  thereof  beguyld  ; 
1,  fonder,  love  a  shade,  the  body  far  exyld." 


"  Nought  like,"  quoth  shee  ;  "  for  that  same  Avretched 

Was  of  himselfe  the  ydle  paramoure,  [P°y 

Both  love  and  lover,  without  hope  of  ioy  ; 

For  which  he  faded  to  a  watry  ttowre. 

But  better  fortune  thine,  and  better  howre. 

Which  lov'st  the  shadow  of  a  warlike  knight; 

No  shadow,  but  a  body  hath  in  powre  : 

I'bat  body,  wheresoever  that  it  light. 

May  learned  be  by  cyphers,  or  by  magicke  might* 


"  But  if  thou  may  with  reason  yet  represse 
The  growing  evill,  ere  it  strength  have  gott, 
And  thee  abandond  wholy  do  possesse  ; 
Against  it  strongly  strive,  and  yield  thee  nott 
Til  thou  in  open  fielde  adowne  be  smott : 
But  if  the  I  assion  mayster  thy  iraile  might. 
So  that  needs  love  or  death  must  be  thy  lott. 
Then  I  avow  to  thee,  by  wrong  or  rignt 
To  compas  thy  desire,  and  find  that  loved  knight.'' 


136 


TiiK  FAF.RiK  gu i:[':\r.. 


fBooK  ±1 


Her  cliearefull  words  much  clieard  tlie  feeble  spright 

Of  the  sicke  virgin,  ibat,  lier  doune  she  layd 

Tn  her  warme  bed  to  sleepe,  if  that  she  might  3 

And  the  ohl-woman  carefully  disi)layd 

The  clothes  about  her  round  with  busy  ayd  ; 

So  that  at  last  a  litle  creeping  sleepe 

Surpiizd  her  sence  :   shee,  therewith  well  apayd, 

The  dronken  lamp  down  in  the  oyl  did  steepe, 

And  sett  her  by  to  watch,  and  sett  her  by  to  weepe. 


Enrely,  the  morrow  next,  before  that  Day 

His  ioyous  face  did  to  the  world  revele, 

They  both  uprose  and  tooke  their  ready  way 

Unto  the  church,  their  praiers  to  appele, 

With  great  devotion,  and  with  liile  zele  : 

For  the  faire  damzell  from  the  holy  herse 

Her  love-sicke  hart  to  other  thoughts  did  steale  • 

And  that  old  dame  said  many  an  idle  verse, 

Out  of  lier  daughters  hart  fond  fancies  to  reverse. 


Retourncd  home,  the  royall  infiint  fell 
Into  her  farmer  fitt  ;  for  why  ?  no  powre 
Nor  guidaunce  of  herselfe  in  her  did  dwell. 
But  th'  aged  nourse,  her  calling  to  her  bowre, 
Had  gathered  rew,  and  savine,  and  the  flovyre 
Of  caraphora,  and  calamint,  and  dill ; 
All  which  she  in  a  earthen  pot  did  poure, 
And  to  the  brim  with  coltwood  did  it  fill, 
And  many  drops  of  milk  and  blood  through  it  did 
spill. 


Then,  taking  thrive  rhree  heares  from  off  her  head, 

Them  trebly  bre;ided  in  a  threefold  lace, 

And  round  about  the  pots  mouth  bound  the  thread 

And,  after  having  whispered  a  space 

Certein  sad  words  with  hollow  voice  and  bace, 

Shee  to  the  virgin  savd,  thrise  sayd  she  itt ; 

"  Come,  daughter,  come  ;  come,  spit  upon  my  face, 

Spitt  thrise  upon  me,  thrise  upon  me  spitt ; 

Th'  uneven  nomber  for  this  busines  is  most  fitt." 


That  sayd,  her  rownd  about  she  from  her  turnd, 

She  turned  her  cimtrary  to  the  sunne  ; 

Thrise  she  her  turnd  contrary,  and  returnd 

All  contrary;  for  she  the  riijht  did  shunne  ; 

And  ever  what  she  did  was  streight  undonne. 

So  thought  she  to  undoe  her  daughter's  love : 

But  love,  that  is  in  gentle  brest  begonne. 

No  ydle  charmes  so  lightly  may  remove  ; 

That  well  can  witnesse,  who  by  try  all  it  does  prove 


Ne  ought  it  mote  the  noble  mavd  avayle, 

Ne  slake  the  fury  of  her  cruell  Hame, 

]?ut  that  shee  still  did  waste,  and  still  did  wayle, 

That,  through  long  languour  and  hart-burning  bi"ame, 

She  shortly  like  a  pyned  ghost  became 

Which  long  hath  waited  by  the  Stygian  strond  ; 

That  when  old  Glauce  saw,  for  feare  least  blame 

Of  her  miscarriage  should  in  her  be  fond, 

She  wist  not  how  t'  amend,  nor  how  it  to  wilhstond 


CANTO  III. 

Merlin  bewrayes  to  Britomart 

The  state  of  Arthegall : 
And  shewes  the  famous  progeny, 

Which  from  them  springen  shall. 


5Iosi  sacred  fyre,  that  burnest  mightily 
In  living  brests,  ykindled  first  above 
Emongst  th'  eternall  spheres  and  lamping  sky, 
And  thence  pourd  into  men,  which  men  call  Love  ; 
Not  that  same,  wiiii  h  doth  base  affections  move 
In  brutish  mindcs,  and  filthy  lust  inflame  ; 
But  that  swecte  fit  that  doth  true  beautie  love, 
And  choseth  Vertue  for  his  dearest  dame. 
Whence  spring  all  noble  deedes  and  never-dying 
fame : 


Well  did  Antiquity  a  god  thee  deeme, 
That  over  mortall  mindes  hast  so  great  might, 
'l"o  order  them  as  best  to  thee  doth  seeme, 
And  all  their  actions  to  direct  aright: 
The  fatall  purpose  of  divine  foresight 
Thou  doest  efl'ect  in  destined  descents, 
Through  deepe  impression  of  thy  secret  might. 
Aid  stirredst  up  th'  heroes  high  intents. 
Which  the  late  world  admyres  for  wondrous  moni 
ments. 


m. 

But  thy  dredd  dartes  in  none  doe  triumph  more, 
Ne  braver  proofe  in  any  of  thy  powre 
Shewd'st  thou,  then  in 'this  royall  maid  of  yore, 
Making  her  seeke  an  unknowne  jiaramoure. 
From  the  worlds  end,  through  many  a  bitter  stowre  ; 
IVoni  whose  two  loynes  thou  afterwardes  did  rayse 
Most  famous  fruites  of  matrimoniall  bowre,  [prayse. 
\\  hich  through  the  earth  have  spredd  their  living 
That  fame  in  tromp  of  gold  eternally  disjilayea. 


Begin  then,  0  my  dearest  sacred  dame, 
Daughter  of  I'hdbus  and  of  Memorye, 
That  doest  ennoble  with  immortall  name 
The  warlike  worthies,  from  anticjuitye, 
In  thv  great  volume  of  eternitye  : 
j'figin,  ()  (Hio,  and  recount  from  hence 
j\Iv  glorious  soveraines  goodly  Auncestrye, 
Till  that  by  dew  degrees,  and  long  pretense. 
'J  hou  have  it  lastly  brought  unto  hev  excellence 


Canto  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENK. 


137 


Full  many  wayes  within  lier  troubled  mind 
Old  Glauce  cast  to  cure  tliis  ladies  griefe  ; 
Full  many  wayes  she  sought  but  none  could  find, 
Nor  herbes,  nor  charmes,  nor  counsel  that  is  cLiefe 
And  choisest  med'cine  for  sick  harts  relief e  : 
Forthy  great  care  she  tooke,  and  greater  feare, 
Least  that  it  should  her  turne  to  fbwle  repriefe 
And  sore  reproch,  whenso  lier  father  deare 
Should    of  his   dearest  daughters  hard   misfortune 
heare. 


At  last  she  her  avisde,  that  he  which  made 

That  mirrhour,  wherein  the  sicke  damosell 

So  straungely  vewed  her  straunge  lovers  shade, 

To  weet,  the  learned  jNlerlin,  well  could  tell 

Under  what  coast  of  heaven  the  man  did  dwell, 

And  by  what  means  his  love  might  best  be  wrought: 

For,  though  bevond  the  Africk  Ismael 

Or  th'  Indian  Peru  he  were,  she  thought 

Him  forth  throun-h  infinite  endeavour  to  have  sousfht. 


ForthwitI)  themselves  disguising  both  in  straunge 
And  base  attvre,  that  none  might  them  bewray. 
To  JNIaridunum,  that  is  now  by  chaunge 
Of  name  Cayr-lNIerdin  cald,  they  tooke  their  way  : 
There  the  wise  IMerlin  whylome  wont  (they  say) 
To  make  his  wonne,  low  underneath  the  ground. 
In  a  deepe  delve,  farre  from  the  vew  of  day. 
That  of  no  living  wight  he  mote  be  found, 
W  henso  he  counseld  with  his  sprights  encompast 
round. 


And,  ifxhou  ever  happen  that  same  way 
To  traveill,  go  to  see  tliat  dreadful  place  : 
It  is  an  hideous  hollow  cave  (they  say) 
Undtr  a  rock  that  lyes  a  litle  space 
From  tlie  swift  Barry,  tombling  downe  apace 
Emongst  the  woody  hilles  of  Dvneuowre  : 
But  dare  thou  not,  I  charge,  in  any  cace 
To  enter  into  that  same  baleful!  bowre. 
For  feare  the  cruell  feendes  should  thee  unwares 
devowre : 


But  standing  high  aloft  low  lay  thine  eare. 
And  there  such  ghastly  noyse  of  yron  chaines 
And  brasen  caudrons  thou  shall  rombling  heare, 
\\  hich  thousand  sprights  with  long  enduring  paines 
Doe  tosse,  that  it  will  stonn  thy  feeble  braines  ; 
And  oftentimes  yreat  grones,  and  grievous  stownds, 
When  too  huge  toile  and  labour  tliem  constraines  ; 
And  oftentimes  loud  strokes  and  ringing  sowndes 
From  under  that  deepe  rock  most  horriblyrebowndes. 


The  cause,  some  say,  is  this  :  a  litle  whyle 
Before  that  ]Merlin  dyde,  he  did  intend 
A  brasen  wall  in  compas  to  conipvle 
About  Cairmardin,  and  did  it  conimend 
Unto  these  sprights  to  bring  to  perfect  end  • 
During  which  worke  the  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
Whom  lon<;-  he  lov'd  for  him  in  hast  did  send  ; 
W  iio,  there  by  forst  his  workemen  to  forsake. 
Them  bownd,  till  his    retourne,  their  labour  not  to 
slake. 


In  the  mean  time  through  that  false  ladies  traine 

He  was  surprisd,  and  buried  under  heare, 

Ne  ever  to  his  worke  returnd  againe  : 

Nath'lesse  those  feends  may  not  their  worke  forbears, 

So  greatly  his  commandt;ment  they  feare. 

But  there  doe  toyle  and  traveile  day  and  night, 

Uiitill  that  brasen  wall  tliey  up  doe  reare  • 

For  Merlin  had  in  magick  more  insight 

Then  ever  him  before  or  after  living-  wiirht : 


For  he  by  wordes  could  call  out  of  the  sky 
Both  sunne  and  moone,  and  make  them  him  obay  ; 
The  land  to  sea,  and  sea  to  maineland  dry. 
And  darksom  night  he  eke  could  turne  to  dayj 
Huge  hostes  of  men  he  could  alone  dismay, 
And  hostes  of  men  of  meanest  thinges  could  frame 
Whenso  him  list  his  enimies  to  fray . 
That  to  this  day  for  terror  of  his  fame. 
The  feendes  do  quake  when   any   him   to  them  does 
name. 


And,  sooth,  men  say  that  he  was  not  the  sonne 

Of  mortall  svre  or  other  living  wight, 

But  wondrously  begotten,  and  begonne 

By  false  illusion  of  a  guileful!  spright 

Un  a  faire  lady  Nonne,  tliat  whdome  hight 

JMatilda,  daugliter  to  Puhidius 

Wlio  was  the  lord  of  JMarthtraval  by  right. 

And  coosen  unto  king  Ambrosius ; 

Whence  he  indued  was  with  skill  so  marvellous. 


They,  here  arriving,  staid  awhile  without, 
Ne  durst  adventure  rashly  in  to  wend. 
But  of  their  first  intent  gan  make  new  dout 
For  dread  of  daunger,  which  it  miglit  portend  : 
Until!  the  hardy  mayd  (with  Love  to  trend) 
First  entering,  the  dreadful!  Mage  there  fownd 
Deepe  busied  'bout  worke  of  wondrous  end. 
And  writing  straunge  characters  in  the  grownd 
With  whicli  the  stubborne  feendes  he  to  his  servire 
bownd. 


He  nought  was  moved  at  tlieir  entraunce  bold, 
For  of  their  coniming  well  he  wist  afore  ; 
Yet  list  them  bid  their  busines.se  to  unfold. 
As  if  ouglit  in  tliis  world  in  secrete  store 
AVere  from  liim  hidden,  or  unknowne  of  yore. 
Then  Glauce  thus  ;  "  Let  not  it  thee  offend, 
Tliat  we  thus  rashly  through  tliy  darksom  dore 
Unwares  have  prest ;  for  either  fatal!  end, 
Or  other  mightie  cause,  us  two  did  hether  send.' 


He  bad  tell  on  :  and  then  she  thus  began  ; 

"  Now  have  tliree  moones  with  borrowd brotliers ligh 

Thrise  sinned  faire,  and  tln-ise  seemd  dim  and  wan, 

Sitli  a  sore  evill,  which  this  virgin  bright 

Tormenteth  and  doth  plonge  in  doleful!  plight. 

First  rooting  tooke  ;  but  what  thing  it  mote  bee. 

Or  wiience  it  sprong,  I  cannot  read  ariglit  : 

But  tliis  I  read,  tliat,  but  if  remedee 

Thou  her  aftord,  full  shortly  T  her  dead  shall  see.' 


138 


niE  FAEEIE  QUEENE. 


[E)OK    III 


Therewith  th'  enchaunter  softly  gan  to  smyle 
At  her  smooth  speeches,  weeting  inly  well 
That  she  to  him  dissembled  womanish  guyle, 
And  to  her  said ;  "  Beldame,  by  that  ye  tell 
JMore  ueede  of  leach-crafte  hath  your  Damozell, 
Then  of  my  skill:  who  helpe  may  have  elsewliere, 
In  vaine  seekes  wonders  out  of  magick  spell." 
Til'  old  woman  wox  half    blanck    those  wordes  to 

lieare  : 
And  yet  was  loth  to  let  her  purpose  plains  appears ; 

XVIII. 

And  to  him  said  ;  "  Yf  any  leaches  still, 

Or  other  learned  meanes,  could  have  redrest 

This  my  deare  daughters  deepe-engraffed  ill, 

Certes  I  should  be  loth  thee  to  molest : 

But  tliis  sad  evill,  which  doth  her  infest. 

Doth  course  of  naturall  cause  farre  exceed, 

And  housed  is  within  her  hollow  brest, 

Tliat  either  seemes  some  cursed  witches  deed, 

Or  evill  spright,  thatiii  her  doth  such  torment  breed." 


The  wisard  could  no  lenger  beare  her  bord, 

But,  bursting  forth  in  laughter,  to  her  sayd  ; 

"  Glauce,  what  needes  this  colourable  word 

To  cloke  the  cause  that  hath  itselfe  bewrayd  2 

Ne  ye,  fayre  Britomartis,  thus  arayd, 

More  hidden  are  then  sunne  in  cloudy  vele  ; 

Whom  thy  good  fortune,  having  fate  obayd, 

Hath  hether  brought  for  succour  to  appele ; 

The  which  the  powres  to  thee  are  pleased  to  revele." 


The  doubtfull  mayd,  seeing  herselfs  descryde. 

Was  all  abasht,  and  her  pure  yvory 

Into  a  cleare  carnation  suddeine  dyde  ; 

As  favre  Aurora,  rysing  hastily, 

Doth  by  her  blushing  tell  that  she  did  lye 

All  night  in  old  Tithonus  frozen  bed, 

Whereof  she  seemes  ashamed  inwardly  : 

But  her  olde  nourse  was  nought  dishartened, 

But  vauntage  made  of  that  which  Merlin  had  ared  ; 


And  sayd  ;  "  Sith  then  thou  knowest  all  our  griefe, 
(For  what  doest  not  thou  knowe  1)  of  grace  1  pray, 
Pitty  our  playnt,  and  yield  us  meet  reliefs  ! " 
Witli  tliiU  the  projihet  still  awliile  did  stay. 
And  tlien  his  sj)irite  tlius  gan  f'oorth  display  ; 
"  i\Iost  noble  virgin,  that  by  fatall  lore 
Ilast  learn'd  to  love,  let  no  wliit  thee  dismay 
The  liard  begiiine  that  meetes  tliee  in  the  dore, 
And  with  sharps  fits  thy  tender  hart  oppresseth  sore : 


"  For  so  must  all  things  excellent  begin  ; 
And  eke  enro'^ted  deepe  must  be  that  tree, 
AVhose  big  emb'idied  braunches  shall  not  lin 
Till  tliey  to  hevens  hight  fortli  stretched  bee. 
For  from  thy  wombe  a  famous  progenee 
Shall  s])ring  out  of  the  auncient  Trojan  blood. 
Which  shall  revive  the  sleej)ing  memoree 
Of  those  same  antique  peres,  the  hevens  brood, 
Which  Greeks  and  Asian  rivers  stayned  with  their 
blood. 


"  Renowmed  kings,  and  sacred  emperours, 
Thy  fruitful}  oftsjiring,  sliall  from  thee  descend  ; 
Brave  captaines,  and  most  mighty  warriours, 
'i'hat  shall  their  conquests  through  all  lands  extend, 
And  their  decayed  kingdomes  shall  amend  : 
The  feeble  Britons,  broken  with  long  warre, 
They  shall  upreare,  and  mightily  defend 
Against  their  forren  foe  that  commes  from  farre. 
Till  universall  peace  compound  all  civill  iarre. 


"  It  was  not,  Britomart,  thy  wandring  eye 
Glauncing  unwares  in  charmed  looking-glas. 
But  the  streight  course  of  hevenly  destiny, 
Led  with  Eternall  Providence,  that  has 
Guyded  thy  glaunce,  to  bring  his  will  to  pas  : 
Ne  is  tliy  fate,  ne  is  tliy  fortune  ill. 
To  love  the  prowest  knight  that  ever  was  : 
Therefore  submit  thy  wayes  unto  his  will. 
And  doe,  by  all  dew  meanes,  thy  destiny  fulfill.' 


"  But  read,"  said  Glauce,  "  thou  magitian, 
What  meanes  shall  she  out-seeke,  or  wliat  waies  take? 
How  shall  she  know,  how  shall  she  finde  the  man  ? 
Or  what  needes  her  to  toyle,  sith  fates  can  make 
Way  for  themselves  their  purpose  to  pertake  V 
Then  Merlin  thus  ;  "  Indeede  the  fates  are  firms. 
And  may  not  shrinck,  though  all  the  world  do  shake  : 
Yet  ought  mens  good  endevours  them  confirme, 
And  guyde  the  heavenly  causes  to  their  constant 
terms. 


"  The  man,  whom  heavens  have  ordaynd  to  bee 

The  spouse  of  Britomart,  is  Arthegall : 

He  wonneth  in  the  land  of  Fayeree, 

Yet  is  no  Fary  borne,  ne  sib  at  all 

To  Elfes,  but  sprong  of  seed  terrestriall, 

And  whylome  bv  false  Faries  stolen  away, 

\\'hyles  yet  in  infant  cradle  he  did  crall  ; 

Ne  other  to  himselfe  is  knowne  this  day. 

But  that  he  by  an  Elfe  was  gotten  of  a  Fay  : 


"  But  sooth  he  is  the  sonne  of  Gorlois, 
And  brother  unto  Cador,  Cornish  king  ; 
And  for  his  warlike  featos  renowmed  is, 
From  wliere  the  day  out  of  the  sea  doth  spring, 
Untill  the  closure  of  the  evening  : 
From  thence  him,  firmely  bound  with  faithfull  band, 
To  this  his  native  soyle  thou  backe  shalt  bring, 
Strongly  to  ayde  his  countrcy  to  withstand 
Ihe  powre  of  forreins  paynims  which  invads  thy 
land. 


"  Great  ayd  thereto  his  mighty  puissaunce 

And  dreaded  name  shall  give  in  that  sad  day  ; 

Where  also  jiroofo  of  thy  prow  valiaunce 

Thou  tlieii  shalt  make,  t'  increase  thy  lover's  pray  : 

Long  time  ye  both  in  armes  shall  beare  great  sway 

Till  thy  wombes  burden  thee  from  them  do  call, 

And  his  last  fate  him  from  thee  take  away ; 

Too  rathe  cut  off  by  practise  criminall 

Of  secrete  foes,  that  him  shall  make  in  mischiefs  falL 


Casio  III.] 


THE   FAERIE   QUEENE. 


159 


"  Witli  thee  yet  shall  he  leave,  for  memory 

Of  his  late  puissaunce,  his  ymage  dead, 

That  living  him  in  all  activity 

To  thee  shall  represent :  he,  from  the  head 

Of  his  coosen  Constantius,  without  dread 

Shall  take  the  crowne  that  was  his  fathers  right. 

And  therewith  crowne  himselfe  in  tli'  others  stead  : 

Then  shall  he  issew  forth  with  dreadfull  might 

Against  his  Saxon  foes  in  bloody  field  to  fight. 


"  Like  as  a  lyon  that  in  drowsie  cave 

Hath  long  time  slept,  himselfe  so  shall  he  shake ; 

And,  comming  forth,  shall  spred  his  banner  brave 

Over  the  troubled  south,  that  it  shall  make 

The  warlike  Mertians  for  feare  to  quake  : 

Thrise  shall  he  fight  with  them,  and  twise  shall  win  ; 

But  the  third  time  shall  fayre  accordaunce  make  : 

And,  if  he  then  with  victorie  can  lin. 

He  shall  his  dayes  with  peace  bring  to  his  earthly  in. 


"  His  sonne,  hight  Vortipore,  shall  him  succeede 

In  kingdome,  but  not  in  felicity  : 

Yet  sliall  he  long  time  warre  with  happy  speed 

And  with  great  honour  many  batteills  try  ; 

But  at  the  last  to  tli'  importunity 

Of  froward  fortune  shall  be  forst  to  yield  : 

But  his  Sonne  Malgo  shall  full  mightily 

Avenge  his  fathers  losse  with  speare  and  shield. 

And  his  proud  foes  discomfit  in  victorious  field. 


"  Behold  the  man  !  and  tell  me,  Britomart, 
If  av  more  goodly  creature  thou  didst  see? 
How  like  a  gyaunt  in  each  manly  part 
Beares  he  himselfe  with  portly  maiestee, 
That  one  of  tli'  old  heroes  seemes  to  bee  ! 
He  the  six  islands,  comprovinciall 
In  auncient  times  unto  great  Britainee, 
Shall  to  the  same  reduce,  and  to  him  call 
Their  sondry  kuigs  to  do  their  homage  severall. 


"  All  which  his  sonne  Careticus  awhile 
Shall  well  defend,  and  Saxons  powre  suppresse ; 
Untill  a  straunger  king,  from  unknowne  soyle 
Arriving,  him  with  multitude  oppresse ; 
Cireat  Gormond,  having  with  huge  mightinesse 
Ireland  subdewd,  and  therein  fixt  his  throne, 
Like  a  swift  otter,  fell  through  emptinesse, 
Shall  overswim  the  sea  with  many  one 
Of  his  Norveyses,  to  assist  the  Britons  fone. 


"  He  in  his  furie  all  shall  over-ronne. 

And  holy  church  with  faithlesse  handes  deface, 

That  thy  sad  people,  utterly  fordonne. 

Shall  to  the  utmost  mountaines  fly  apace  : 

Was  never  so  great  waste  in  any  place, 

Ts'or  so  fowle  outrage  doen  by  living  men ; 

For  all  thy  citties  they  shall  sacke  and  race, 

And  the  greene  grasse  that  groweth  they  shall  bren, 

And  even  the  wUde  beast  shall  dy  in  starved  den. 


"  Whiles  thus  thy  Britons  doe  in  languour  pnie, 

Proud  Etheldred  shall  from  the  north  arise, 

Serving  th'  ambitious  will  of  Augustine, 

And,  passing  Dee,  with  hardy  enterprise 

Shall  backe  repulse  the  valiaunt  Brockwell  twise. 

And  Bangor  with  massacred  martyrs  fill ; 

But  the  third  time  shall  rew  his  fool-hardise  : 

For  Cadwan,  pittying  his  peoples  ill. 

Shall  stoutly  him  defeat,  and  tliousand  Saxons  kill. 


"  But,  after  liim,  Cadwallin  mightily 

On  his  sonne  Edwin  all  those  wrongs  shall  wreake; 

Ne  shall  availe  the  wicked  sorcery 

Of  false  Pellite  his  purposes  to  breake. 

But  him  shall  slay,  and  on  a  gallowes  bleak 

Shall  give  th'  enchaunter  his  unhappy  hire  : 

Then  shall  the  Britons,  late  dismayd  and  weake. 

From  their  long  vassallage  gin  to  respire. 

And  on  their  Paynim  foes  avenge  their  ranckled  ire. 


"  Ne  shall  he  yet  his  wrath  mitigate. 

Till  both  the  sonnes  of  Edwin  he  have  slayne, 

Oftricke  and  Osricke,  twinnes  unfortunate. 

Both  slaine  in  battaile  upon  Layburne  playue. 

Together  with  the  King  of  Louthiane, 

Hight  Adin,  and  the  King  of  Orkeny, 

Both  ioyni  partakers  of  their  fatall  payne  : 

But  Penda,  fearefull  of  like  desteney. 

Shall  yield  himselfe  his  liegeman,  and  sweare  fealty  ; 


"  Him  shall  he  make  his  fatall  instrument 
T'  afflict  the  other  Saxons  unsubdewd : 
He  marching  forth  with  fury  insolent 
Against  the  good  King  Oswald,  who  indewd 
AV^ith  heavenly  powre,  and  by  angels  reskewd. 
All  holding  crosses  in  their  hands  on  hye, 
Sliall  him  defeate  withouten  blood  imbrewd  : 
Of  which  that  field  for  endlesse  memory 
Shall  Hevenfield  be  cald  to  all  posterity. 


"  Whereat  Cadwallin  wroth  shall  forth  issew. 
And  an  huge  hoste  in  Northnmber  lead, 
^Vith  which  he  godly  Oswald  shall  subdew, 
And  crowne  with  martiredome  his  sacred  head  : 
Whose  brother  Oswin,  daunted  with  like  dread. 
With  price  of  silver  shall  his  kingdome  buy; 
And  Penda,  seeking  him  adowne  to  tread. 
Shall  tread  adowne,  and  doe  him  fowly  dye; 
But  shall  with  gifts  his  lord  Cadwallin  pacify. 


"  Then  shall  Cadwallin  die  ;  and  then  the  raine 
Of  Britons  eke  witli  him  attonce  shall  dye  ; 
ISe  shall  the  good  Cadwallader,  with  paine 
Or  pov.-re,  be  liable  it  to  remedy. 
When  the  full  time,  prefixt  by  destiny. 
Shall  be  expird  of  Britons  regiment : 
P"or  heven  itselfe  shall  their  successe  en^T, 
And  them  with  plagues  and  niurrins  pestilent 
Consume,  till  all  their  warlike  puissaunce  be  spe 


140 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boos  III. 


''  ^  et  efler  all  these  sorrowes,  and  huge  hills 
Ct  dying  people,  during-  eight  yeares  space, 
Ciidwalb.der,  not  yielding  to  his  ills, 
From  Annoricke,  where  long  in  wretched  cace 
He  liv'd,  retourning  to  his  native  place, 
Shal  be  my  vision  staid  e  from  liis  intent : 
For  th'  heavens  have  decreed  to  displace 
Tlio  l5ritons  for  their  sinnes  dew  punishment, 
And  to  the  Saxons  over-give  their  government. 


"  Then  woe,  auu  woe,  and  everlasting  woe, 
Be  to  the  Briton  babe  that  shal  be  borne 
To  live  in  thraldom  of  his  fathers  foe  ! 
Late  liing,  now  captive  ;  late  lord,  now  forlorne ; 
The  worlds  reprocli  ;   the  cruell  victors  scorne  ; 
Banislit  from  princely  bowre  to  wasteful  wood  ! 
O  !  who  shall  helpe  me  to  lament  and  mourne 
The  royall  seed,  the  antique  Trogan  blood. 
Whose  empire  lenger  here  then  ever  any  stood  !" 


The  damzell  was  full  deepe  empassioned 

Both  for  his  griefe,  and  for  her  peoples  sake. 

Whose  future  woes  so  plaine  he  fashioned  ; 

And  sighing  sore,  at  length  him  thus  besjjake  ; 

"  Ah  !   but  will  lievens  fury  never  slake. 

Nor  vengeaunce  huge  relent  itselfe  at  last  ? 

Will  not  long  misery  late  mercy  make, 

But  shall  their  name  for  ever  be  defaste 

And  quite  from  oti"  the  earth  their  memory  De  raste  ?' 


"  Nay  but  the  terme,"  said  Ije,  "  is  limited, 
'i'hat  in  this  thraldome  Britons  shall  abide  ; 
And  the  iust  revolution  measured 
That  they  as  strnungers  shal  be  notifide  : 
For  twise  fowre  hundreth  yeares  shal  be  supplide. 
Ere  they  to  former  rule  restor'd  slial  bee, 
And  their  iinjiortune  fates  all  satisfide  : 
Vet,  during  this  their  most  obscuritee. 
Their  beanies  shall  ofte  breake  forth,  that  men  tliem 
faire  may  see. 

xi.v. 

"  For  Rhodoricke,  whose  surname  shal  he  Great, 
Shall  of  liiniscUe  a  brave  cnsainple  shew, 
That  Saxon  kings  his  friendsliij)  shall  intreat  ; 
And  Howell  Dlia  shall  goodly  well  iiidevv 
The  salvage  minds  with  skill  of  iust  and  trew  : 
Then  (iritf'yth  C!onan  also  siiall  upreare 
His  dreaded  head,  and  the  old  sparkes  renew 
Of  native  coiage,  that  his  foes  shall  feare 
Least  hack  aganie  the  kingdom  hnfroin  them  should 
beare. 


"  Ne  shall  the  Saxons  selves  all  jjeaccably 

Enioy  the  crowne,  which  they  from  Britons  wonne 

First  ill,  and  aftt-r  ruled  wickedly: 

For,  ere  two  huiulred  yeares  he  iuli  outronne, 

'J'here  shall  a  raven,  far  from  rising  sunne, 

With  his  wide  wings  ujioii  them  fiercely  Hy, 

And  bid  his  faiihlesse  chickens  overroiine 

The  iruitfull  ])laines,  and  vvitii  fell  cruelty 

In  their  avenge  tread  downe  tlie  victors  surcjuedry. 


"  Yet  shall  a  third  both  these  and  thine  subdew : 
There  shall  a  lion  from  the  sea-bord  wood 
Of  Neustria  come  roring,  with  a  crew 
Of  hungry  whelpes,  his  battailous  bold  brood, 
Whose  clawes  were  newly  dipt  in  cruddy  blood. 
That  from  the  Daniske  Tyrants  head  shall  rend 
Th' usurped  crowne,  as  if  that  he  were  wood. 
And  the  spoiie  of  the  countrey  conquered 
Emongst  his  young  ones  shall  divide  with  bountylied. 


"  Tho,  when  the  terme  is  full  accomplishid. 
There  shall  a  sparke  of  fire,  which  hath  longwhile 
Bene  in  his  ashes  raked  up  and  hid, 
Bee  freshly  kindled  in  the  fruitfuU  ile 
Of  ]\Iona,  where  it  lurked  in  exile  ; 
Which  shall  breake  forth  into  bright  burning  flame. 
And  reach  into  the  house  that  beares  the  stile 
Of  royall  maiesty  and  soveraine  name  : 
So    shall   the  Briton  blood    their    crowne    againe 
reclaime. 


"  Thenceforth  eternal!  union  shall  be  made 
Betweene  the  nations  different  afore. 
And  sacred  peace  shall  lovingly  persuade 
The  warlike  minds  to  learne  her  goodly  lore. 
And  civile  amies  to  exercise  no  more  : 
Then  shall  a  royall  virgin  raine,  which  shall 
Stretch  her  white  rod  over  the  Belgicke  shore, 
And  the  great  castle  smite  so  sore  withall. 
That  it  shall  make  him  shake,  and  shortly  learn  to 
fall: 

t. 

"  But  yet  the  end  is  not." — There  Merlin  stayd. 
As  overcome!!  of  the  spirites  powre, 
Or  other  ghastly  spectacle  dismayd, 
That  secretly  he  saw,  yet  note  discourse : 
Whicli  suddein  fitt  and  halfe  extatick  stoure 
When  the  two  fearefuU  wemen  saw,  they  grew 
Greatly  confused  in  behaveoure  : 
At  last,  the  fury  past,  to  former  hew 
He   turnd  againe,  and  chearfuU  looks  as  earst  did 
shew. 


'I'hen,  when  themselves  they  well  instructed  had 
t)f  all  that  needi'd  them  to  be  in quird. 
They  botli,  conceiving  lio])c  of  cnmfort  glad, 
With  lighter  hearts  unto  their  home  retird  ; 
Where  they  in  secret  counsell  close  conspird. 
How  to  effect  so  hard  an  enterprize. 
And  to  possesse  the  pur])ose  they  desird  : 
Now  this,  now  that,  twixt  them  they  did  devize. 
And  diverse    plots    did  frame   to  maske  in  strange 
dis'Tuise. 


At  last  the  nourse  in  her  fool-hanly  wit 
Conceiv'd  a  hold  devise,  and  thus  bespake  ; 
"  iJaughter,  I  deeme  that  counsel  aye  most  fit, 
That  of  the  time  doth  dew  advauiitage  take  : 
Ve  see  that  good  king  Uther  now  doth  make 
Strong  warre  ujion  the  Paynim  brethren,  hight 
Octa  and  Oza,  wlionie  hee  lately  brake 
lieside  Cayr  \'erolame  in  victorious  fight, 
That  now  all  Bri^any  doth  buine  in  armes  bright. 


c.vNTo  in.j 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


1*1 


''  That  therefore  nought  our  passage  may  empeach, 

Let  us  in  feigned  atTiies  ourselves  disguize, 

And  our  weake  hands  (need  makes  good  schollers) 

teach 
The  dreadful  speare  and  shield  to  exercize ; 
Ne  certes,  daughter,  that  same  warlike  wize, 
I  weene,  would  you  meseeme  ;  for  ye  beene  tall 
And  large  of  limbe  t'  atchieve  an  hard  emprize  ; 
Ne  ought  ye  want  but  skil,  which  practize  small 
Will  bring,  and  shortly  make  you  a  mayd  martiall. 

LIV, 

''  And,  sooth,  it  ought  your  corage  much  inflame 

To  heai-e  so  often,  in  that  rovall  hous. 

From  whence  to  none  inferior  ye  came, 

Bards  tell  of  many  weraen  valorous. 

Which  have  full  many  feats  adventurous 

Perform'd,  in  paragone  of  proudest  men: 

The  bold  Bunduca,  whose  victorious 

Exployts  made  Rome  to  quake  ;  stout  Guendolen ; 

Renowmed  Martia;  and  redoubted  Emmilen  ; 


'  And,  that  which  more  then  all  tiie  rest  may  sway. 
Late  dayes  ensample,  which  these  eies  beheld  : 
In  the  last  field  before  Menevia, 
Which  Uther  with  tliose  fnrrein  Pagans  held, 
I  saw  a  Saxon  virgin,  the  whi^h  feld 
Great  Ulfin  thrise  upon  the  bloody  plavne; 
And,  had  not  Carados  her  hand  witliheld 
From  rash  revenge,  she  had  him  surely  slayne ; 
Yei  Carados  himselfe  from  her  escapt  with  payne." 


"  Ah  !  read,"  quoth  Britomart,  "  how  is  she  hight'!" 

"  Fayre  Angela,"  quoth  she,  "men  do  her  call, 

No  whit  lesse  faj're  then  terrible  in  fight: 

She  hath  the  leading  of  a  martiall 

And  mightie  people,  dreaded  more  then  all 

The  other  Saxons,  which  doe,  for  her  sake 

And  love,  themselves  of  her  name  Angles  call. 

Therefore,  faire  infant,  her  ensample  make 

Unto  thyselfe,  and  equall  corage  to  thee  take." 


Her  harty  wordes  so  deepe  into  tlie  mynd 
Of  the  young  damzell  sunke,  that  great  desire 
0."  warlike  armes  in  her  forthwith  they  tynd, 
And  generous  stout  courage  did  inspyre, 
'Jhat  she  resolv'd,  unweetnig  to  her  syre, 
Advent'rous  knighthood  on  heiselfe  to  don  ; 
And  counseld  with  her  nourse  her  maides  attyre 
To  turne  into  a  massy  habergeon  ; 
Aud  bad  her  all  things  put  in  readiness  anon. 


Th'  old  woman  nought  tliat  needed  did  omit ; 

But  all  thinges  did  conveniently  purvay. 

It  fortimed  (so  time  tlieir  turne  did  fitt) 

A  band  of  Britons,  r3"ding  on  fonay 

Few  dayes  before,  had  gotten  a  great  pray 

Of  Saxon  goods  ;  emongst  the  which  was  seene 

A  goodly  armour,  and  full  rich  aray, 

^Vhich  long'd  to  Angela,  the  Saxon  (|ueene. 

All  fretted  round  with  gold  and  goodly  wel  beseene. 


The  same,  with  all  the  other  ornaments, 
King  Ryence  caused  to  be  hanged  hy 
In  his  chiefe  church,  for  endlesse  moniments 
Of  his  siiccesse  and  gladfull  victory  : 
Of  which  herselfe  avising  readilv, 
In  th'  eveninir  late  old  Glance  thether  led 
Faire  Britomart,  and,  that  same  armory 
Downe  taking,  her  therein  appai'eled 
Well  as  she  might,  and  with  brave  bauldrick  gar- 
nished. 


Beside  those  armes  there  stood  a  mightie  speare. 
Which  Bladud  made  by  magicke  art  of  yore. 
And  usd  the  same  in  batteill  aye  to  beare; 
Sith  which  it  had  beene  here  preserv'd  in  store. 
For  his  great  virtues  proved  long  afore; 
For  never  wight  so  fast  in  sell  could  sit. 
But  him  perforce  unto  the  ground  it  bore: 
Both  speare  she  tooke  and  shield  which  liong  by  it; 
Both  speare  and  shield  of  great  powre,  for  her  pur- 
pose fit. 


Thus  when  she  had  the  virgin  all  arayd. 
Another  harnesse  wliich  did  hang  thereby 
About  herselfe  she  dight,  that  the  yong  mayd 
She  might  in  ecjuall  armes  accompanv. 
And  as  her  squyre  attend  her  carefully: 
Tho  to  their  ready  steedes  thev  clombe  full  light ; 
And  through  back  waies,  that  nonemight  them  espy. 
Covered  with  secret  cloud  of  silent  night. 
Themselves  they  forth  convaid,  and  passed  forward 
rioht. 


Ne  rested  they,  till  that  to  Faery  Lond 
They  came,  as  JMerlin  them  directed  Ia*o; 
Where,  meeting  with  this  Redcrosse  knight,  she  fond 
Of  diverse  thinges  discourses  to  dilate. 
But  most  of  Arthegall  and  his  estate. 
At  last  their  waves  so  fell,  that  they  mote  part.: 
Then  eacli  to  otiier,  well  affectionate 
Friendship  professed  with  unfained  hart* 
The  Redcrosbri  kniglit  diverst;  but  forth   rode  Bri- 
tomart. 


142 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III. 


CANTO  IV. 

Bold  Marinell  of  Britomart 
Is  throwne  on  the  Rich  Strond 

Faire  Florimell  of  Arthur  is 
Long  followed,  but  not  fond. 


Where  is  the  /intique  glory  now  become, 
That  whylome  wont  in  wemen  to  appeare  ? 
Where  be  tlie  brave  atchievements  doen  by  some? 
\\  heie  be  the  batteilles,  where  the  shield  and  speare, 
And  all  the  conquests  which  them  high  did  reare, 
That  matter  made  for  famous  poets  verse, 
And  boastfull  men  so  oft  abasht  to  heare  ? 
Beene  they  all  dead,  and  laide  in  dolefuU  herse? 
Or  doen  they  onely  sleepe,  and  shall  againe  reverse  1 


If  they  be  dead,  then  woe  is  me  therefore  ; 

But  if  they  sleepe,  O  let  them  soone  awake  ! 

For  all  too  long  I  burne  with  envy  sore 

To  lieare  the  warlike  feates  which  Homere  spake 

Of  bold  Penthesilee,  which  made  a  lake 

Of  Greekish  blood  so  ofte  in  Trojan  plaine  ; 

But  when  I  reade,  how  stout  Debora  strake 

Proud  Sisera,  and  how  Camill'  hath  slaine 

Tlie  huge  Orsilochus,  I  swell  with  great  disdaine. 


Yet  these,  and  all  that  els  had  puissaunce, 

Cannot  with  noble  Britomart  compare, 

Aswell  for  glorie  of  great  valiaunce. 

As  for  pure  chastitee  and  vertue  rare. 

That  all  her  goodly  deedes  doe  v»ell  declare. 

Well  worthie  stock,  from  which  the  branches  sprong 

That  in  late  yeares  so  faire  a  blossome  bare. 

As  thee,  0  (jueene,  the  matter  of  my  song, 

Whose  lignage  from  this  lady  I  derive  along  ! 


Who  when,  through  speaches  with  the  Redcrosse 
She  learned  had  th'  estate  of  Arthegall,  [knight, 

And  in  each  point  herselfe  informd  aright, 
A  friendly  league  of  love  perpetual! 
She  with  him  bound,  and  conge  tooke  withall. 
Then  he  forth  on  his  ifiurney  did  proceede, 
To  seeke  adventures  which  mote  him  befall, 
.And  win  him  worsliip  through  his  warlike  deed, 
Which  alwaies  of  his  pames  he  made  the  chiefest 
meed. 


But  Britomart  kept  on  her  former  course, 
Ne  ever  dofte  her  armes  ;  but  all  the  way 
Grew  pensive  through  that  amorous  discourse. 
By  which  the  Redcrosse  knight  did  earst  display 
Her  lovers  shape  and  chevalrous  aray  : 
A  thousand  thoughts  she  fiishiond  in  her  mind; 
And  in  her  feigning  fancie  did  pourtray 
lliin,  sucli  as  fittest  she  for  love  could  find, 
Wise,  wai'like  personable,  courteous,  and  kind. 


With  such  selfe-pleasmg  thoughts  her  wound  she 

fedd. 
And  thought  so  to  beguile  her  grievous  smart ; 
But  so  her  smart  was  much  more  grievous  bredd. 
And  the  deepe  wound  more  deep  engorgd  her  hart, 
That  nought  but  death  her  dolour  mote  depart. 
So  forth  she  rode,  without  repose  or  rest. 
Searching  all  lands  and  each  remotest  part, 
Following  the  guydance  of  her  blinded  guest, 
Till  that  to  the  sea-coast  at  length  she  her  iuldrest. 


There  she  alighted  from  her  light-foot  beast. 

And,  sitting  down  upon  the  rocky  shore, 

Badd  her  old  squyre  unlace  her  loftv  creast  : 

Tho,  having  vewd  awhile  the  surges  liore 

That  gainst  the  craggy  clifts  did  loudly  rore. 

And  in  their  raging  surquedry  disdaynd 

That  the  fast  earth  affronted  them  so  sore, 

And  their  devouring  covetize  restraynd , 

Thereat  she  sighed  deepe,  and  after  thus  complaynd  : 


"  Huge  sea  of  sorrow  and  tempestuous  griefe, 

Wherein  my  feeble  barke  is  tossed  long 

Far  from  the  hoped  haven  of  reliefe. 

Why  doe  thy  cruel  billowes  beat  so  strong. 

And  thy  moyst  mountaines  each  on  others  throng, 

Threatning  to  swallow  up  my  fearefull  lyfe  ? 

0,  doe  thy  cruell  wrath  and  spightfuU  wrong 

At  length  allay,  and  stint  thy  stormy  strife, 

Which  in  these  troubled  bowels  raignes  and  rageth 

ryfe! 

iz. 
"  For  els  ray  feeble  vessell,  crazd  and  crackt 
Through  thy  strong  buffets  and  outrageous  blowes, 
Cannot  endure,  but  needes  it  must  be  wrackt 
On  the  rougli  rocks,  or  on  the  sandy  shallowes. 
The  whiles  that  Love  it  stores,  and  Fortune  rowes  • 
Love,  my  lewd  pilott,  hath  a  restlesse  miiide  ; 
And  Fortune,  boteswaine,  no  assuraunce  knowes ; 
But  saile  withouten  starres  gainst  tyde  and  winde  : 
How   can  they  other  doe,  sith  both  are  bold  and 

blinde ! 


"  Thou  god  of  windes,  that  raignest  in  the  seas, 

That  raignest  also  in  the  contiiu'ut, 

At  last  blow  up  some  gentl'  gale  of  ease. 

The  which  may  bnng  my  ship,  ere  it  be  rent, 

Unto  the  gladsome  port  of  her  intent ! 

Then,  when  I  shall  myselfe  in  safety  see, 

A  tal)l{',  for  eternall  monimcnt 

Of  thy  great  grace  and  my  great  ieopardee. 

Great  Neptune,  I  avow  to  liallow  unto  thee  !" 


Canto  TV.] 


THE  ftAERlE  QUEENE. 


liS 


Then  sigliins:  softly  sore,  and  inly  deepe, 
SliP  shut  up  all  her  plaint  in  privy  griefe  ; 
("For  her  great  courage  would  not  let  her  weepe  ;) 
Till  that  old  Glauce  gan  with  sharpe  repriefe 
Her  to  reslraine,  and  give  her  good  reliefs 
Through  hope  of  those,  which  Merlin  had  her  told 
Should  of  her  name  and  nation  be  chiefe. 
And  fetch  their  being  from  the  sacred  mould 
Of  her  immortall  womb,  to  be  in  heven  enrold. 


Thus  as  she  her  recomforted,  she  spyde 

Where  far  away  one,  all  in  armour  bright. 

With  hasty  gallop  towards  her  did  ryde  : 

Her  dolour  soone  she  ceast,  and  on  her  dight 

Her  helmet,  to  her  courser  mounting  liglit : 

Her  former  sorrow  into  sudden  wrath 

(Both  coosen  passions  of  distroubled  spright) 

Converting,  forth  she  beates  the  dusty  path  : 

Love  and  despight  attonce  her  corage  kindled  hath. 


As,  when  a  foggy  mist  hath  overcast 

The  face  of  heven  and  the  cleare  ayre  engroste. 

The  world  in  darknes  dwels  ;  till  that  at  last 

The  watry  southwinde  from  the  seaborde  coste 

Upblowing  doth  disperse  the  vapour  lo'ste, 

And  poures  itselfe  forth  in  a  stormy  showre  ; 

So  the  fiiyre  Britomart,  having  discloste 

Her  clowdy  care  into  a  wrathfull  stowre,       [powre. 

The  mist  of    griefe  dissolv'd   did  into   vengeance 


Eftsoones,  her  goodly  shield  addressing  fayre, 

That  mortall  speare  she  in  her  hand  did  take. 

And  unto  battaill  did  herselfe  prepayre. 

The  knight,  approaching,  sternely  her  bespake  ; 

"  Sir  Knight,  that  doest  thy  voyage  rashly  make 

By  this  forbidden  way  in  my  despight, 

IVe  doest  by  others  death  ensample  take  ; 

I  read  thee  soone  retyre,  whiles  thou  hast  might, 

Least  afterwards  it  be  too  late  to  take  thy  flight." 


Ythrild  with  deepe  disdaine  of  his  proud  threat, 
She  shortly  thus  ;  "  Fly  they,  that  need  to  fly  ; 
^V  ordes  fearen  babes  :   I  meane  not  thee  entreat 
To  passe  ;  but  maugre  thee  will  passe  or  dy  : " 
Xe  lenger  stayd  for  th'  other  to  reply. 
But  with  sharpe  speare  the  rest  made  dearly  knowne. 
Strongly  the  straunge  knight  ran,  and  sturdily 
Strooke  her  full  on  the  breast,  that  made  her  downe 
Decline  her  head,  and  touch  her  crouper  with  her 
crown. 

XVI. 

But  she  againe  him  in  the  shield  did  smite 

With  so  fierce  furie  and  great  puissaunce, 

That,  through  his  three-square  scuchin  percing  quite 

And  through  his  mayled  hauberque,  by  misehaunce 

The  wicked  Steele  through  his  left  side  did  glaunce  : 

Him  so  transfixed  she  before  her  bore 

Beyond  iiis  croupe,  the  length  of  all  her  launce  ; 

Till,  sadly  soucing  on  the  sandy  shore, 

He  tombied  on  an  heape,  and  wallowd  in  his  gore. 


Like  as  the  sacred  oxe  that  carelesse  stands 
^^'ith  gilden  homes  and  flowry  girlonds  crownd, 
Proud  of  his  dying  honor  and  deare  bandes, 
AVhiles  th' altars  fume  with  frankincense  arownd, 
All  suddeinly  with  mortall  stroke  astownd 
Doth  groveling  fall,  and  with  his  streaming  gore 
Distaines  the  pillours  and  the  holy  grownd. 
And  the  faire  flowres  that  decked  him  afore  : 
So  fell  proud  JMarinell  upon  the  pretious  shore. 


The  martiall  mayd  stayd  not  him  to  lament. 
But  forward  rode,  and  kept  her  readv  way 
Along  the  Strond  ;  which,  as  she  over-went, 
She  saw  bestrowed  all  with  rich  aray 
Of  pearles  and  pretious  stones  of  great  assay, 
And  all  the  gravell  mixt  with  golden  owre  : 
Whereat  she  wondred  much,  but  would  not  stay 
For  gold,  or  perles,  or  pretious  stones,  an  liowre, 
But  them  despised  all ;  for  all  was  in  her  powre. 


Whiles  thus  he  lay  in  deadly  stonishment, 
Tydings  hereof  came  to  his  mothers  eare  ; 
His  mother  was  the  blacke-browd  Cymoent, 
The  daughter  of  great  Nereus,  which  did  beare 
This  warlike  sonne  unto  an  earthly  peare, 
The  famous  Dumarin  ;  who  on  a  day 
Finding  the  nymph  asleepe  in  secret  wheare, 
As  he  by  chaunce  did  wander  that  same  way. 
Was  taken  with  her  love,  and  by  her  closely  lay. 


There  he  this  knight  of  her  begot,  whom  borne 
She,  of  his  father,  jNIarinell  did  name  ; 
And  in  a  rocky  cav^  as  wight  forlorne 
Long  time  she  fostred  up,  till  he  became 
A  mighty  man  at  armes,  and  mickle  fame 
Did  get  through  great  adventures  by  him  donne  : 
For  never  man  he  suftred  by  that  same 
Rich  Strond  to  travell,  whereas  he  did  wonne. 
But  that  he  must  do  battail  with  the  sea-nymphes 
Sonne. 


An  hundred  knights  of  honorable  name 
He  had  subdew'd,  and  them  his  vassals  made  : 
That  through  all  Farie  Loud  his  noble  fame 
Now  blazed  was,  and  feare  dil  all  invade, 
That  none  durst  passen  througli  that  perilous  glade  ; 
And,  to  advaunce  his  name  and  glory  more. 
Her  sea-god  syre  she  dearely  did  perswade 
T'  endow  her  sonne  with  threasure  and  rich  store 
Bove  all  the  sonnes  that  were  of  earthly  wombes 
ybore. 


The  god  did  graunt  his  daughters  deare  demaund. 
To  doen  his  nephew  in  all  riches  flow  : 
Eftsoones  his  heaped  waves  he  did  commauud 
Out  of  their  hollow  bosome  fort!)  to  throw 
All  the  huge  threasure,  which  the  sea  below 
Had  in  his  greedy  gulfe  devoured  deej)e. 
And  him  enriched  through  the  overthrow 
And  wreckes  of  many  wretches,  which  did  weepe 
And  often  wayle  their  wealth  which  he  from  them 
did  keepe. 


1H 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IIL 


Shortlv  upon  that  shore  there  heaped  was 

Exceeding'  riches  and  all  ])retioiis  tliiiiL^'s, 

The  syiovle  of  all  (ho  world;  that  it  did  jias 

The  welth  of  th'  East,  aiid  pompe of  rer>ian  kings: 

Gold,  amher,  yvorie,  perles,  owches,  rings, 

And  all  that  els  was  pretious  and  deare. 

The  sea  unto  him  voluntarv  brings  ; 

That  shortlv  he  a  great  lord  did  appeare, 

As  was  in  all  the  lend  of  Faery,  or  elsewheare. 


Tliereto  he  was  a  doughty  dreaded  knight, 
Tryde  often  to  the  scath  of  many  deare, 
That  none  in  equall  armes  him  matchen  might : 
The  which  his  mother  seeing  gan  to  feare 
Least  his  too  haughtie  liardines  might  reare 
Some  hard  mishap  in  hazard  of  his  life  : 
Forthy  she  oft  him  counseld  to  forbeare 
The  bloody  batteill,  and  to  stirre  up  strife. 
Bat  after  all  his  warre  to  rest  bis  wearie  knife : 


And,  for  his  more  assuraunce,  she  inquir'd 
One  day  of  Proteus  by  his  mighty  spell 
(For  Proteus  was  with  prophecy  inspir'd) 
Her  deare  sonnes  destiny  to  her  to  tell, 
And  the  sad  end  of  her  sweet  IVIarinell : 
Who,  through  foresight  of  his  eternall  skill, 
Bad  her  from  womankind  to  keepe  him  well  ; 
For  of  a  woman  he  should  have  much  ill ; 
A  virgin  straunge  and  stout  him  should   dismay  or 
kill. 


Forthy  she  gave  him  warning  ever  day 
The  love  of  women  not  to  entertaine  ; 
A  lesson  too  too  hard  for  living  clay. 
From  loye  in  course  of  nature  to  refraine  ! 
Yet  he  his  mothers  lore  did  well  retaine, 
And  ever  from  fayre  ladies  love  did  fly  ; 
Yet  many  ladies  fayre  did  oft  com])laine. 
That  they  for  love  of  him  would  algates  dy  : 
Dy,  mIioso  list  for  him,  he  was  loves  enimy. 


But  ah  !  who  can  deceive  his  destiny. 

Or  weene  by  warning  to  avoyd  his  fate  ? 

That,  when  he  slee[)es  in  most  security 

And  safest  scemes,  him  soonest  doth  amate. 

And  findeth  dew  effect  or  soone  or  late  ; 

So  feeble  is  the  powre  of  fleshly  arme  ! 

His  mother  bad  him  wemens  love  to  hate, 

For  she  of  womans  force  did  fearc  no  liarme  ; 

So  weening  to  have  arm'd  him,  she  did  (piite  disarme. 


This  was  that  woman,  this  that  deadly  wownd. 

That  Proteus  pro]ihecidc  should  him  dismay  ; 

The  which  his  mother  vaincly  did  expownd 

To  be  hart-wownding  love,  which  should  assay 

'I'o  bring  her  Sonne  unto  his  last  decay. 

So  tickle  be  the  termcs  of  mortall  state 

And  fidl  of  stibtile  sophismes,  which  doe  play 

With  double  sences,  and  with  false  debate, 

T'  approve  the  unknowen  purpose  of  eternall  fate. 


Too  trew  the  famous  Marinell  it  fownd ; 
Who,  through  late  triall,  on  that  wealthy  strond 
Inglorious  now  lies  in  sencelesse  swownd, 
Tliroui;h  lieavy  stroke  of  Britoniartis  bond. 
Which  when  his  mother  deare  did  understond, 
And  heavy  tidings  heard,  whereas  she  playd 
Amongst  her  watry  sisters  by  a  pond, 
Gathering  sweete  daffudillyes,  to  have  made 
Gay   girlonds  from  tke  sun  their  forheads  fayr  to 
shade ; 


Eftesoones  both  flowres  and  girlonds  far  away 

She  flong,  and  her  faire  deawy  lockes  yrent ; 

To  sorrow  huge  she  turnd  her  former  play. 

And  gamesom  merth  to  grievous  dreriment  : 

Shee  threw  herselfe  downe  on  the  continent, 

Ne  word  did  speake,  but  lay  as  in  a  swowne, 

W  liiles  all  her  sisters  did  for  her  lament 

With  yelling  outcries,  and  with  shrieking  sowne  ; 

And  every  one  did  teare  her  girlond  from  hercrowne. 


Soone  as  she  up  out  of  her  deadly  fitt 

Arose,  she  bad  her  charett  to  be  brought ; 

And  all  her  sisters,  that  with  her  did  sitt, 

Bad  eke  attonce  their  charetts  to  be  sought : 

Tho,  full  of  bitter  griefe  and  pensive  thought. 

She  to  her  wagon  clombe  ;  clombe  all  the  rest. 

And  forth  together  went,  with  sorow  fraught : 

The  waves  obedient  to  theyre  beheast 

Them  yielded  ready  passage,  and  their  rage  surceast, 


Great  Neptune  sfoode  amazed  at  their  sight. 
Whiles  on  his  broad  rownd  backe  they  softly  slid. 
And  eke  himselfe  mournd  at  their  mournful  plight 
Yet  wist  not  what  their  wailing  ment,  yet  did, 
For  great  compassion  of  their  sorow,  bid 
His  mighty  waters  to  them  buxome  bee  : 
Eftesoones  the  roaring  billovv^es  still  abid. 
And  all  the  griesly  monsters  of  the  see 
Stood  gaping  at  their  gate,  andwondred  them  to  see. 


A  teme  of  dolphins  raunged  in  aray 

Drew  the  smooth  rharctt  of  sad  Cymoent  ; 

Tliey  were  all  taught  by  Triton  to  obay 

To  the  long  raynes  at  her  commaundiinient : 

As  swifte  as  swallowcs  on  tho  waves  tliey  went. 

That  their  brode  flaggy  finnes  no  fome  did  reare, 

Ne  bubling  rowndell  they  behinde  them  sent ; 

The  rest,  of  other  fishes  drawen  woaro. 

Which  with  their  finny  oars  tho  swelling  sea  did  sheare. 


Soone  as  they  bene  arriv'd  upon  tl>e  brim 

Of  the  rich  strond,  their  charets  they  forlore, 

And  let  their  temcd  fishes  softly  swim 

Along  tho  inargent  of  tin;  fomy  shore, 

Least  they  their  finnes  should  bruze,  and  surbate  sore 

Their  tender  feetc  upon  the  stony  grownd  : 

And  comming  to  the  place,  where  all  in  gore 

And  cruddy  blood  enwallowcd  they  fownd 

The  lucklesse  IMarinell  lying  in  deadly  swownd 


Canto  IA^j 


TUh  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


145 


His  mother  swowned  thrise ,  and  the  third  time 
Could  scarce  recovered  bee  out  of  her  paiae  ; 
Had  she  not  beene  devoide  of  mortal!  slime. 
She  should  not  then  have  bene  relyr  d  againe : 
But,  soone  as  life  recovered  had  the  raine, 
Shee  made  so  piteous  mone  and  deare  vs-aj-ment, 
That  the  hard  rocks  could  scarce  from  tears  retraine  : 
And  all  her  sister  nymphes  with  one  consent 
Supplide  her  sobbing  breaches  with  sad  complement. 


' '  Deare  imasje  of  myselfe,"  she  sayd,  "  that  is 
The  wretched  sonne  of  wretched  mother  bonie, 
Is  this  thine  high  advauncement  ?  O  !  is  this 
Th'  immortall  name,  with  which  thee  yet  unbome 
Thy  grandsire  Nereus  promist  to  adorne  ? 
\ow  lyest  thou  of  life  and  honor  refte  ; 
No*v  lyest  thou  a  lumpe  of  earth  forlorne; 
\e  of  thy  late  life  memory  is  lefte  ; 
N  e  can  thy  irrevocable  desteny  bee  wefte  ! 


"  Fond  Proteus,  father  of  false  prophecis  ! 

And  thev  more  fond  that  credit  to  thee  give  ! 

X^it  this  the  worke  of  womans  hand  ywis,       [drive. 

I  liiif  so  deepe  wound  through  these  deare  members 

I  feared  love  ;  but  they  that  love  doe  live  ; 

Hut  tliev  that  d^e,  doe  nether  love  nor  hate: 

Na'h'ifsse  to  thee  thy  folly  I  forgive ; 

And  to  mvselfe,  and  to  accursed  fate,  [late  ! 

The  guilt  L  doe  ascribe  :  deare  wisedome  bought  too 


XXXVIII. 

••  0  !  what  availes  it  of  immortall  seed 
To  beene  ybredd  and  never  borne  to  dye? 
I'.irve  better  1  it  deeme  to  die  with  speed 
'Mien  waste  in  woe  and  waylfull  miserye  : 
\\  ho  dyes,  the  utmost  dolor  doth  abye  ; 
l'>ur  who  that  lives,  is  lefte  to  waile  his  losse  : 
Sii  iife  is  losse,  and  death  felicity  : 
>;id  life  worse  then  glad  death  ;  and  greater  crosse 
To  see  frends  grave,  then  dead  the  grave  selfe  to 
ensrrosse. 


"  Hut  if  the  heavens  did  his  days  envie, 
And  m\'  short  blis  maligne ;  yet  mote  they  well 
Thus  much  aftbrd  me,  ere  that  he  did  die, 
That  the  dim  eies  of  my  deare  Marinell 
I  mote  have  closed,  and  him  bed  farewell, 
Sith  other  offices  for  mother  meet 

They  would  not  graunt 

Yett !  maulgre  them,  farewell,  my  sweetest  sweet ! 
Farewell,  my  sweetest  sonne,  sith  we  no  more  shall 
meet !" 


Thus  when  they  all  had  sorrowed  their  fill, 
They  softly  gan  to  search  his  griesly  wownd : 
And,  that  they  might  him  handle  more  at  will, 
They  him  disjrmd  ;  and,  spredding  on  the  grownd 
Their  watchet  mantles  frindgd  with  silver  rownd. 
They  softly  wipt  away  the  gelly  blood 
From  th'  orifice  ;  which  having  well  upbownd 
They  pourd  in  soveraine  balme  and  nectar  good. 
Good  both  for  erthly  med'cine  and  for  hevenly  food. 


Tho,  when  the  lilly-handed  Liagore 

(This  Liagore  whilome  had  learned  skill 

In  leaches  craft,  by  great  Apolloes  lore, 

Sith  her  whilome  upon  high  Pindus  hill 

He  loved,  and  at  last  her  wombe  did  fill 

With  hevenly  seed,  whereof  wise  P;eon  sprong,) 

Did  feele  his  pulse,  shee  knew  there  staled  still         , 

Some  little  life  his  feeble  sprites  emong ;  '' 

Which  to  his  mother  told,  despeyre  she  from  her  flonr. 


Tho,  up  him  taking  in  their  tender  hands, 

They  easely  unto  her  charett  beare  : 

Her  teme  at  her  commaundement  quiet  stands, 

Whiles  they  the  corse  into  her  wagon  reare, 

And  strowe  with  flowres  the  lamentable  beare  : 

Then  all  the  rest  into  their  coches  dim. 

And  through  the  brackish  waves  their  passage  sheare ; 

Upon  great  Neptunes  necke  they  softly  swim, 

And  to  her  watry  chamber  swiftly  carry  him. 


Deepe  in  the  bottome  of  the  sea,  her  bowre 

Is  built  of  hollow  billowes  heaped  bye, 

Like  to  thicke  clouds  that  threat  a  stormy  showre, 

And  vauted  all  within  like  to  the  skye. 

In  which  the  gods  doe  dwell  eternally  : 

There  they  him  laide  in  easy  couch  well  dight ; 

And  sent  in  haste  for  Tryphon,  to  apply 

Salves  to  his  wounds,  and  medicines  of  might : 

For  Trypon  of  sea-gods  the  soveraine  leach  is  hight. 


The  whiles  the  nymphes  sit  all  about  him  rownd, 
Lamenting  his  mishap  and  heavy  plight ; 
And  ofte  his  mother,  vewing  his  wide  wownd. 
Cursed  the  hand  that  did  so  deadly  smight 
Her  dearest  sonne,  her  dearest  harts  delight : 
But  none  of  all  those  curses  overtooke 
The  warlike  maide,  th'ensample  of  that  might ; 
But  fajrrely  well  shee  thryvd,  and  well  did  brooke 
Her  noble  deedes,  ne  her  right  course  for   ought 
forsooke. 


Yet  did  false  Archimage  her  still  pursew. 

To  bring  to  passe  his  mischievous  intent. 

Now  that  he  had  her  singled  from  the  crew 

Of  courteous  knights,  the  prince  and  Fary  gent, 

Whom  late  in  chace  of  beauty  excellent 

Shee  lefte,  pursewing  that  same  foster  strong  ; 

Of  whose  fowle  outrage  they  impatient. 

And  full  of  firy  zele,  him  followed  long, 

Toreskewher  from  shame,  and  to  revenge  her  wrong 


Through  thick   and   thin,  through  mountains   and 

through  playns. 
Those  two  great  champions  did  attonce  pursew 
The  fearful!  damzell  with  incessant  payns  ; 
Who  from  them  fled,  as  light-foot  hare  from  vew 
Of  hunter  swifte  and  sent  of  howndes  trew. 
At  last  they  came  unto  a  double  way  ; 
Where,  doubtful!  which  to  take,  her  to  reskew. 
Themselves  they  did  dispart,  each  to  assay 
Whether  more  happy  were  to  win  so  goodly  pray 


14( 


THE  KAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  lA. 


But  Timias,  the  princes  gentle  squyre. 
That  ladies  love  unto  his  lord  forlent, 
And  with  proud  envy  and  indis;nant  yre 
After  that  wicked  foster  fiercely  Trent  : 
So  heene  they  three  three  sondry  wayes  ybent : 
But  fayrest  fortune  to  the  prince  befell  ; 
Whose  chaunce  it  was,  that  soone  he  did  repent, 
To  take  that  way  in  which  that  damozell 
Was  fledd  afore,'  affraid  of  him  as  feend  of  hell. 


At  last  of  her  far  off  he  gained  vew  : 

Then  gan  he  freshlv  pricke  his  fomy  steed, 

And  ever  as  he  nigher  to  her  drew, 

?o  evermore  he  did  increase  his  speed, 

And  of  each  turning:  still  kept  wary  heed  : 

Alowd  to  her  he  oftentimes  did  call 

To  doe  away  vaine  doubt  and  needlesse  dreed  : 

Full  mvld  to  her  he  spake,  and  oft  let  fall 

Many  meeke  wordes  to  stay  and  comfort  her  withall. 


But  nothing  might  relent  her  hasty  flight ; 

So  deepe  the  deadly  feare  of  that  foul  swaine 

Was  earst  impressed  in  her  gentle  spright : 

Like  as  a  fearefuU  dove,  which  through  the  raine 

Of  the  wide  ayre  her  way  does  cut  amaine, 

Having  farre  off  espyde  a  tassell  gent. 

Which  after  her  his  nimble  winges  doth  straine, 

Doubleth  her  hast  for  feare  to  bee  for-hent, 

And  with  her  pineons  cleaves  the  liquid  fermament. 


n'ith  no  lesse  hast,  and  eke  with  no  lesse  dreed, 
That  fearefull  ladie  fledd  from  him  that  ment 
To  her  no  evill  thought  nor  evill  deed  ; 
Yet  former  feare  of  being  fowly  shent 
Carried  her  forward  with  her  first  intent ; 
And  tliougli,  oft  looking  backward,  well  she  vewde 
Herselfe  freed  from  that  foster  insolent. 
And  that  it  was  a  knight  which  now  her  sewde. 
Yet  she  no  lesse  the  knight  feared  then  that  villein 
rude. 


His  uncouth  shield  and  straunge  armes  her  dismayd, 
Whose  like  in  Faery  Lond  were  seldom  seene  ; 
I'hat  fast  she  from  him  fledd,  no  lesse  afrayd 
'I'lien  of  wilde  beastes  if  she  had  chased  beene  : 
Yet  he  her  followd  still  with  corage  keene 
So  long,  that  now  the  golden  Hesperus 
Was  mounted  high  in  top  of  heaven  sheene, 
And  warnd  his  other  brethren  ioyeous 
To  light  their  blessed  lamps  in  Joves  eternall  hous. 


All  suddeinly  dim  wox  the  dampish  ayre. 

And  griesly  sliadowes  covered  heaven  bright. 

That  now  with  thousand  starres  was  decked  fayxe  : 

Which  when  the  prince  beheld,  a  loth  full  sight, 

And  that  perforce,  for  want  of  lenger  light, 

He  mote  surceasse  his  suit  and  lose  the  hope 

Of  his  long  labour  ;  he  gan  fowly  wyte 

His  wicked  fortune  that  had  turnd  aslope. 

And  cursed  night  that  reft  from  him  so  goodly  scope. 


Tho,  when  her  wayes  he  could  no  more  descry, 
F)Ut  to  and  fro  at  disaventure  strayd  ; 
Like  as  a  ship,  whose  lodestar  suddeinly 
Covered  with  clouds  her  pilott  hath  dismayd  ; 
His  wearisome  pursuit  perforce  he  stayd. 
And  from  his  loftie  steed  dismounting  low 
Did  let  him  forage  :  downe  himselfe  he  layd 
Upon  the  grassy  ground  to  sleepe  a  throw  ; 
The  cold  eartli  was  his  couch,  the  hard  Steele  bis 
pillow. 

LIV. 

But  gentle  Sleepe  envyde  him  any  rest ; 

Instead  thereof  sad  sorrow  and  disdaine 

Of  his  hard  hap  did  vexe  his  noble  brest. 

And  thousand  fancies  bett  his  ydle  brayne 

With  their  light  wings,  the  sights  of  semblants  vaine : 

Oft  did  he  wish  that  lady  faire  mote  bee 

His  Faery  Queene,  for  whom  he  did  complaine  ; 

Or  that  his  Faery  Queene  were  such  as  shee  : 

And  ever  hasty  Night  he  blamed  bitterlie: 


"  Night !  thou  foule  mother  of  annoyaunce  sad, 
Sister  of  heavie  Death,  and  nourse  of  Woe, 
Which  wast  begot  in  heaven,  but  for  thy  bad 
And  brutish  shape  thrust  downe  to  hell  below. 
Where,  by  the  grim  floud  of  Cocytus  slow, 
Thy  dwelling  is  in  Herebus  black  hous, 
(Black  Herebus,  thy  husband,  is  the  foe 
Of  all  the  gods,)  where  thou  ungratious 
Halfe  of  thy  dayes  doest  lead  in  horrour  hideous  ; 


"  What  had  th'  Eternall  Maker  need  of  thee 
The  world  in  his  continuall  course  to  keepe, 
That  doest  all  thinges  deface,  ne  lettest  see 
The  beautie  of  bis  worke  ?     Indeed  in  sleepe 
The  slouthfull  body  that  doth  love  to  steepe 
His  lustlesse  limbes,  and  drowne  his  baser  mind. 
Doth  i)raise  thee  oft,  and  oft  from  Stygian  deepe 
Calls  thee  his  goddesse,  in  his  errour  blind. 
And  great  dame  Ns>tures  handmaide  chearing  every 
kind. 

Lvir. 

"  But  well  I  wote  that  to  an  heavy  hart 
Thou  art  the  roote  and  nourse  of  bitter  cares. 
Breeder  of  new,  renewer  of  old  smarts  : 
Instead  of  rest  thoti  lendest  rayling  teares  ; 
Instead  of  sleepe  thou  sendest  troublous  feares 
And  dreadfull  visions,  in  the  which  alive 
Tlie  dreary  image  of  sad  Death  appeares  : 
So  from  the  wenrie  spirit  thou  doest  drive 
Desired  rest,  and  men  of  happinesse  deprive. 


"  Under  thy  mantle  black  there  hidden  lye 

Liicht-shonniiig  Thefte,  and  traiterous  Intent, 

Abhorred  Bloodshed,  and  vile  Felony, 

Shamefnll  Deceipt,  and  Daunger  imminent. 

Fowle  Horror,  and  eke  hellish  Dreriment: 

All  these  I  wote  in  thy  protection  bee, 

And  light  doe  shonne,  for  feare  of  being  shent  : 

For  liglit  ylike  is  lotli'd  of  them  and  thee; 

And  all,  that  lewdnesse  love,  do  hate  the  light  to  see 


Canto  V.] 


THE  FAERTE  QUEENE. 


147 


"  For  Day  discovers  all  dislionest  wayes. 
And  sheweth  each  thing  as  it  is  in  deed  : 
The  prayses  of  High  God  he  faire  displayes. 
And  His  large  hountie  rightly  doth  areed  : 
Dayes  dearest  children  be  the  blessed  seed 
Which  Darknesse  shall  subdue  and  heaven  win  : 
Truth  is  his  daughter  ;  he  her  first  did  breed 
Most  sacred  virgin  without  spot  of  sinne  : 
Our  life  is  day  ;   but   death  with  darknesse  doth 
begin. 


"  0,  when  will  Day  then  turne  to  me  againe. 
And  bring  with  him  his  long-expected  light  ! 
O  Titan  !  hast  to  reare  thy  loyous  waine  ; 
Speed  thee  to  spred  abroad  thy  beamt-s  bright, 
And  chace  away  this  too  long  lingring  Night ; 
Chace  her  away,  from  whence  she  came,  to  hell : 
She,  she  it  is,  that  hath  me  done  dospight  : 
There  let  her  with  the  damned  spirits  dwell. 
And  yield  her  rowme  to  Day,  that  can  it  goveme 
well." 


Thus  did  the  prince  that  wearie  night  outwears 

In  restlesse  anguisli  and  unquiet  paine  ; 

And  earely,  ere  the  Morrow  did  upreare 

His  deawy  head  out  of  the  ocean  maine. 

He  up  arose,  as  halfe  in  great  disdaine, 

And  clombe  unto  his  steed  :  so  forth  he  went 

With  heavy  looke  and  lumpish  pace,  that  plaine 

In  him  bewraid  great  grudge  and  maltalent  : 

His  steed  eke  seemd  t'  apply  his  steps  to  his  intent. 


CANTO  V. 

Prince  Arthur  hears  of  Florimell : 
Three  fosters  Timias  wound  ; 

Belphcebe  findes  him  almost  dead, 
And  reareth  out  of  swownd. 


Wonder  it  is  to  see  in  diverse  mindes 
How  diversly  Love  doth  his  pageaunts  play 
And  shewes  his  powre  in  variable  kindes  : 
The  baser  wit,  whose  ydle  thout;hts  alway 
Are  wont  to  cleave  unto  the  lowly  clay. 
It  stirreth  up  to  sensuall  desire, 
And  in  lewd  slouth  to  wast  his  carelesse  day  ; 
But  in  brave  sprite  it  kindles  goodly" fire, 
That  to  all  high  desert  and  honour  doth  aspire. 


Xe  sufFereth  it  uncomely  Idlenesse 

In  his  free  thought  to  build  her  sluggish  nest ; 

Ne  suftereth  it  thought  of  ungentlenesse 

Ever  to  creepe  into  his  noble  brest ; 

Bui  to  the  highest  and  the  worthiest 

Lifteth  it  up  that  els  would  lowly  fall  : 

It  lettes  not  fall,  it  lettes  it  not  to  rest ; 

It  lettes  not  scarse  this  prince  to  breath  at  all, 

But  to  his  first  poursuit  him  forward  still  doth  call : 


Wlio  long  time  wandred  through  the  forest  wyde 
To  finde  some  issue  thence  ;  till  that  at  last 
He  met  a  dwarfe  that  seemed  terrifyde 
With  some  late  perill  wliich  he  hardly  past. 
Or  other  accident  which  him  aghast  ; 
Of  whom  he  asked,  whence  he  lately  came, 
And  whether  now  he  tra veiled  so  fast : 
For  sore  he  swat,  and,  ronning  through  that  same 
Thicke  forest,  was  bescracht  and  both  his  feet  nigh 
lame 


Panting  for  breath,  and  almost  out  of  hart. 
The  dwarfe  him  answerd  ;  "  Sir,  ill  mote  I  stay 
To  tell  the  same  :  I  lately  did  depart 
From  Faery  court,  where  I  have  many  a  day 
Served  a  gentle  lady  of  great  sway 
And  high  accompt  throughout  all  Elfin  Land, 
Who  lately  left  the  same,  and  tooke  this  way  : 
Her  now  I  seeke  ;  and  if  ye  understand 
Which  way  she  fared  hath,   good  sir,  tell  out  of 
hand," 


"  What  mister  wight,"  saide  he,  "  and  how  arayd  1 ' 

••  Royally  clad,"  quoth  he,  "  in  cloth  of  gold. 

As  meetest  may  beseeme  a  noble  mayd  ; 

Her  faire  lockes  in  rich  circlet  be  enrold, 

A  fayrer  wight  did  never  sunne  behold  ; 

And  on  a  palfrey  rydes  more  white  then  snow, 

Yet  she  herselfe  is  whiter  manifold  ; 

The  surest  signe,  whereby  ye  may  lier  know 

Is,  that  she  is  the  fairest  wight  alive,  I  trow." 


"  Now  certes,  swaine,"  saide  he,"  such  one,  I  weene, 
Fast  flying  through  this  forest  from  her  fo, 
A  foule  ill-favoured  foster,  I  have  scene  ; 
Herselfe,  well  as  I  might,  I  reskewd  tho. 
But  could  not  stay  ;  so  fast  she  did  foregoe. 
Carried  away  with  wings  of  speedy  feare." 
"  Ah  !   dearest  God,"  quoth  he,  "  that  is  great  woe, 
And  wondrous  rutli  to  all  that  shall  it  heare  : 
But  can  ve  read,  sir,  how  I  may  her  finde,  or  where  'i " 

L  2 


148 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  III 


"  Perdy  me  lever  were  to  weeteri  that," 
Saide  lie,  "  then  ransome  of  tlie  richest  knight, 
Or  all  the  g-ood  that  ever  yet  I  gat : 
But  iVoward  fortune,  and  too  forward  night, 
Such  haj)pinesse  did,  maulgre,  to  me  spight. 
And  fro  me  reft  both  life  and  light  attone. 
But,  dwarfe,  aread  what  is  that  lady  bright 
That  through  this  forrest  wandreth  thus  alone  ; 
For  of  her  errour  straunge  I  have  great  ruth  and 
mone." 


"  That  ladie  is,"  quoth  he,  "  whereso  she  bee, 

The  bounties!  virgin  and  most  debonaire 

That  ever  living  eye,  I  weene,  did  see  : 

Lis^es  none  this  day  that  may  with  her  compare 

In  stedfast  chastitie  and  vertue  rare, 

Tiie  goodly  ornaments  of  beauty  bright ; 

And  is  ycleped  Florimell  the  fayre, 

Faire  Florimell  belov'd  of  many  a  knight. 

Yet  she  loves  none  but  one,  that  Marinell  is  bight ; 


"  A  sea-nymphes  sonne,  that  Marinell  is  hight, 

Of  my  deare  dame  is  loved  dearely  well  ; 

In  other  none,  but  him,  slie  sets  delight ; 

All  her  delight  is  set  on  Marinell  ; 

But  he  sets  nought  at  all  by  Florimell : 

For  ladies  love  his  motlier  long  ygoe 

Did  him,  they  say,  forwarne  through  sacred  spell : 

But  fame  now  flies,  that  of  a  forreine  foe 

He  is  vslaine,  which  is  the  ground  of  all  our  woe. 


"  Five  daies  there  be  since  he  (they  say)  was  slaine, 

And  fowre  since  Florimell  the  court  forwent, 

And  vowed  never  to  returne  againe 

Till  him  alive  or  dead  she  did  invent. 

Therefore,  i'aire  sir,  for  love  of  knighthood  gent 

And  honour  of  trew  ladies,  if  ye  may 

By  your  good  counsell,  or  boltl  hardirnent. 

Or  succour  her,  or  me  direct  the  way. 

Do  one  or  other  good,  I  you  most  humbly  pray  : 


"  So  may  ye  gaine  to  you  full  great  renowme 
Of  all  good  ladies  throuj^h  the  worlde  so  wide, 
And  haply  in  her  hart  finde  highest  rowmo 
Of  whom  ye  seeke  to  be  most  magnifide  ! 
At  least  eternall  meede  shall  you  abide." 
To  whom  the  jirince  ;  "  Dwarfe,  comfort  to  thee  take ; 
For,  till  thou  tidings  learne  wliat  her  betide, 
I  here  avow  thee  never  to  forsake  : 
III  weares  he  armes,  that  nill  them  use  for  ladies 
sake." 


So  with  the  dwarfe  he  back  retourn'd  againe. 
To  seeke  his  lady,  where  he  mote  her  finde  ; 
But  by  the  way  he  greatly  gan  complaine 
The  want  of  his  good  squire  late  left  behinde. 
For  whom  ho  wondrous  ])ensive  grew  in  minde. 
For  doubt  of  daunger  which  mote  him  betide  ; 
For  him  he  loved  above  all  mankinde. 
Having  him  trew  and  faithfull  ever  tride, 
\u6  bold,  as  ever  squyre  that  waited   by  knights 
Aide 


Who  all  this  while  full  hardly  was  assayd 

Of  deadly  daunger  which  to  him  betidd  : 

For,  whiles  his  lord  pursewd  that  noble  mayd, 

After  that  foster  fowle  he  fiercely  ridd 

To  bene  avenged  of  the  shame  he  did 

To  that  faire  damzell  :  him  he  chaced  long 

Through  the  thicke  woods  wherein  he  would  have  hid 

His  shameful!  head  from  his  avengement  strong, 

And  oft  him  threatued  death  forhis  outrageous  wrong. 


Nathlesse  the  villein  sped  himselfe  so  well. 
Whether  through  swiftnesse  of  his  speedie  beast. 
Or  knowledge  of  those  woods  where  he  did  dwell. 
That  shortly  he  from  daunger  was  releast. 
And  out  of  sight  escaped  at  the  least ; 
Yet  not  escaped  from  the  dew  reward 
Of  his  bad  deedes,  which  daily  he  increast, 
Ne  ceased  not,  till  him  oppressed  hard 
The  heavie  plague  that  for  such  leachours  is  pre- 
pard. 


For,  soone  as  lie  was  vanisht  out  of  sight. 

His  coward  courage  gan  emboldned  bee. 

And  cast  t'  avenge  him  of  that  fowle  despight 

Which  he  had  borne  of  his  bold  enimee  : 

Tho  to  his  brethren  came,  (/or  they  were  three 

Ungratious  children  of  one  gracelesse  syre,) 

And  unto  them  compUiyned  how  that  he 

Had  used  beene  of  that  foole-hardie  squ>Te  : 

So  them  with  bitter  words  he  stird  to  bloodie  yre. 


Forthwith  tliemselves  with  their  sad  instruments 
Of  spoyle  and  murder  they  gan  arme  bylive. 
And  with  him  foorfh  into  the  forrest  went 
To  wreake  the  wrath,  which  he  did  earst  revive 
In  there  Sterne  brests,  on  him  which  late  did  drive 
Theii  brother  to  reproch  and  shamefull  flight : 
For  they  had  vow'd  that  never  he  alive 
Out  of  that  forest  should  escape  tlieir  might ; 
Vile  rancour  their   rude  harts  had  fild  with  such 
despight. 

XVII. 

Witliin  that  wood  there  was  a  covert  glade, 
I'oreby  a  narrow  foord,  to  them  well  knowne, 
'i'hrough  which  it  was  uneath  for  wight  to  wade  ; 
And  now  by  fortune  it  was  oyerflowne  : 
By  that  same  way  they  knew  that  squyre  unknowne 
Mote  algates  passe  ;  forthy  themselves  they  set 
There  in  await  with  thicke  woods  overgrowne. 
And  all  llie  while  their  malice  they  did  whet 
With  cruell  threats  his  passage  through  the  ford  to 
let. 


It  fortuned,  as  (hey  devized  had. 
The  gentle  scjuire  came  ryding  that  same  way, 
Unweeting  of  their  wile  and  treason  bad. 
And  through  the  ford  to  passen  did  assay  ; 
But  that  fierce  foster,  which  late  fled  away. 
Stoutly  foorth  stepping  on  the  further  shore. 
Him  boldly  bad  his  passage  there  to  stay, 
'i'ill  lie  had  made  amends,  and  full  restore 
VoY  all  the  damage  which  he  had  him  doen  afofe 


Canto  \'.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


149 


With  that,  at  him  a  quiv'ring  dart  he  threw 
With  so  fell  force,  and  villeinous  despite. 
That  through  his  haberieon  tlie  forkehead  flew, 
And  through  the  linked  mayles  empierced  quite, 
But  had  no  powre  in  liis  soft  flesh  to  bite: 
That  stroke  the  hardy  squire  did  sore  displease. 
But  more  that  him  he  could  not  come  to  smite  ; 
For  by  no  meanes  the  high  banke  he  could  sease. 
But  labour'd  long  in  that  deepe  ford  with  vaine  dis- 
ease. 


And  still  the  foster  with  his  long-  bore-speare 

Him  kept  from  landing  at  his  wished  will  : 

Anone  one  sent  out  of  the  thicket  neare 

A  cruell  shaft  headed  with  deadly  ill, 

And  fethered  with  an  unlucky  tjuill; 

The  wicked  Steele  stayd  not  till  it  did  light 

In  his  left  thigh,  and  deepely  did  it  thrill  : 

Exceeding  griefe  that  wound  in  him  empight, 

&ut  more  Uiat  with  his  foes  he  could  not  come  to  fight. 


At  last,  through  wrath  and  vengeaunce,  making  way 
He  on  the  bancke  arryvd  with  mickle  payne ; 
Where  the  third  brotlier  him  did  sore  assay. 
And  drove  at  him  with  ail  his  might  and  mayne 
A  forest-bill,  which  both  his  hands  did  strayne ; 
But  warily  he  did  avoide  the  blow, 
And  with  his  Sjieare  requited  him  a^ayne, 
That  both  his  sides  were  thrilled  with  the  throw, 
And  a  large  streame  of  bloud  out  of  the  wound  did 
flow. 


With  that,  he  would  have  fled  into  the  wood; 
I3ut  Timias  him  lightly  overhent, 
Eight  as  he  entring  was  into  the  flood. 
And  strooke  at  him  with  force  so  violent. 
That  headlesse  him  into  the  foord  he  sent  ; 
The  carcas  with  the  streame  was  carried  downe. 
But  th'  head  fell  backeward  on  the  continent ; 
So  mischief  fel  upon  the  meaners  crowne  : 
They  three  be  dead  with  shame  ;  the  squire  Uvea 
with  renowne : 


He  lives,  but  takes  small  ioy  of  his  renowne  ; 

For  of  that  cruell  wound  he  bled  so  sore, 

That  from  his  steed  he  fell  in  deadly  swowne  : 

Yet  still  the  blood  forth  gusht  in  so  great  store 

That  he  lay  wallowd  all  m  his  owne  gore. 

Now  God  thee  keepe  !  thou  gentlest  squire  alive. 

Els  shall  thy  loving  lord  thee  see  no  more  ; 

But  both  of  comfort  him  thou  shalt  deprive, 

And  eke  thyselfe  of  honor  which  thou  didst  atchive. 


Providence  hevenly  passeth  living  thought, 
And  doth  for  wretched  mens  reliefe  make  way  : 
For  loe  !  great  grace  or  fortune  thether  brought 
Comfort  to  him  that  comfortlesse  now  lay. 
In  those  same  woods  ye  well  remember  may 
How  that  a  noble  hunteresse  did  wonne, 
Shee,  that  base  Braggadochio  did  affray, 
And  made  him  fast  out  of  the  forest  ronne  ; 
Belphcebe  was  her  name,  as  faire  as  Phcebus  sunne. 


He,  torabling  downe,  with  gnashing  teeth  did  bite 
The  bitter  earth,  and  bad  to  lett  him  in 
Into  the  baleful!  house  of  endlesse  night, 
Where  wicked  ghosts  doe  waile  their  former  sin. 
Tho  gan  the  battaile  freshly  to  begin  ; 
For  nathemore  for  that  spectacle  bad 
Did  th'  other  two  their  cruell  vengeaunce  blin. 
But  both  attonce  on  both  sides  him  bestad. 
And  load  upon  him  lavd,  his  life  for  to  have  had. 


Tho  when  that  villayn  he  aviz'd,  which  late 

Affrighted  had  the  fairest  Florimell, 

Full  of  flers  fury  and  indignant  hate 

To  him  he  turned,  and  with  rigor  fell 

Smote  him  so  rudely  on  the  pannikell. 

That  to  the  chin  he  clefte  his  head  in  twaine  : 

Downe  on  the  ground  his  carkas  groveling  fell ; 

His  sinfull  sowle  with  desperate  disdaine 

Out  of  her  fleshly  ferme  fled  to  the  place  of  paine. 


That  seeing,  now  the  only  last  of  three 
Who  with  that  wicked  sliafte  him  wounded  had, 
'J'rerabling  with  horror,  (as  that  did  foresee 
The  fearefull  end  of  his  avengement  sad, 
Through  which  he  follow  should  his  brethren  bad,) 
His  bootelessf  bow  in  feeble  hand  upcanght. 
And  therewith  shott  an  arrow  at  the  lad  ; 
Which  favntly  fluttring  scarce  his  helmet  raught. 
And  glauncing  fel  to  ground,  but  him  annoyed  naught. 


Shee  on  a  day,  as  shee  pursewd  the  chace 
Of  some  wilde  beast,  which  with  her  arrowes  keena 
She  wounded  had,  the  same  along  did  trace 
By  tract  of  blood,  which  she  had  freshly  seene 
To  have  besprinckled  all  the  grassy  greene  ; 
Bv  the  great  persue  which  she  there  perceav'd, 
Well  hoped  shee  the  beast  engor'd  had  beene. 
And  made  more  haste  the  life  to  have  bereav'd : 
But  ah  !  her  expectation  greatly  was  deceiv'd. 


Shortly  slie  came  whereas  that  woefull  squire 
With  blood  deformed  lay  in  deadly  swownd  ; 
In  whose  faire  eyes,  like  lamps  of  quenched  fire 
The  chiistall  humor  stood  congealed  rownd  ; 
His  locks,  like  faded  leaves  fallen  to  grownd. 
Knotted  with  blood  in  bounches  rudely  ran  ; 
And  his  sweete  lips,  on  which  before  that  stownd 
The  bud  of  youth  to  blossome  faire  began, 
Spoild  of  their  rosy  red  were  woxea  pale  and  wan. 


Saw  never  living  eie  more  heavy  sight. 

That  could  have  made  a  rocke  of  stone  to  rew. 

Or  rive  in  twaine  :   which  when  that  lady  bright. 

Besides  all  hope,  with  melting  eies  did  vew, 

All  suddeinly  abasht  shee  chaunged  hew, 

And  with  Sterne  horror  backward  gan  to  start  : 

But,  when  shee  betier  him  beheld,  shee  grew 

Full  of  soft  passion  and  unwonted  smart  : 

I'he  point  of  pitty  perced  through  her  tender  hart. 


150 


TJIE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boor  III 


I\Ieel<elv  sbee  bowed  clowne,  to  weete  if  life 

\'ett  in  Ills  frozen  members  did  remaine  ; 

And,  feelint;  bv  bis  pulses  beating-  rife 

'J'bat  tbo  weake  sowle  ber  seat  (li(l  yett  retaine, 

fSliee  cast  to  comfort  iiim  witb  busy  jiaine: 

J  lis  double-folded  necke  slie  reaid  uprJL^bt. 

And  rubd  bis  temples  and  eacli  frenii)ling-  vaine  ; 

J  lis  mavled  baberieon  sbe  did  undiglit. 

And  from  bis  bead  bis  beavy  burganet  did  ligbt. 


Into  tlie  woods  tbencefortli  in  Iraste  sbee  went, 
I'o  seeke  for  liearbes  tbat  mote  biin  remedy  ; 
For  sbee  of  berbes  bad  great  intendiment, 
'J'augbt  of  tbe  nvni]>lie  wbicb  from  lier  infancy 
Her  nourced  bud  in  trew  nobilitv : 
Tbere,  w];etber  vt  ilivine  tobacco  were, 
Or  panacbai'a,  or  ])olvsonv, 
Sbe  fownd,  and  brougbt  it  to  ber  patient  deare, 
Wbo  al   tliis  wbile  lay  bleding   out  bis  bart-blood 
neare. 


Tbe  soveraine  weede  betwixt  two  marbles  plaine 
Sbee  pownded  small,  and  did  in  peeces  bruze ; 
And  tben  atweene  ber  lilly  bandt-s  twaine 
Into  bis  wound  tbe  juice  tbereofdid  scruze; 
And  round  about,  as  sbe  could  well  it  uze, 
Tbe  flesb  tberewitb  sbe  suppled  and  did  steepe, 
T' abate  all  spasme  and  soke  tbe  swelling-  bruze  ; 
And,  alter  baving  searcbt  tbe  intuse  deepe, 
Sbe  witb  ber  scarf  did  bind  tbe  wound,  from  cold  to 
keepe. 

XXXIV. 

By  tins  be  bad  sweet  life  recur'd  agayne. 
And,  groning  inly  deepe,  at  last  bis  eies. 
His  watry  eies  drizling  like  deawy  rayne, 
He  up  gan  lifle  toward  the  azure  skies, 
From  wbence  descend  all  bopelesse  remedies  ; 
Tberewitb  be  sigb'd  ;  and,  turning-  bim  aside, 
Tbe  goodly  maide  full  of  divinities 
And  gifts  of  beavenly  grace  be  by  bim  spide. 
Her  bow  and  gilden  quiver  lying  bim  beside. 


"  Mercy  !  deare  Lord,"  said  be,  "  what  grace  is  this 
Tbat  thou  bast  shewed  to  me  sinfuU  wight, 
To  send  thine  angell  from  her  bowre  of  blis 
To  comfort  me  in  my  distressed  plight ! 
Angell,  or  goddesse  doe  I  call  thee  riglit  ? 
Wiiat  service  may  I  doe  unto  thee  meete, 
That  bust  from  darkenes  me  returnd  to  light. 
And  with  tiiy  bevenly  salves  and  med'cinessweete 
Hast  drest  my  sinfull  wounds !  I  kisse  thy  blessed 
feete." 


Thereat  she  blushing  said  ;  "  Ah  !  gentle  squire, 

Nor  goddesse  1,  nor  angell  ;  but  the  mayd 

And  daughter  of  a  woody  nymphe,  desire 

No  service  but  thy  safety  and  ayd  ; 

AVhich  if  thou  gaine,  I  shal  be  well  apayd. 

V\  ee  mortall  wights,  -whose  lives  and  fortunes  bee 

Jo  commun  accidents  stil  open  layd. 

Are  hownd  with  commun  bond  oi  fraVltee, 

To  succor  wretched  wights  whom  we  captived  see." 


By  this  ber  damzells,  which  tbe  former  cbace 

Had  undertaken  after  ber,  arryv'd. 

As  did  Helpba^be,  in  tbe  bloody  ])lace. 

And  thereby  deenid  tbe  beast  bad  bene  de]>riv'd 

Of  life,  whom  late  tljeir  ladies  arow  rsv'd  : 

Fortby  tbe  bloody  tract  tbey  followd  fast. 

And  every  one  to  ronne  the  swiftest  str3-v'd  ; 

]5ut  two  of  them  tbe  rest  far  overpast, 

And  where  their  lady  was  arrived  at  the  last. 


Where  when  they  saw  tiiat  goodly  boy  with  blood 
Defowled,  and  their  lady  dresse  his  wownd, 
Tbey  wondred  much  ;  and  shortly  understood 
How  him  in  deadly  cace  their  lady  fownd, 
And  reskewed  out  of  tbe  beavy  stovvnd. 
Ettsoones  bis  warlike  courser,  which  was  strayd 
Farre  in  tbe  woodes  whiles  that  he  lay  in  swownd. 
She  made  those  damzels  search  ;  wbicb  being  stavd, 
Tbey    did    bim  set    thereon,  and  forth  witb   theia 
convayd. 

XXXIX. 

Into  that  forest  farre  they  thence  him  led 
^\'llere  was  their  dwelling- ;  in  a  pleasant  glade 
With  niountaines  rownd  about  environed 
And  migbtie  woodes,  which  did  tbe  valley  shade. 
And  like  a  stately  the;Ure  it  made 
Spreading  itselfe  into  a  spatious  plaine  ; 
And  in  tbe  midst  a  little  river  jdaide 
Emongst  tbe  pumy  stones,  which  seemd  to  plaine 
Witii    gentle    munnure  that    his  course  they   did 
restraine. 


Beside  tbe  same  a  dainty  place  there  lay, 

Planted  with  mirtle  trees  and  laurells  greene, 

In  wbicb  the  birds  song  many  a  lovely  lay 

Of  Gods  high  praise,  and  of  their  loves  sweet  teene. 

As  it  an  earthly  paradize  bad  beene  : 

In  whose  enclosed  shadow  there  was  pigbt 

A  faire  pavilion,  scarcely  to  be  scene. 

The  which  was  al  within  most  richly  digbt. 

That  greatest  princes  living  it  mote  -well  delight. 


Thether  thevbrouglitthat  wounded  squyre,  and  layd 
In  easie  couch  iiis  feeble  limbes  to  rest. 
He  rested  him  awhile  ;  and  tben  the  mayd 
His  readie  wound  with  better  salves  new  drest : 
Daily  she  dressed  bun,  and  did  tbe  best. 
His  grievous  hurt  to  guarish,  tbat  she  might; 
'J'bat  shortly  sbe  his  dolour  balb  redrest. 
And  bis  foule  sore  reduced  to  faire  plight: 
It  sbe  reduced,  but  himselfe  destroyed  quigfal. 


O  foolish  physick,  and  unfruitful!  paine, 

'J'bat  heales  up  one,  and  makes  another  wound ! 

She  his  hurt  thigh  to  bim  reciiid  againe. 

But  hurt  bis  hart,  tbe  whicli  before  was  sound, 

'I'lirough  an  unwary  dart  which  did  rebownd 

From  ber  faire  eyes  and  gratious  eountenaunce. 

^^  bat  bootes  it  liim  from  deiilb  to  be  unbovvnd. 

To  be  captived  In  end. esse  duraunce 

Of  sorrow  and  despeyre  witliout  aleggeaunce ! 


Canto  V.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


151 


Still  as  his  wound  did  gather,  and  grow  hole, 
So  still  his  hart  woxe  sore,  and  health  decayd : 
iMadiiesse  to  save  a  part,  and  lose  the  whole! 
Still  whenas  he  beheld  the  heavenly  mayd, 
Whiles  daily  playsters  to  his  wownd  she  layd, 
So  still  his  malady  the  more  increast, 
The  whiles  her  matchlesse  beautie  liim  dismayd. 
Ah  God  !   what  other  could  he  do  at  least. 
But  love  so  fayre  a  lady  that  his  life  releast! 


Long  while  he  strove  in  his  corageous  brest 
With  reason  dew  the  passion  to  subdew. 
And  love  for  to  dislodge  out  of  his  nest : 
Still  when  her  excellencies  he  did  vew, 
Her  soveraine  bountie  and  celestiall  hew, 
The  same  to  love  he  strongly  was  constraynd : 
But,  when  his  meane  estate  he  did  revew. 
He  from  such  hardy  boldncsse  was  restraynd, 
And  of  his  lucklesse  lott  and  cruell  love  thus  playnd  : 


"  Unthankfull  wretch,"  said  he,  "  is  this  the  meed. 

With  which  her  soverain  mercy  thou  doest  (juight  ? 

Thy  life  she  saved  by  her  gratious  deed  ; 

But  thou  doest  weene  with  villeinous  clespight 

To  blatt  lier  honour  and  her  heavenly  light : 

Dye  ;  rather  dye  then  so  disloyally 

Deeme  of  her  high  desert,  or  seeme  so  light : 

Favre  death  it  is,  to  shonne  more  shame,  to  dy  : 

Dye ;  rather  dye  then  ever  love  disloyally. 


"  But  if,  to  love,  disloyalty  it  bee. 

Shall  I  then  hate  her  that  from  deathtjs  dore 

]Me  brought?  ah  !   farre  be  such  reproach  fro  mee ! 

What  can  I  lesse  doe  then  her  love  therefore, 

Sith  I  her  dew  reward  cannot  restore  ? 

Dye  ;  rather  dye,  and  dying  doe  her  serve  ; 

Dying  her  serve,  and  living  her  adore  ; 

Thy  life  she  gave,  thy  life  she  doth  deserve : 

Dye ;  rather  dye  then  ever  from  her  service  swerve. 


"  But,  foolish  boy,  what  bootes  thy  service  bace 

To  her,  to  whom  the  heavens  doe  serve  and  sew  ? 

Thou,  a  meane  sijuyre,  of  meeke  and  lowly  place; 

She,  heveiily  borne  and  of  celestiall  hew. 

How  then  ?  of  all  love  taketh  equall  vew  : 

And  doth  not  highest  God  v«uchsafe  to  take 

The  love  and  service  of  the  basest  crew? 

If  she  will  not ;  dye  meekly  for  her  sake  : 

Dye  ;  rather  dye  then  ever  so  faire  love  forsake  1' 

XI.VIII. 

Thus  warreid  he  long  time  against  his  will ; 
Till  tliat  through  weakness  he  was  forst  at  last 
To  yield  himselfe  unto  the  mightie  ill. 
Which,  as  a  victour  proud,  gan  ransack  fast 
His  inward  partes  and  all  his  entrayles  wast. 
That  neither  blood  in  face  nor  life  in  hart 
It  left,  but  both  did  quite  drye  up  and  blast ; 
As  percing  levin,  which  the  inner  part 
Of  everv  thing  consumes  and  calcineth  by  art. 


I   Which  seeing  fayre  Belphocbe  gan  to  feare. 
Least  that  his  wound  were  inly  well  not  heald, 
Or  that  the  wicked  Steele  empoysned  were  : 
Litle  shee  weend  that  love  he  close  concealed. 
Yet  still  he  wasted,  as  the  snow  congeald 
When  the  bright  sunne  his  beams  theron  doth  beat ! 
Yet  never  he  his  hart  to  her  reveald  ; 
But  rather  chose  to  dye  for  sorow  great 
Then  with  dishonorable  termes  her  to  entreat. 


She,  gracious  lady,  yet  no  paines  did  spare 

To  doe  him  ease,  or  doe  him  remedy  : 

Many  restoratives  of  vertues  rare 

And  costly  cordialles  sli^  did  apply, 

To  mitigate  his  stubborne  malady  : 

But  that  sweet  cordiall,  which  can  restore 

A  love-sick  hart,  she  did  to  him  envy  ; 

To  him,  and  to  all  th'  unworthy  world  forlore, 

She  did  envy  that  soveraine  salve  in  secret  store. 


That  daintie  rose,  the  daughter  of  her  morne. 
More  deare  then  life  she  tendered,  whose  fiowre 
The  girlond  of  her  honour  did  adorne  : 
Ne  suffred  she  the  middayes  scorching  powre, 
Ne  the  sharp  northerne  wind  thereon  to  showre  ; 
But  lapped  up  her  silken  leaves  most  chayre, 
Whenso  the  froward  skye  began  to  lowre ; 
But,  soone  as  calmed  was  the  cristall  ayre. 
She  did  it  favre  dispred  and  let  to  ilori.di  fayre. 


Eternall  God,  in  his  almightie  powre, 
To  make  ensample  of  his  heavenly  grace, 
In  paradize  whylome  did  plant  this  flowre  ; 
Whence  he  it  fetcht  out  of  her  native  place. 
And  did  in  stocke  of  earthly  flesh  enrace. 
That  mortall  men  her  glory  should  admyre. 
In  gentle  ladies  breste  and  bounteous  race 
Of  woman-kind  it  fayrest  flowre  doth  sp)Te, 
Aad  beareth  fruit  of  honour  and  all  chast  desyre. 


Fayre  ympes  of  beautie,  whosebright  shining  beamea 
Adorne  the  world  with  like  to  heavenly  light, 
And  to  your  willes  both  royalties  and  reames 
Subdew,  through  conquest  of  your  wondrous  might ; 
With  this  fayre  flowre  your  goodly  girlonds  dight 
Of  chastity  and  vertue  virginall. 
That  shall  embellish  more  your  beautie  bright. 
And  crowne  your  heades  with  heavenly  coronall. 
Such  as  the  angels  weare  before  God's  tribunall ! 


To  youre  faire  selves  a  faire  ensample  frame 
Of  this  faire  virgin,  this  Belphwhe  fayre  ; 
To  whom,  in  perfect  love  and  sjiotless  fame 
Of  chastitie,  none  living  may  conipayre: 
Ne  poysnous  envy  iustly  can  empayre 
The  prayse  of  her  fresh-'flowring  maydenhead  ; 
Forthy  she  standetb  on  the  highest  slayre 
Of  th'  honourable  stage  of  womanhead. 
That  ladies  all  may  follow  her  ensample  dead. 


'.6>1 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IH 


In  so  great  prayse  of  stedfast  cliastity 
Nathlesse  she  was  so  courteous  and  kynde, 
Tempred  with  grace  and  goodly  modesty, 
That  seemed  those  two  vertues  strove  to  lynd 
The  liigher  place  in  her  heroick  mynd  : 
So  striving  each  did  other  more  augment, 
And  both  encreast  the  prayse  of  womankynd 
And  both  encreast  her  beautie  excellent : 
So  all  did  make  in  her  a  perfect  complement. 


CANTO  VI. 

The  birth  of  fayre  Belphcebe  and 

Of  Amorett  is  told  : 
The  gardins  of  Adonis  fraught 

With  pleasures  manifold. 


Well  may  I  weene,  faire  ladies,  all  this  while 

i'e  wonder  how  this  noble  damozell 

So  great  perfections  did  in  her  compile, 

Sith  that  in  salvage  forests  she  did  dwell, 

So  farre  from  court  and  royal  citadell, 

'Jlie  great  schoolmaisfresse  of  all  courtesy  : 

Seemeth  that  such  wilde  woodes  should  far  expell 

All  civile  usage  and  gentility. 

And  gentle  sprite  deforme  with  rude  rusticity. 


But  to  this  faire  Belphcebe  in  her  berth 

The  hevens  so  favourable  were  and  free. 

Looking  with  mvld  aspect  upon  the  earth 

In  th'  horoscope  of  her  nativitee. 

That  all  the  gifts  of  grace  and  chastitee 

On  her  thev  ])oured  forth  of  plenteous  home: 

love  laught  on  Venus  from  his  soverayne  see. 

And  Phffibus  with  faire  beanies  did  her  adorne. 

And  all  the  "races  rockt  her  cradle  being  borne. 


It  were  a  goodly  storie  to  declare 
By  what  straunge  accident  faire  Chrysogone 
Conceiv'd  these  infants,  and  how  them  she  bars 
In  this  wilde  forrest  wandring  all  alone. 
After  she  had  nine  nioneths  fulfild  and  gone: 
For  not  as  other  weinens  commune  brood 
They  were  enwombed  in  the  sacred  throne 
Of  her  chaste  bodie  ;  nor  with  commune  food. 
As  other  wemens  babes,  they  sucked  vitall  blood 


But  wondrously  they  were  begot  and  bred 

Through  influence  of  th'  hevens  fruitful!  ray. 

As  it  in  antique  bookes  is  mentioned. 

It  was  u]ion  a  sommers  shinie  day. 

When  Titian  faire  his  beami^s  did  display, 

In  a  fresh  fountaine,  far  from  all  mens  vew. 

She  bath'd  her  brest  the  boyling  heat  t'allaj  ; 

She  bath'd  viith  roses  red  and  violets  blew. 

And  all  the  sweetest  flowers  that  in  the  forrest  grew . 


Her  berth  was  of  the  wombe  of  morning  dew. 
And  her  conception  of  the  ioyous  prime  ; 
And  all  her  whole  creation  did  her  shew 
Pure  and  unspotted  from  all  loathly  crime 
That  is  ingenerate  in  fleshly  sl'me. 
So  was  this  virgin  home,  so  was  she  bred  ; 
So  was  she  Iravned  up  from  time  to  time 
In  all  chaste  vertue  and  true  bountihed, 
I'ill  to  her  dew  j)erfection  she  were  ripened. 


Her  mother  was  the  faire  Chrysogonee, 

The  daughter  of  Amphisa,  who  by  race 

A  Faerie  was,  yborne  of  high  degree  : 

She  bore  ]iel])hnbe;  she  bore  in  like  cace 

Fayre  Ainoretta  in  the  second  place  :  [share 

These  tuo  were  twiiines,  and  twixt  them  two  did 

The  heritage  of  all  celestiall  grace; 

That  all  the  re^-t  it  seemd  they  robbed  bare 

Of  bounty,  and  of  beautie,  and  all  vertues  rare. 


Till  faint  through  yrkesome  werines  adowne 

Upon  the  grassy  ground  herselfe  she  layd 

I'o  sleepe,  the  whiles  a  gentle  slorabring  swowne 

Upon  her  fell  all  naked  bare  displayd  ; 

The  sunbeames  bright  uj)on  her  body  [ilayd, 

Being  through  former  bathing  mollifide. 

And  pierst  into  her  wombe  ;  where  they  embavd 

With  so  sweet  sence  and  secret  powre  unspido, 

Tliat  in  her  pregnant  flesh  they  shortly  fructifide. 


Miraculous  may  seenie  to  him  that  reades 

So  straunge  ensample  of  conception  ; 

But  reason  teacheth  that  the  fruitfuU  seades 

Of  all  things  living,  through  imjiression         , 

Of  the  sunbeames  in  moyst  complexion, 

Doe  life  conceive  and  (|uickned  are  by  kynd: 

So,  after  Nilus  inundation. 

Infinite  shapes  of  creatures  me<n  doe  fynd 

Informed  in  the  mud  on  which  the  suune  hath  shynd 


Canto'TI.I 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


153 


Great  father  lie  of  generation 

ightlv  cald,  th'  autliour  of  life  and  light; 
And  his  faire  sister  for  creation 
iMinistretli  matter  fit,  which,  temjired  right 
With  heate  and  humour,  breedes  tlie  living  ^iglit. 
So  sprong  these  tu  innes  in  womb  of  Clirysogone  ; 
Yet  wist  she  nought  thereof,  but  sore  affright 
AVondred  to  see  lier  belly  so  upblone. 
Which  still  increast  till  she  her  ternie  had  full  out- 
gone. 

X. 

Whereof  conceiving  shame  and  foule  disgrace, 
Albe  her  guiltlesse  conscience  her  cleard, 
She  fled  into  the  wildernesse  a  space, 
Till  that  unweeldy  burden  she  had  reard. 
And  shund  dishonor  which  as  death  she  feard  : 
Where,  wearie  of  long  traveill,  downe  to  resi 
Herselfe  she  set,  and  comfortably  cheard ; 
There  a  sad  cloud  of  sleepe  her  overkest, 
And  seized  every  sence  with  sorrow  sore  opprest. 


It  fortuned,  faire  Venus  having  lost 
Her  little  sunno,  the  winged  god  of  love, 
\\'lio  for  Some  light  displeasure,  which  him  crost. 
Was  from  her  fled  as  flit  as  avery  dove. 
And  left  her  blisfull  bowre  of  ioy  above; 
(So  from  her  often  he  had  fled  away, 
When  she  for  ought  him  sliarpely  did  reprove, 
And  wandred  in  the  world  in  straunge  aray, 
Uisguiz'd  in  thousand  shapes,  that  none  might  him 
bewray;) 

XII.         ^ 

Him  for  to  seeke,  she  left  her  heavenly  hous 
The  house  of  goudlv  formes  and  faire  aspects, 
^Vhence  all  the  world  derives  the  glorious 
Features  of  beautie,  and  all  shapes  select. 
With  which  high  God  his  workmanship  hath  deckt; 
And  searched  everie  way  through  which  his  wings 
Had  borne  him,  or  his  tract  she  niote  detect  : 
She  promist  kisses  sweet,  and  sweeter  things. 
Unto  the  man  that  of  him  tydings  to  her  brings. 


First  she  him  sought  in  court  ;  where  most  he  us'd 
Whylome  to  haunt,  but  there  she  found  him  not ; 
But  inatiy  there  she  found  which  sore  accus'd 
His  falshood,  and  with  fowle  infamous  blot 
His  cruell  deedes  and  wicked  w\les  did  spot: 
Ladies  and  lordes  she  every  where  mote  heare 
Complaynizij,  how  with  his  empoysoiied  shot 
Their  woiuU  harts  he  wounded  had  whyleare, 
A  ndso  had  left  them  languishing  twixt  hope  and  leare. 


She  then  the  cities  sought  from  gate  to  gate, 
And  everie  one  did  aske.  Did  he  him  see  .' 
And  everie  one  her  answerd,  that  loo  lute 
He  had  him  seene,  and  felt  the  ciueltee 
Of  his  sharp  dartes  and  whot  artilleree : 
And  every  one  threw  forth  reproches  rife 
Of  his  mischievous  deedes,  and  sayd  that  bee 
Was  the  disturber  of  all  civill  life, 
The  eniii'v  of  peace,  and  authour  of  all  strife. 


Then  in  the  countrey  she  abroad  him  sought, 
And  in  the  rurall  cottages  iiujuir'd  ; 
\Miere  also  many  plaiiites  to  her  were  brouglit. 
How  he  their  heedelesse  harts  with  love  had  flr'd. 
And  his  false  veniin  through  their  veines  inspir'd  ; 
And  Ae  the  gentle  shepheard  swaynes,  whdch  sat 
Keeping  their  fleecy  fluckes  as  they  were  hyr'd, 
She  sweetly  heard  complaine  both  how  and  what 
Her  Sonne  had  to  them  doen ;  yet  she  did  smile 
thereat. 


But,  when  in  none  of  all  these  she  him  got. 
She  gan  avize  where  els  he  mote  him  hyde : 
At  last  she  her  bethought  that  she  had  not 
Yrt  sought  the  salvage  woods  and  forests  wyde, 
In  which  full  many  lovely  nymphes  abyde; 
Mongst  whom  might  be  that  he  did  closely  lye. 
Or  that  the  love  of  some  of  them  him  tyde: 
Forthy  she  thether  cast  her  course  t'  apply. 
To  search  the  secret  haunts  of  Dianes  company. 


Shortly  unto  the  wastefull  woods  she  came. 
Whereas  she  found  the  godiiesse  with  her  crew. 
After  late  chace  of  the'"      ibrewed  game, 
Sitting  beside  a  fountaine  in  a  rew  ; 
Some  of  them  washing  with  the  liquid  dew 
From  off"  their  dainty  limbs  the  dusty  sweat 
And  soyle,  which  did  delorme  their  lively  hew, 
Otiiers  lay  shaded  from  the  scorching  heat  ; 
The  rest  upon  her  person  gave  attendance  great. 


She,  having  hong  upon  a  bough  on  high 

Her  bow  and  painted  ([uiver,  had  unlaste 

Her  silver  buskins  from  her  nimble  thigh. 

And  her  lanck  loynes  ungirf,  and  brests  unbraste. 

After  her  heat  the  breathing  cold  to  taste ; 

Her  golden  lockes,  that  late  in  tresses  bright 

Embreaded  were  for  hindring  of  her  haste. 

Now  loose  about  her  shoulders  hong  undight, 

And  were  with  sweet  ambrosia  all  besprinckled  light. 


Soone  as  she  Venus  saw  behinde  her  backe, 

She  was  ashani'd  to  be  so  loose  surprizM  ; 

And  woxe  halfe  wroth  against  her  damzels  slacken 

'Jhat  had  not  her  thereof  before  aviz'd, 

But  suflVed  her  so  carelesly  disguiz'd 

Be  overtaken  :  soone  her  garments  loo^^e 

Upgath'ring,  in  her  bosome  she  c  ompriz  u 

Well  as  she  might,  and  to  tue  goddesse  rose ; 

Whiles  all  her  nymphes  did  like  a  girlond  her  enclose 


Goodly  she  gan  faire  Cytherea  greet. 
And  shortly  asked  her  what  cause  her  brought. 
Into  that  \\ildernesse  for  her  unmeet,  [fraught; 

P'rom  her   sweete  bowres  and  beds  with   pleasures 
That  suddein  chaung  she  straung  adventure  thought. 
To  whom  halfe  weeping  she  thus  answered ; 
That  she  her  dearest  sonne  (  upido  sought 
Who  in  his  frowardnes  from  her  was  fled  ; 
That  she  reiJeuieU  sore  ii-  :i..\r  n Lfcreu. 


154 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III 


Thereat  Diana  gan  to  smile,  in  scorne 
Of  her  vaine  playnt,  and  to  her  scoffing  sayd ; 
"  Great  pitty  sure  that  ye  be  so  forlorue 
Of  your  gay  Sonne,  that  gives  you  so  good  ayd 
I  o  vour  disports  ;  ill  mote  ye  bene  apayd  !'' 
But  slie  was  more  engrieved,  and  replide  : 
'■  K;iire  sister,  ill  beseemes  it  to  upbrayd 
A  diilefuU  heart  with  so  disdainfull  pride  ; 
'I'lie  like  that  mine  may  be  your  paine  another  tide. 


"  As  you  in  woods  and  wanton  wildernesse 
Vour  glory  sett  to  chace  the  salvage  beasts ; 
So  my  delight  is  all  in  ioyfulnesse, 
In  beds,  in  bowres,  in  banckets,  and  in  feasts  : 
And  ill  becomes  you,  with  your  lofty  creasts. 
To  scorne  the  ioy  that  love  is  glad  to  seeke : 
We  both  are  bownd  to  follow  heavens  beheasts 
And  tend  our  charges  with  obeisaunce  meeke  : 
Spare,  gentle  sister,  with  reproch  my  pame  to  eeke  ; 


"  And  tell  me  if  that  ye  my  sonne  have  heard 
To  lu^ke  emongst  your  nimphes  in  secret  wize, 
Or  keepe  their  cabins  :  much  I  am  afteard 
Least  he  like  one  of  them  himselfe  disguize, 
And  turne  his  arrows  to  their  exercize  : 
So  may  he  long  himselfe  full  easie  hide  ; 
For  he  is  faire,  and  fresh  in  face  and  guize 
As  any  nimphe  ;  let  not  it  be  envide." 
So  saying  every  nimph  full  narrowly  shee  eide. 


But  Phoebe  therewith  sore  was  angered,  \y"^y> 

And  sharply  saide ;  "  Goe  dame  ;  goe,  seeke  your 

Where  you  him  lately  lefte,  in  Mars  his  bed: 

He  comes  not  here  ;  we  scorne  his  foolish  ioy, 

Ne  lend  we  leisure  to  his  idle  toy : 

But,  if  I  catch  him  in  this  company, 

By  Stygian  lake  I  vow,  wliose  sad  annoy 

'J'he  gods  doe  dread,  he  dearly  shall  abye : 

lie  clip  his  wanton  wings  that  lie  no  more  shall  flye." 


Whom  whenas  Venus  saw  so  sore  displeasd, 
Shee  inly  sory  was,  and  gan  relent 
\\  hat  shee  bad  said  :   so  her  shee  soone  appeasd 
With  sugred  words  and  gentle  blandishment, 
^Vhich  as  a  founiaine  from  her  sweete  lips  went 
And  welled  goodly  forth,  that  in  short  space 
She  was  well  pleasd,  and  forth  her  damzells  sent 
Through  all  the  woods,  to  search  from  place  to  place 
It  any  tract  of  him  or  tidings  they  mote  trace. 


To  search  the  god  of  love  her  nimphes  she  sent 
'i  hroughout  the  wandering  forest  every  where : 
And  after  them  lierselfe  eke  with  liei  went 
I'o  seeke  the  fugitive  both  farre  and  nere. 
So  long  they  sough;,  till  they  arrived  were 
In  that  same  shady  covert  whereas  lay 
I'aire  C'rysogone  in  slombry  traunce  whilere ; 
W  ho  in  her  sleej)e  (a  wondrous  thing  to  say) 
Uuwares  hud  borne  two  babes  as  faire  as  springing 
day. 


Unwares  she  tnem  conceivd,  unwares  she  bore : 
She  bore  withouten  paine,  that  she  conceiv'd 
U'ithouten  pleasure  ;  ne  her  need  implore 
Lucinaes  aide  :  which  when  they  both  perceiv'd. 
They  were  through  wonder  nigh  of  sence  berev'd. 
And  gai'ing  each  on  other  nought  bespake  : 
At  last  they  both  agreed  her  seeming  griev'd 
Out  of  her  heavie  swowne  not  to  awake. 
But  from  her  lovins;  side  the  tender  babes  to  take. 


Up  they  them  tooke,  each  one  a  babe  uptooke. 
And  with  them  carried  to  be  fostered  : 
Dame  Phoebe  to  a  nymphe  her  babe  berooke 
To  be  upbrought  in  perfect  maydenhed, 
And,  of  lierselfe,  her  name  Belphccbe  red  : 
But  Venus  hers  thence  far  away  convayd. 
To  be  upbrought  in  goodlv  womanhed  ; 
And,  in  her  little  Loves  stead  wliich  was  strayd. 
Her  Amoretta  cald,  to  comfort  her  dismayd. 


She  brought  her  to  her  ioyous  paradize  [dwell 

^Vher  most  she  wonnes,  when  she   on  earth  does 

So  faire  a  place  as  nature  can  devize : 

Wether  in  Paphos,  or  Cytheron  hill. 

Or  it  in  Gnidus  bee,  I  wote  not  well ; 

But  well  I  wote  by  triall,  that  this  same 

All  other  pleasaunt  places  doth  excell. 

And  called  is,  by  her  lost  lovers  name, 

The  gardin  of  Adonis,  far  renowmd  by  fame. 


In  that  same  gardin  all  the  goodly  flowres, 
^Vherewith  dame  Nature  doth  iier  beautify 
And  decks  the  girlonds  of  her  paramoures. 
Are  fetcht :  there  is  the  first  seminary 
Of  all  things  that  are  borne  to  live  and  dye, 
According  to  their  kynds.     Long  worke  it  were 
Here  to  account  the  endlesse  progeny 
Of  all  the  weeds  that  bud  and  blossome  there  , 
But  so  much  as  doth  need  must  needs  be  counted 
here. 


It  sited  was  in  fruitfull  soyle  of  old. 

And  girt  in  with  two  walls  on  either  side; 

The  one  of  yron,  the  other  of  bright  gold, 

That  none  might  thorough  breake,  nor  overstride ; 

And  double  gates  it  had  which  o])ened  wide, 

By  which  both  in  and  out  men  moten  jias  ; 

']ir  one  faire  and  fresh,  the  otlier  old  and  dride ; 

Old  (ienius  the  porter  of  tliem  was, 

Old  Genius,  the  which  a  double  nature  has. 

XXXII. 

He  letteth  in,  he  letteth  out  to  wend 
All  that  to  come  into  the  world  desire  : 
A  thousand  thousand  naked  babes  attend 
About  him  day  and  night,  whicln  doe  require 
That  he  with  fleshly  weeds  would  them  attire: 
Such  as  him  list,  such  as  eternall  fate 
Ordained  hath,  he  clothes  with  sinfull  mire. 
And  seiideth  forth  to  live  m  mortall  state, 
Till  they  agayn  relurne  backe  by  the  hindtjr  gate. 


Cas-to  vr.j 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


15!: 


After  t'liat  they  ap;aine  retourned  beene, 

TliHV  in  that  oardin  planted  bee  agayne, 

And  grow  afi-tsh,  as  they  had  never  seene 

Klesldv  corruption  nor  mortall  payne  : 

Some  tliousand  yeares  so  doen  they  there  remayne. 

And  tlien  of  him  are  clad  with  other  hew, 

Or  sent  into  the  chaungefuU  world  agayne, 

Till  thether  they  retourne  where  first  they  grew : 

So,  like  a  wheere,arownd  theyronne  from  old  to  new. 


Ne  needs  there  gardiner  to  sett  or  sow. 
To  plant  or  prune;  for  of  their  owne  accord 
All  things,  as  they  created  were,  doe  grow, 
And  yet  remember  well  the  mighty  word 
Which  first  was  spoken  by  th'  Almighty  Lord, 
'I'hat  bad  them  to  increase  mid  mi^ltiplu : 
Ne  doe  they  need,  with  water  of  the  ford 
Or  of  the  clouds,  to  moysten  their  roots  dry  ; 
For  in  themselves  eternall  moisture  they  imply. 


Infinite  shapes  of  creatures  there  are  bred. 

And  uncouth  formes,  which  none  yet  ever  knew  : 

And  every  sort  is  in  a  sondry  bed 

Sett  by  itselfe,  and  ranckt  in  comely  raw  : 

Some  fitt  for  reasonable  sowles  t'indew  ; 

Some  made  for  beasts,  some  made  for  birds  to  weare  ; 

And  all  the  fruitfuil  spawne  of  fishes  hew 

In  endlesse  rancks  along  enraunged  were, 

That  seemd  the  ocean  could  not  containe  them  there. 


Daily  they  grow,  and  daily  forth  are  sent 

Into  the  world,  it  to  rejdenish  more  ; 

Yet  is  the  stocke  not  lessened  nor  spent. 

But  still  remaines  in  everlasting  store 

As  it  at  first  created  was  of  yore  : 

For  in  the  wide  worabe  of  the  world  there  lyes. 

In  hatefull  darknes  and  in  deep  horrore. 

An  huge  eternall  chaos,  which  supplyes. 

The  substaunces  of  natures  fruitfuil  progenyes. 


All  things  from  thence  doe  their  first  being  fetch, 

And  borrow  matter  whereof  they  are  made  ; 

Which,  whenas  forme  and  feature  it  does  ketch, 

Becomes  a  body,  arid  doth  then  invade 

The  state  of  lile  out  of  the  griesly  t-hade. 

That  substaunce  is  eterne,  and  bideth  so  ; 

Ne,  when  the  life  decaves  and  forme  does  fad^ 

Doth  it  consume  and  into  nothing  goe. 

But  chaunged  is  and  often  altred  to  and  froe. 


The  substaunce  is  not  chaungd  nor  altered. 

But  th'  only  forme  and  outward  fashion  ; 

For  every  substaunce  is  conditioned 

To  chaunge  her  hew,  and  sondry  formes  to  don. 

Meet  for  iier  temper  and  complexion  : 

For  formes  are  viiriable,  and  decay 

By  course  of  kinde  and  by  occasion  ; 

And  that  faire  flowre  of  beautie  fades  away. 

As  doth  the  lilly  fresh  before  the  sunny  ray. 


Great  enimy  to  it,  and  to  all  the  rest 

That  in  the  gardin  of  Adonis  sprinas. 

Is  wicked  Time ;  who  with  his  scyth  addrest 

Does  mow  the  flowring  herbes  and  goodly  things. 

And  all  their  glory  to  the  ground  downe  flings. 

Where  they  do  wither  and  are  fowly  mard  : 

He  flyes  about,  and  with  his  flaggy  wings 

Beates  downe  both  leaves  and  buds  without  regard, 

Ne  ever  pitty  may  relent  his  malice  bard. 


Yet  pitty  often  did  the  gods  relent, 

To  see  so  faire  thinges  mard  and  spoiled  quight : 

And  their  great  mother  Venus  did  lament 

The  losse  of  her  deare  brood,  her  deare  delight : 

Her  hart  was  pierst  with  pitty  at  the  sight. 

When  walking  through  the  gardin  them  she  spyde. 

Yet  no'te  she  find  redresse  for  such  despight : 

For  all  that  lives  is  subiect  to  that  law  : 

All  thing-'?  decay  in  time,  and  to  their  end  doe  draw. 


J3ut  were  it  not  that  Time  their  troubler  is. 

All  that  in  this  delightfull  gardin  growes 

Should  happy  bee,  and  have  immortall  blis  : 

For  here  all  plenty  and  all  pleasure  flowes  ; 

And  sweete  Love  gentle  fitts  emongst  them  throwes 

Without  fell  rancor  or  fond  gealosy  : 

Franckly  each  paramour  his  leman  knowes  ; 

Each  bird  his  mate  ;  ne  any  does  envy 

Their  goodly  meriment  and  gay  felicity. 


There  is  continuall  spring,  and  harvest  there 
Continuall,  both  meeting  at  one  t)Tne  : 
For  both  the  boughes  doe  laughing  blossoms  bean 
And  with  fresh  colours  decke  the  wanton  pryme. 
And  eke  attonce  the  heavy  trees  they  clynie, 
Which  seeme  to  labour  under  their  fruites  lode: 
1  he  whiles  the  ioyous  birdes  make  their  pastyme 
Emongst  the  shady  leaves,  their  sweet  abode. 
And  their  trew  loves  without  suspition  tell  abrode. 


Right  in  the  niiddest  of  that  Paradise 
There  stood  a  stately  mount,  on  whose  round  top 
A  gloomy  grove  of  mirtle  trees  did  rise. 
Whose  shady  boughes  sharp  Steele  did  never  lop. 
Nor  wicked  beastes  their  tender  buds  did  crop, 
But  like  a  girlond  compassed  the  hight. 
And  from  their  fruitfuil  sydes  sweet  gum  did  drop, 
That  all  the  ground,  with  pretious  deaw  bedight. 
Threw  forth  most  dainty  odours   and  most  sweet 
delight. 

XLIV. 

And  in  the  thickest  covert  of  that  shade 

There  was  a  pleasant  arber,  not  by  art 

But  of  the  trees  owne  inclination  made. 

Which  knitting  their  rancke  braunches  part  to  part, 

AVith  wanton  yvie-twine  entrayld  athwart, 

And  eglantine  and  caprifole  emong, 

Fashiond  above  within  their  inmost  part. 

That  netherPhffibus  beams  could  through  them  throng 

Nor  Aeolus  sharp  blast  could  worke  them  any  wrong 


l.v 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E 


[Book  III. 


And  all  about  grew  every  sorte  of  flowre, 

To  wliich  sad  lovers  were  transformde  of  yore; 

Fresh  Hyacinthus,  Phccbus  paramoure 

And  dearest  love ; 

Foolish  Narcisse,  that  likes  the  vratry  shore  ; 

Sad  Amaranthus,  made  a  flowre  but  late, 

Sad  Amaranthus,  in  whose  purple  gore 

Me  seemes  I  see  Amintas  wretched  fate, 

To  whom  sweet  poets  verse  hath  given  endless  date. 


There  wont  fayre  Venus  often  to  enioy 

Her  deare  Adonis  ioyous  company, 

And  reap  sweet  pleasure  of  the  wanton  boy  : 

There  yet,  some  say,  in  secret  he  does  ly, 

i.apped  in  flowres  and  preiious  spycery. 

By  her  hid  from  the  world,  and  from  the  skill 

Of  Stygian  gods,  which  doe  her  love  envy  : 

But  she  herselfe,  whenever  that  she  will, 

Possesseth  him,  and  of  his  sweetnesse  takes  her  fill : 


And  sooth,  it  seemes,  they  say  ;  for  he  may  not 

For  ever  dye,  and  ever  buried  bee 

In  balefuU'night  where  all  thinges  are  forgot; 

All  be  he  subiect  to  mortalitie. 

Yet  is  eterne  in  mutabilitie, 

And  by  succession  made  perpetuall, 

Transformed  oft,  and  channged  diverslie  : 

For  him  the  fother  of  all  formes  they  call ; 

Therfore  needs  mote  he  live,  that  living  gives  to  all. 

XLVIII. 

There  now  he  liveth  in  eternal  blis, 
loying  his  goddesse,  and  of  her  enioyd  ; 
Ne  feareth  he  henceforth  that  foe  of  bis, 
^\'hich  with  his  cruell  tuske  him  deadly  cloyd  : 
For  tliat  wild  bore,  the  which  him  once  annoyd, 
She  firmely  hath  emjtrisoned  for  ay, 
(That  her  sweet  love  his  malice  mote  avoyd,) 
In  a  strong  rocky  cave,  which  is,  they  say, 
Hewen  underneath  that  mount,  that  none  him  losen 
may. 

XLIX. 

There  now  he  lives  m  everlasting  ioy, 

With  manv  of  the  gods  in  company 

Which  tbetber  bannt,  and  with  the  winged  boy, 

Sporting  hiinselfe  in  safe  felicity  : 

VVho  when  he  liuth  with  spoiles  and  cruelty 

Ransackt  the  world,  and  in  the  wufuU  harts 

Of  many  wretches  set  his  triumphes  hye, 

Thether  resortes,  and,  laying  his  sad  dartes 

Asyde,  with  laire  Adonis  playes  his  wanton  partes. 


And  his  trew  love  faire  Psvche  with  him  plaves, 
Fayre  Pysche  to  him  lately  reconcvld, 
After  long  troubles  and  unmeet  upbrayes. 
With  which  his  mother  \^enus  her  revyld. 
And  eke  himselfe  her  cruelly  exvid  : 
But  now  in  stedfast  love  and  happy  state 
She  with  him  lives,  and  hath  him  borne  a  cinid. 
Pleasure,  that  doth  both  gods  and  men  aii-ura'e. 
Pleasure,  the  daughter  of  Cupid  and  Pysche  la  e. 


Hether  great  Venus  brought  this  infant  favre 

The  younger  daughter  of  Cbrysogonee, 

And  unto  J'syche  with  great  trust  and  care 

Committed  her,  y  fostered  to  bee 

And  trained  up  in  trew  ferninitee  : 

Who  no  lesse  carelully  her  tendered 

Then  her  owne  daughter  Pleasure,  to  whom  she^ 

Made  her  companion,  and  her  lessoned 

In  all  the  lore  of  love  and  goodly  womanhead. 


In  which  when  she  to  perfect  ripeness  grew, 
Of  grace  and  beautie  noble  paragone. 
She  brought  her  forth  hito  the  worldes  vew, 
To  be  th'  ensample  of  true  love  alone. 
And  lodestarre  of  all  chaste  affectione 
To  all  feyre  ladies  that  doe  live  on  grownd, 
To  Faery  court  she  came  ;  where  many  one 
Admyrd  her  goodlv  haveour,  and  fownd 
His  feeble   hart   wide  launched   with  loves    cruel 
wownd. 


Put  she  to  none  of  them  her  love  did  cast. 

Save  to  the  noble  knight  Sir  Scudamore, 

To  whom  her  loving  hart  she  linked  fast 

In  faithfull  love,  t'  abide  for  evermore  ; 

And  for  his  dearest  sake  endured  sore. 

Sore  trouble  of  an  hainous  enimy, 

Who  her  would  forced  have  to  have  forlore 

Her  former  love  and  stedfast  loialty  : 

As  ye  may  elsewhere  reade  that  ruefull  history. 


But  well  I  weene  ye  first  desire  to  learne 
What  end  unto  that  fearefuU  damozell, 
Which  fiedil  so  fast  from  that  same  foster  stearne 
Whom  with  his  brethren  'i'imias  slew,  befell  : 
1  hat  was,  to  wcet,  the  goodly  Florimell ; 
Who  wandring  for  to  seeke  her  lover  deare. 
Her  lover  deare,  her  dearest  INIarinell, 
Into  misfortune  fell,  as  ye  did  heare. 
And  from  Prince  Aithure  fled  with  wings  of  idlt 
fear^. 


Ca>jto  'VU.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


157 


CANTO  VII.  / 

The  witcbes  sonne  loves  Florimell  • 
She  flyes  ;  he  faines  to  dy. 

Satyrane  saves  the  Squyre  of  Dames 
From  gyaunts  tyranny. 


Like  as  an  hynd  forth  singled  from  the  heard. 

That  hath  escaped  from  a  ravenous  beast, 

Yet  flyes  away  of  her  ovrne  feete  afeard  ; 

And  every  leafe,  that  shaketh  with  the  least 

Murmure  of  winde,  her  terror  hath  encreast  : 

So  fledd  fajTe  Florimell  from  her  vaine  feare^ 

Long  after  she  from  perill  was  releast : 

Each  shade  she  saw,  and  each  noyse  she  did  beare, 

Did  seeme  to  be  the  same  which  she  escapt  wbileare. 


All  that  same  evening  she  in  flying  spent, 
And  all  that  night  her  course  continewed  : 
Ne  did  she  let  dull  sleepe  once  to  relent 
Nor  wearmesse  to  slack  her  bast,  but  fled 
Ever  alike,  as  if  her  former  dred 
Were  hard  behind,  her  ready  to  arrest : 
And  her  white  palfrey,  having  conquered 
Tlie  maistriug  raines  out  of  her  weary  wrest. 
Perforce  her  carried  where  ever  he  thouo-ht  best. 


So  long  as  breath  and  bable  puissaunce 

Did  native  corage  unto  him  supply, 

His  pace  be  freshly  forward  did  advaunce. 

And  carried  her  beyond  all  ieopardy  ; 

But  nought  that  wanteih  rest  can  long  aby  : 

He,  having  through  incessant  traveill  spent 

His  force,  at  last  perforce  adowne  did  ly, 

Ne  foot  could  further  move :  the  lady  gent 

Thereat  was  suddein  strook  with  great  astonishment ; 


And,  forst  t'alight,  on  foot  mote  algates  fare 

A  traveller  unwonted  to  such  way  ; 

Need  teacheth  ber  this  lesson  bard  and  rare. 

That  Fortune  all  in  equall  iaiince  doth  saay, 

And  mt/rtall  miseries  dotli  make  lier  play. 

So  long  slie  traveild,  till  at  length  she  came 

To  an  hilles  side,  which  did  to  ber  bewray 

A  litle  valley  subiect  to  the  same, 

Ail  coverd  with  thick  woodes  that  quite  it  overcame. 


Through  th'  tops  of  tlie  high  trees  she  did  descry 

A  litle  smoke,  whose  vapour  tliin  and  light 

Reeking  aloft  uprolled  to  the  sky  : 

Wbich  chearefull  signe  did  send  unto  ber  sight 

1  hat  in  the  same  did  wonne  some  livmg  wight. 

Lftscopes  her  steps  she  thereunto  applyd. 

And  came  at  last  in  weary  wretched  plight 

Unto  the  place,  to  which  her  hope  did  guyde 

To  £Lde  some  refuge  there,  and  rest  her  wearie  syde. 


There  in  a  gloomy  hollow  glen  she  fo'ind 
A  little  cottage,  built  of  stickes  and  reedes 
In  homely  wize,  and  wald  with  sods  around ; 
In  wbich  a  witch  did  dwell,  in  loathly  weedes 
And  wilfull  want,  all  carelesse  of  ber  needes ; 
So  choosing  solitarie  to  abide 
Far  from  all  neighbours,  that  ber  divelish  deedes 
And  hellish  arts  from  people  she  might  bide. 
And  hurt  far  off  unknowne  whomever  she  envide. 


The  damzell  there  arriving  entred  in  ; 
Where  sitting  on  the  flore  the  bag  she  found 
Busie  (as  seem'd)  about  some  wicked  gin  : 
Who,  soone  as  she  beheld  that  suddein  stoiind, 
Lightly  upstarted  from  the  duslie  ground. 
And  with  fell  looke  and  hollow  deadly  gaze 
Stared  on  her  awhile,  as  one  astound, 
Ne  had  one  word  to  speake  for  great  amaze  ; 
But  shewd  by  outward  signes  that  dread  ber  sence 
did  daze. 


At  last,  turning  her  feare  to  foolish  wrath, 
She  askt.  What  devill  bad  ber  thetber  brought. 
And  who  she  was,  and  what  unwonted  path 
Had  guided  her,  unwelcomed,  unsought  ? 
To  whicl)  the  damzell  full  of  doubtfull  thought 
Her  mildly  answer'd  ;  "  Beldame,  be  not  wroth 
With  silly  virgin,  by  adventure  brought 
Unto  your  dwelling,  ignorant  and  loth. 
That  crave  but  rowme  to  rest  wliile  tempest  over- 
blo'th." 


With  that  adowne  out  of  her  christall  eyne 

Few  trickling  teares  she  softly  forth  let  fall. 

That  like  two  orient  perles  did  purely  sbyne 

Upon  ber  snowy  cbeeke  ;  and  tberewithall 

She  sighed  soft,  that  none  so  bestiall 

Nor  salvage  hart  but  ruth  of  her  sad  plight 

Would  make  to  melt,  or  pitteously  appall ; 

And  that  vile  hag,  all  were  her  whole  delight 

In  mischiefe,  was  much  moved  at  so  pitteous  sight  j 


And  gan  recomfort  her,  in  her  rude  wyse, 

\\  ith  womanish  compassion  of  ber  plaint. 

Wiping  the  teares  from  ber  suflTused  eyes, 

And  bidding  her  sit  downe  to  rest  her  faint 

And  wearie  iimbes  awhile  :   she  nothing  quaint 

Nor  'sdeignfull  of  so  homely  fashion, 

Sith  brought  she  was  now  to  so  hard  constraint. 

Sate  downe  upon  the  dusty  ground  anon  ; 

As  glad  of  that  small  rest,  as  bird  of  tempest  gon. 


16S 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  III. 


Tho  o^an  she  gather  up  her  garments  rent, 
And  her  loose  lockes  to  dight  in  order  dew 
With  golden  wreath  and  gorgeous  ornament ; 
Whom  such  whenas  the  wicked  hag  did  vew, 
She  was  astonisht  at  her  heavenly  hew, 
And  doubted  her  to  deeme  an  earthly  wight, 
But  or  some  goddesse,  or  of  Dianes  crew, 
And  thought  her  to  adore  with  humble  spright : 
T' adore  thing  so  divine  as  beauty  were  but  right. 


This  wicked  woman  had  a  wicked  sonne, 
The  comfort  of  her  age  and  weary  dayes, 
A  laesy  loord,  for  nothing  good  to  donne, 
But  stretched  forth  in  ydlenesse  alwayes, 
Ne  ever  cast  his  mind  to  covet  prayse. 
Or  ply  liimselfe  to  any  honest  trade  ; 
But  all  the  day  before  the  sunny  rayes 
He  us'd  to  slug,  or  sleepe  in  slothful!  shade : 
Such  laesienesse  both  lewd  and  poore  attonce  him 
made. 


He,  comming  home  at  undertime,  there  found 

The  fayrest  creature  that  he  ever  saw 

Sitting  beside  his  mother  on  the  ground  ; 

The  sight  whereof  did  greatly  him  adaw, 

And  his  base  thought  with  terrour  and  with  aw 

So  inly  smot,  tliat  as  one,  which  hath  gaz'd 

On  the  bright  sunne  unwares,  doth  soone  withdraw 

His  feeble  eyne  with  too  much  brightnes  daz'd  ; 

So  stared  he  on  her,  and  stood  long  while  amaz'd. 


Softly  at  last  he  gan  his  mother  aske. 

What  mister  wight  that  was,  and  whence  deriv'd, 

That  in  so  straunge  disguizement  there  did  maske, 

And  by  what  accident  she  there  arriv'd? 

But  she,  as  one  nigh  of  her  wits  depriv'd, 

With  nought  but  ghastly  lookes  him  answered; 

Like  to  a  ghost,  that  lately  is  reviv'd 

From  Stygian  shores  where  late  it  wandered : 

So  both  at  her,  and  each  at  other  wondered. 


But  the  fa)rre  virgin  was  so  meeke  and  myld, 

Tiiat  she  to  them  vouchsafed  to  embace 

Her  goodly  port,  and  to  their  senses  vyld 

Her  gentle  speach  applyde,  that  in  short  space 

She  grew  familiare  in  that  desert  place. 

During  which  time  the  cliorJe,  through  her  so  kind 

And  courteise  use,  conceiv'd  affection  bace. 

And  cast  to  love  her  in  his  brutish  mind  ; 

^lO  love,  but  brutish  lust,  that  was  so  beastly  tind. 


Closely  the  wicked  flame  his  bowels  brent. 

And  shortly  grew  into  outrageous  fire; 

Yet  ha<l  he  not  the  hart,  nor  hardiment. 

As  unto  her  to  utter  his  desire  ; 

Mis  caytive  thought  durst  not  so  high  aspire  . 

But  with  soft  sighes  and  lovely  semblaunces 

He  weeii'd  that  his  affection  entire 

She  should  aread  ;  many  resemblaunces 

To  Kei  he  made,  and  many  kinde  remembraunces. 


Oft  from  the  forrest  wildings  he  did  bring, 
Whose  sides  empurpled  were  with  smyling  red  ; 
And  oft  young  birds,  which  he  had  taught  to  sing 
His  maistresse  praises  sweetly  caroled  : 
Girlonds  of  flowres  sometimes  for  her  faire  bed 
He  fine  would  dight  ;  sometimes  the  squirrel  wild 
He  brought  to  her  in  bands,  as  conquered 
To  be  her  thrall,  his  fellow-servant  vild  : 
All  which  she  of  him  tooke  with  countenance  meeke 
and  mild. 


But,  past  a  while,  when  she  fit  season  saw 

To  leave  that  desert  mansion,  she  cast 

In  secret  wize  herselfe  thence  to  withdraw, 

For  feare  of  mischiefe,  which  she  did  forecast 

Might  by  the  witch  or  by  her  sonne  compast ; 

Her  wearie  palfrey,  closely  as  she  might. 

Now  well  recovered  after  long  repast, 

In  his  proud  furnitures  she  freshly  dight. 

His  late  miswandred  wayes  now  to  remeasure right. 


And  earely,  ere  the  dawning  day  appear'd. 

She  forth  issewed,  and  on  her  iourney  went; 

She  went  in  perill,  of  each  noyse  afteard 

And  of  each  shade  that  did  itselfe  present; 

For  still  she  feared  to  be  overhent 

Of  that  vile  hag,  or  her  uncivile  sonne  ; 

Who  when,  too  late  awaking,  well  they  kent 

That  their  fayre  guest  was  gone,  they  both  begonne 

To  make  exceeding  mone  as  they  had  beeneundonne. 


But  that  lewd  lover  did  the  most  lament 
For  her  depart,  that  ever  man  did  heare  ; 
He  knockt  his  brest  with  desperate  intent. 
And  scratcht  his  face,  and  with  his  teeth  did  teare 
His  rugged  flesh,  and  rent  his  ragged  heare: 
That  his  sad  mother  seeing  his  sore  plight 
Was  greatly  woe-begon,  and  gan  to  teare 
Least  his  fraile  senses  were  emperisht  quight, 
And  love  to  frenzy  turnd  ;  sith  love  is  franticke  hight. 


All  wayes  shee  sought  him  to  restore  to  plight. 

With  herbs, with  charms, with  counsel,and  with  teares; 

But  tears,  nor  charms, nor  herbs,  nor  counsell  might 

Asswage  the  fury  which  his  fentrails  teares  : 

So  strong  is  passion  that  no  reason  heares  ! 

Tho,  when  all  other  helpes  she  saw  to  fade, 

She  turnd  herselfe  backe  to  lier  wicked  leares ; 

And  by  her  divelish  arts  thought  to  jjrevaile 

To  bring  her  backe  againe,  or  worke  her  final  bale. 


Eftsoones  out  of  her  hidden  cave  she  cald 

An  hideous  beast  of  horrible  aspect, 

That  could  the  stoutest  corage  have  appald  ; 

Monstrous,  mishapt,  and  all  his  backe  was  spect 

With  thousand  spots  of  colours  queint  elect ; 

Thereto  so  swifte  that  it  all  beasts  did  pas  : 

Like  never  yet  did  l.ving  eie  detect ; 

But  likest  it  to  an  hyena  was 

That  feeds  on  wemeas  flesh,  as  others  feede  on  gras. 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[t  forth  she  cald,  and  gave  it  straight  in  charge 
Tlirough  thicke  and  thin  her  to  poursew  apace, 
Ne  once  to  stay  to  rest,  or  breath  at  large 
Till  her  he  had  attaind  and  brought  in  place, 
Or  quite  devourd  her  beauties  scornefull  grace. 
The  monster,  swifte  as  word  that  from  her  went, 
Went  forth  in  haste,  and  did  her  footing  trace 
So  sure  and  swiftly,  through  his  perfect  sent 
And  passing  speede,  that  shortly  he  her  overhent. 


Whom  when  the  fearefull  damzell  nigh  espide, 

No  need  to  bid  her  fast  away  to  flie  ; 

That  ugly  shape  so  sore  her  territide, 

That  it  slie  shund  no  lesse  then  dread  to  die  j 

And  her  flitt  palfrey  did  so  well  apply 

His  nimble  feet  to  her  conceived  feare. 

That  whilest  his  breath  did  strength  to  him  supply, 

From  perill  free  he  her  away  did  beare  ; 

But,  when  his  foice  gan  faile,  his  pace  gun  wex  areare. 


W'hich  whenas  she  perceiv'd,  she  was  dismayd 

At  that  same  last  extremity  ful  sore. 

And  of  her  safety  greatly  grew  afrayd  : 

And  now  she  gan  approch  to  the  sea  shore, 

As  it  befell,  that  she  could  flie  no  more, 

But  yield  herselfe  to  spoile  of  greedinesse  : 

Lightly  she  leaped,  as  a  wight  forlore. 

From  her  dull  horse,  in  desperate  distresse, 

And  to  her  feet  betooke  her  doubtfull  sickemesse. 


Not  halfe  so  fast  the  wicked  Myrrha  fled 
From  dread  of  her  revenging  fathers  bond  ; 
N  or  halfe  so  fast  to  save  her  maydenhed 
Fled  fearefull  Daphne  on  th*  ^-Egajan  strond  ; 
As  Florimell  fled  from  that  monster  yond. 
To  reach  the  sea  ere  she  of  him  were  raught  : 
For  in  the  sea  to  drowne  herselfe  she  fond, 
Rather  then  of  the  tyrant  to  be  caught : 
Thereto  fear  gave  her  wings,  and  need  her  corage 
tausiht. 


It  fortuned  (High  God  did  so  ordaine) 

As  shee  arrived  on  the  roring  shore, 

In  minde  to  leape  into  the  mighty  maine 

A  little  bote  lay  hoving  her  before, 

In  which  there  slept  a  fisher  old  and  pore. 

The  whiles  his  nets  were  drying  on  the  sand  ; 

Into  the  same  shee  lept,  and  with  the  ore 

Did  thrust  the  shallop  from  the  floting  strand  : 

So  safety  fownd  at  sea,  which  she  fownd  not  at  land. 


The  monster,  ready  on  the  pray  to  sease. 
Was  of  his  forward  hope  deceived  quight , 
Ne  durst  assay  to  wade  the  perlous  seas. 
But,  greedily  long  gaping  at  the  sight, 
Ai  last  in  vaine  was  forst  to  turn  his  flight, 
And  tell  the  idle  tidings  to  his  dame : 
Yet,  to  avenge  his  divelish  despight. 
He  set  upon  her  palfrey  tired  lame. 
And  slew  him  cruelly  ere  any  reskew  came  ; 


And,  after  having  him  embowellea 

To  fill  his  hellish  gorge,  it  chaunst  a  knign, 

To  passe  that  way,  as  forth  he  travelled  : 

Yt  was  a  goodly  svvaine,  and  of  great  might. 

As  ever  man  that  bloody  field  did  fight ; 

But  in  vain  sheows,  that  wontyong  knights  bewitch. 

And  courtly  services,  tooke  no  delight  ; 

But  rather  ioyd  to  bee  than  seemen  sich  : 

For  both  to  be  and  seeme  to  him  was  labor  lich. 


It  was  to  weete  the  good  Sir  Satyrane 
That  raungd  abrode  to  seek  adventures  wilde. 
As  was  his  wont,  in  forest  and  in  plaine  : 
He  was  all  armd  in  rugged  Steele  unfilde. 
As  in  the  smoky  forge  it  was  compilde. 
And  in  his  scutchin  bore  a  satvres  hedd  : 
He  comming  present,  where  the  monster  vilde 
Upon  that  milke- white  palfreyes  carcasfedd. 
Unto  his  reskew  ran,  and  greedily  him  spedd 


There  well  perceivd  he  that  it  was  the  liorse 

V/hereon  faire  Florimell  was  wont  to  ride. 

That  of  that  feend  was  rent  without  remorse  : 

]Much  feared  he  least  ought  did  ill  betide 

To  that  faire  maide,  the  tiowre  of  wemens  pride ; 

For  her  he  dearely  loved,  and  in  all 

His  famous  conquests  highly  magnifide  : 

Besides,  her  golden  girdle,  which  did  fall 

From  her  in  flight,  he  fownd,  that  did  him  sore  apalL 


Full  of  sad  feare  and  doubtfull  agony 
Fiercely  he  flew  upon  that  wicked  feend ; 
And  with  huge  strokes  and  cruell  battery 
Him  forst  to  leave  his  pray,  for  to  attend 
Himselfe  from  deadly  daunger  to  defend; 
Full  many  wounds  in  his  corrupted  flesh 
He  did  engrave,  and  muchelt  blood  did  spend, 
Yet  might  not  doe  him  die  ;  but  aie  more  fresh 
And  fierce  he  still  appeared,  the  more  he  did  him 
thresh. 

XXXIII. 

He  wist  not  how  him  to  despoile  of  life, 

Ne  how  to  win  the  wished  victory, 

Sith  him  he  saw  still  stronger  grow  through  strife, 

And  himself  weaker  througli  infirmity  : 

Greatly  he  grew  enrag'd,  and  furiously 

Hurling  his  sword  away  he  lightly  lept 

Upon  the  beast,  that  with  great  cruelty 

Rored  and  raged  to  be  underkept ; 

Yet  he  perforce  him  held,  and  strokes  upon  him  hept. 


As  he  that  strives  to  stoy  a  suddein  flood, 
And  in  strong  bancks  his  violence  restrame, 
Forceth  it  swell  above  his  wonted  mood, 
And  largely  overflow  the  fruitfull  plaine. 
That  all  the  countrey  seemes  to  be  a  maine 
And  the  rich  furrowes  flote,  all  quite  fordonue* 
I'he  wofull  husbandman  dotli  luwd  complaiue 
To  see  his  whole  yeares  labor  lost  so  soone. 
For  which  to  God  he  made  so  many  an  idle  hoone. 


InO 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  III 


So  him  he  held,  and  did  through  might  amate  : 

So  long  lie  lield  iiim,  and  liira  bett  so  long, 

That  at  the  last  his  fiercenes  g-an  abate, 

And  meekely  stoup  unto  the  victor  strong  : 

Who,  to  avenge  tlie  implacable  wrong 

Wlucli  he  supposed  donne  to  Florimell, 

Sought  by  all  meanes  his  dolor  to  prolong, 

Sith  dint  of  Steele  his  carcas  could  not  quell  ; 

His  maker  with  her  charmes  had  framed  him  so  well. 


The  golden  ribband,  which  that  virgin  wore 

About  iier  sclender  waste,  he  tooke  in  hand. 

And  with  it  bownd  the  beast  that  lowd  did  rore 

For  great  despight  of  that  unwonted  band. 

Yet  dared  not  his  victor  to  withstand, 

But  trembled  like  a  lambe  fled  from  the  pray  ; 

And  ail  the  way  liim  foUowd  on  the  strand 

As  he  had  long  bene  learned  to  obay  ; 

Yet  never  learned  he  such  service  till  that  day. 


Tuus  as  he  led  the  beast  along  the  way, 
He  spide  far  oft'  a  mighty  giauntesse 
Fast  flying,  on  a  courser  dapled  gray, 
From  a  bold  knight  that  with  great  hardinesse 
Her  hard  pursewd,  and  sought  for  to  suppresse  : 
She  bore  before  her  lap  a  dolefull  squire, 
Lying  athwart  her  horse  in  great  distresse, 
Fast  boundeu  hand  and  foots  with  cords  of  wire, 
Wliome  she  did  meane  to  make  the  thrall  of   her 
desire. 


Which  whenas  Satyrane  beheld,  in  haste 

He  lefte  his  captive  beast  at  liberty, 

And  crost  the  nearest  way,  by  which  he  cast 

Her  to  encounter  ere  she  passed  by  ; 

15ut  she  the  way  shund  nathemore  forthy. 

But  forward  gallopt  fast ;  which  when  he  spyde. 

His  mighty  speare  he  couched  warily. 

And  at  her  ran  ;  she,  having  him  descryde, 

Herselfe  to  fight  addrest,  and  threw  her  lode  aside. 


Like  as  a  goshauke,  that  in  foote  doth  beare 
A  trembling  culver,  liaving  s])ide  on  bight 
An  eagle  that  with  j)lumv  wings  doth  sheare 
The  subtile  ayre  stouping  witli  all  his  might, 
The  quarrey  throwes  to  ground  with  fell  despight, 
And  to  the  batteill  doth  herselfe  prepare  : 
So  ran  the  geauntesse  unto  the  fight ; 
Her  fyrie  eyes  with  furious  sparkes  did  stare, 
Aud  with  blasphemous  bannes  High  God  in  peeces 
tare. 


She  caught  in  hand  an  huge  great  yron  mace, 
Wherewith  she  many  had  of  life  dej)riv'd  ; 
But,  ere  the  stroke  could  seize  his  aymed  place, 
His  speare  amids  her  sun-brode  shield  arriv'd  ; 
Yet  nathemore  the  Steele  asonder  riv'd. 
All  were  the  beame  in  bigaes  like  a  mast, 
Ne  her  out  of  the  stedfast  sadle  driv'd  ; 
But,  glauncmg  on  the  tempred  nietall,  brast 
la  tliousand  sJiivers,  and  so  forth  beside  her  past. 


Her  steed  did  stagger  with  that  puissaunt  strooke; 
But  s'v  no  more  was  moved  with  that  might 
Then  iL  iiad  lighied  on  an  aged  oke, 
Or  on  the  marble  pillour  that  is  pight 
Upon  the  top  of  mount  Olympus  bight, 
For  the  brave  youthly  champions  to  assay 
With  burning  charet  wheeles  it  nigh  to  smite  j 
15ut  who  that  smites  it  mars  his  ioyous  play, 
And  is  the  spectacle  of  ruinous  decay. 


Yet,  therewith  sore  enrag'd,  with  sterne  regard 
Her  dreadfull  weapon  she  to  him  addrest, 
\Vhich  on  his  helmet  martelled  so  hard 
That  made  him  low  incline  his  lofty  crest, 
And  bowd  his  battred  visour  to  his  brest : 
Wherewith  he  was  so  stund  that  he  n'ote  ryde. 
But  reeled  to  and  fro  from  east  to  west : 
Which  when  his  cruell  enimy  espyde. 
She  lightly  unto  him  adioyned  syde  to  syde  ; 


And,  on  his  collar  laying  puissaunt  hand. 

Out  of  his  wavering  seat  him  pluckt  perforse, 

Perforse  him  pluckt  unable  to  withstand 

Or  helpe  himselfe  ;  and  laying  tliwart  her  horse. 

In  loathly  wise  like  to  a  carrion  corse, 

She  bore  him  fast  away  :  which  when  the  knight 

That  her  pursewed  saw,  with  great  remorse 

He  neare  was  touched  in  his  noble  spright, 

And  gan  encrease  his  speed  as  she  encreast  her  flight. 


Whom  whenas  nigh  approching  she  espyde, 

She  threw  aw;iy  her  burden  angrily; 

For  she  list  not  the  batteill  to  abide. 

But  made  herselfe  more  light  away  to  fly  . 

Yet  her  the  hardy  knight  pursewd  so  nye 

That  almost  in  the  backe  he  oft  her  sliake  j 

But  still,  when  him  at  hand  slie  did  espy, 

She  turnd,  and  semblaunce  of  faire  fight  did  make  ; 

But,  when  he  stayd,  to  flight  againe  she  did  her  take. 


By  this  the  good  Sir  Satyrane  gan  wake 
Out  of  his  dreame  that  did  him  long  entraunce. 
And,  seeing  none  in  place,  he  gan  to  make 
Exceeding  mone,  and  curst  that  cruell  chaunce 
Which  reft  from  him  so  faire  a  chevisaunce  : 
At  length  he  sjiyde  whereas  that  wofull  squyre 
Whom  he  had  reskewed  from  captivaunce 
Of  his  strong  foe,  lay  tombled  in  the  myre^ 
Unable  to  arise,  or  foot  or  hand  to  styre. 


To  whom  apprciching,  well  he  mote  perceive 

In  that  fowli^  I'light  a  comely  personage 

And  lovely  face,  made  fit  for  to  deceive 

Fraile  ladies  haix  with  loves  consuming  rage, 

Now  in  the  blossome  of  his  freshest  age  : 

He  reard  him  up  and  loosd  his  yron  bands. 

And  after  gan  inquire  his  parentage. 

And  how  he  fell  into  that  gyaunts  hands. 

And  who  that  was  which  chaced  her  along  the  lands. 


i;anto  Vli.J 


THE  FAERIE  gU£F..\E. 


Ul 


ITien  trembling;  yet  through  fearethe  squire  bespake; 
'That  geauntesse  Argante  is  bebight, 
A  daughter  of  the  Titans  which  did  make 
Warre  against  heven,  and  lieaped  hils  on  bight 
To  scale  the  skyes  and  put  love  from  liis  right: 
Her  syre  T\'phoeus  was  ;  who,  mad  through  merth, 
And  dronke  with  blood  of  men  slaine  by  his  might, 
Through  incest  her  of  his  owne  mother  Earth 
Whylome  begot,  being  but  halfe  twin  of  that  berth  : 


"  For  at  that  berth  another  babe  she  bore  ; 

To  weet,  the  mightie  Ollyphant,  tbat  wrought 

Great  wreake  to  many  errant  knights  of  yore, 

And  many  hath  to  foule  confusion  brought. 

These twinnes,  men  say,(athii;g  far  passing  thought,) 

Whiles  in  their  mothers  wombe  enclosd  they  were. 

Ere  they  into  the  lightsom  world  were  brought. 

In  fleshly  lust  were  mingled  both  yfere. 

And  in  that  monstrous  wise  did  to  the  world  appere. 


"  So  liv'd  they  ever  after  in  like  sin. 

Gainst  natures  law  and  good  behaveoure  : 

But  greatest  shame  was  to  that  maiden  twin  ; 

Who,  not  content  so  fowly  to  devoure 

Her  native  flesh  and  staine  her  brothers  bowre, 

Did  wallow  in  all  other  fleshly  mvre, 

And  suftVed  beastes  her  body  to  deflowre  ; 

So  whot  she  burned  in  that  lustfuU  fyre  : 

"i'et  all  that  might  not  slake  her  sensuall  desyre  : 


"  Her  well  beseemes  that  quest,"  quoth  Satyrane  : 
"But  read,  thou  Squyre  of  Dames,  what  vow  is  this, 
Which  tliou  upon  thyselfe  has  lately  ta'ne  V 
"  Tbat  shall  I  you  recount,"  quoth  he,  "  ywis, 
So  be  ye  pleasd  to  pardon  all  amis. 
That  gentle  lady  whom  I  love  and  serve, 
After  long  suit  and  wearie  servicis. 
Did  aske  me  how  I  could  her  love  deserve. 
And  how  she  might  be  sure  that  I  would  nevtt 
swerve. 


"  I,  glad  by  any  meanes  her  grace  to  gaine, 
Badd  her  commaund  my  life  to  save  or  spill : 
Eftsoones  slie  badd  me  with  incessaunt  [laine 
To  wander  through  the  world  abroad  at  will. 
And  every  where,  where  with  my  power  or  skill 
I  might  doe  service  unto  gentle  dames, 
That  I  the  same  should  faithfully  fulfill  ;        [names 
And  at  the  twelve  monethes  end  should  bring  their 
And  pledges,  as  the  spoiles  of  my  victorious  games. 


"  So  well  I  to  faire  ladies  service  did. 

And  found  such  favour  in  their  loving  hartes. 

That,  ere  the  yeare  his  course  had  compassid, 

Three  hundred  pledges  for  my  good  desartes. 

And  thrice  three  hundred  thanks  for  my  good  partes, 

I  with  me  brought  and  did  to  her  present : 

Which  when  she  saw,  more  bent  to  eke  my  smartes 

Then  to  reward  my  trusty  true  intent, 

She  gan  for  me  devise  a  grievous  punishment ; 


"  But  over  all  the  countiue  she  did  raunge. 

To  seeke  young  men  to  quench  her  flaming  thrust. 

And  feed  her  fancy  with  delightfull  chaunge  : 

Whom  so  she  fittest  Andes  to  serve  her  lust,    [trust. 

Through  her  maine  strength,  in  which  she  most  doth 

She  with  her  bringes  into  a  secret  ile, 

Where  in  eternall  bondagte  dye  he  must. 

Or  be  the  vassall  of  her  pleasures  vile, 

And  in  all  shamefuU  sort  hunselfe  with  her  defile. 


"  Me  seely  wretch  she  so  at  vauntage  caught, 
After  she  long  in  waite  for  me  did  lye. 
And  meant  unto  her  prison  to  have  brought. 
Her  lothsom  pleasure  there  to  satisfye  ; 
That  thousand  deathes  mt>.  lever  were  to  dye 
Then  breake  the  vow  that  to  faire  Columbell 
I  phghted  have,  and  yet  keepe  stedfastly  : 
As  for  my  name,  it  mistreth  not  to  tell  ; 
Call  me  the  Squyre  of  Dames  :  that  me  beseemeth 
M-ell. 


"  But  that  bold  knight,  whom  ye  pursuing  saw 

That  geauntesse,  is  not  such  as  she  seemd. 

But  a  faire  virgin  that  in  martiall  law 

And  deedes  of  armes  above  all  dames  is  deemd. 

And  above  many  knightes  is  eke  esteemd 

For  her  great  worth  ;  she  Palladine  is  bight : 

She  you  from  death,  you  me  from  dread,  redeemd : 

Ne  any  may  that  monster  match  in  fight, 

liut  she,  or  such  as  she,  that  is  so  chaste  a  wijiht." 


"  To  weet,  that  I  my  traveill  should  resume. 

And  with  like  labour  walke  the  world  arownd, 

Ne  ever  to  her  presence  should  presume, 

Till  I  so  many  other  dames  had  fownd, 

The  which,  for  all  the  suit  I  could  propownd. 

Would  me  refuse  their  pledges  to  afford. 

But  did  abide  for  ever  chaste  and  sownd." 

"  Ah  !   gentle  squyre,"  quotn  he,  "  tell  at  one  word, 

How  many  fowud'st  thou  such  to  put  in  thy  record  V 


"Indeed,  Sir  Knight,"  said  he,  "  one  word  may  tell 

All  that  I  ever  fownd  so  wisely  stayd, 

For  onely  three  they  were  disposd  so  well ; 

And  yet  three  yeares  I  now  abrode  have  strayd, 

To  find  them  out."    "JMote  I,"  then  laughing  sayd 

The  knight,  "  inquire  of  thee  what  were  those  three 

The  which  thy  proffred  curtesie  denayd  1 

Or  ill  they  seemed  sure  avizd  to  bee, 

Or  brutishly  brought  up,  that  nev'r  did  fashions  see." 


"  The  first  which  then  refused  me,"  said  hee, 
"  Certes  was  but  a  common  courtisane ; 
Yet  flat  refusd  to  have  adoe  with  mee, 
Because  I  could  not  give  her  many  a  jane." 
(Thereat  full  hartely  laughed  Satyrane.) 
"  The  second  was  an  holy  nunne  to  chose, 
Which  would  not  let  me  be  her  chappellane, 
Because  she  knew,  she  sayd,  1  would  disclose 
Her  counsell,  if  she  should  her  trust  in  me  repose. 


162 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III 


"--The  third  a  damzell  was  of  low  degree, 
Whom  1  in  countrey  cottage  fownd  by  chaunce  : 
Full  litle  weened  1  that  chastitee 
Had  lodging  in  so  meane  a  maintenaunce ; 
Yet  was  she  fayre,  and  in  her  countenaunce 
Dwelt  simple  truth  in  seemely  fashion  : 
Long  thus  I  woo'd  her  with  due  observaunce, 
In  hope  unto  my  pleasure  to  have  won  ; 
But  was  as  far  at  last,  as  when  I  first  begon. 


"  Safe  her,  I  never  any  woman  found 
That  chastity  did  for  itselfe  embrace, 
But  were  for  other  causes  firme  and  sound  ; 
Either  for  want  of  handsome  time  and  place. 
Or  else  for  feare  of  shame  and  fowle  disgrace. 
Thus  am  I  hopelesse  ever  to  attaine 
My  ladies  love,  in  such  a  desperate  case. 
But  all  my  dayes  am  like  to  waste  in  vaine. 
Seeking  to  match  the  chaste  with  th'  unchaste  ladies 
traine." 


"  Perdy,"  sayd  Satyrane,  "  thou  Squyre  of  Dames, 

Great  labour  fondly  hast  thou  hent  in  hand, 

To  get  small  thankes,  and  therewith  many  blames ; 

That  may  emongst  Alcides  labours  stand." 

Thence  backe  returning  to  the  former  land. 

Where  late  he  left  the  beast  he  overcame, 

He  found  him  not ;  for  he  had  broke  his  band. 

And  was  returnd  againe  unto  his  dame, 

To  tell  what  tydings  of  fayre  Florimell  became. 


CANTO  VIII. 

The  witch  creates  a  snowy  la- 
dy like  to  Florimell  ; 

Who  wrong'd  bv  Carle,  by  Proteus  sav'd 
Is  sought  by  Paridell. 


So  oft  as  I  this  history  record. 
My  hart  doth  melt  with  meere  compassion. 
To  thinke  how  causelesse  of  her  owne  accord 
This  gentle  damzell,  whom  I  write  upon. 
Should  plonged  be  in  such  affliction 
Without  all  hope  of  comfort  or  reliefe  ; 
That  sure  I  weene  the  hardest  hart  of  stone 
Would  hardly  finde  to  aggravate  her  griefe  : 
For  misery  craves  rather  mercy  then  repriefe. 


But  that  accursed  hag,  her  hostesse  late. 
Had  so  enranckled  her  malitious  hart, 
Tliat  she  desyrd  tli'  abridgement  of  her  fate, 
Or  long  enlargement  of  Iier  j)ainefull  smart. 
Now  when  the  beast,  which  by  her  wicked  art 
Late  foorth  she  sent,  slie  backe  retourning  spyde 
Tyde  witli  her  golden  girdle  ;  it  a  part 
Of  lier  rich  spoyles  whom  lie  had  earst  destroyd 
She   weend,    and     wondrous    gladnes   to   her  hart 
apply  de  : 


And,  with  it  ronning  hast'ly  to  her  sonne. 
Thought  with  tliat  sight  him  much  to  have  reliv'd  ; 
W'lio,  thereby  deeming  sure  tlie  thing  as  donne, 
His  former  griefe  with  furie  fresh  reviv'd 
Much  more  than  earst,  and  would  have  algates  riv'd 
The  hart  out  of  his  brest  :   for  sitii  her  dedd 
He  surely  dempt,  himselfe  he  thouglit  depriv'd 
Quite  of  all  ho|)e  wherewitli  he  long  had  fe(hl 
His  foolish  malady,  and  long  time  had  misledd. 


With  thought  whereof  exceeding  mad  he  grew. 
And  in  his  rage  bis  mother  would  have  slaine. 
Had  she  not  fled  into  a  secret  mew, 
Where  she  was  wont  her  sprightes  to  entenaine. 
The  maisters  of  her  art :  there  was  she  faine 
To  call  them  all  in  order  to  her  oyde, 
And  them  conjure,  upon  eternall  paine. 
To  counsell  her  so  carefully  dismayd 
How  she  might  heale  her  sonne  whose  senses  were 
decayd. 

V. 

By  their  advice,  and  her  owne  wicked  wit, 
She  there  deviz'd  a  wondrous  worke  to  frame. 
Whose  like  on  earth  was  never  framed  yit  ; 
That  even  Nature  selfe  envide  the  same. 
And  grudg'd  to  see  the  counterfet  should  shame 
The  tiling  itselfe:   In  hand  she  boldly  tooke 
To  make  anotlier  like  tlie  former  dame, 
Anotlier  Florimell,  in  shape  and  looke 
So  lively,  and  so  like,  that  many  it  raistooke. 


The  substance,  whereof  she  the  body  made, 
Was  purest  snow  in  massy  mould  congeald, 
Which  slie  had  gathered  in  a  shady  glade 
Of  tlie  Riphtt-an  hils,  to  her  reveald 
By  errant  sprights,  but  from  all  men  conceald  : 
The  same  she  tempred  with  fine  mercury 
And  virgin  wex  that  never  yet  was  seald. 
And  mingled  them  with  perfect  vermily  ; 
'J'hat  like  a  lively  sanguine  it  seemd  to  tlie  eye. 


Canto  VIII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


163 


Instead  of  eyes  two  burning  lampes  she  set 
In  silver  sockets,  shyning  like  the  skyes, 
And  a  quicke  moving-  spirit  did  arret 
To  stirre  and  roil  them  like  to  womens  eyes  • 
Instead  of  yellow  lockes  she  did  devyse 
With  golden  wyre  to  weave  her  curled  head  : 
Yet  golden  wyre  was  not  so  3'ellow  thryse 
As  Florimells  fayre  heare  :  and,  in  (he  stead 
Of  life,  she  put  a  spright  to  rule  the  carcas  dead  j 


A  wicked  spright,  yfraught  with  fawning  guyle 

And  fayre  resemblance  above  all  the  rest, 

Which  with  the  Prince  of  Darkenes  fell  somewhyle 

From  heavens  blis  and  everlasting  rest : 

Him  needed  not  instruct  which  way  were  best 

Himselfe  to  fashion  likest  Florimell, 

Ne  how  to  speake,  ne  how  to  use  his  gest ; 

For  he  in  counterfesaunce  did  excell, 

And  all  the  wyles  of  wemens  wits  knew  passing  well. 


Him  shaped  thus  she  deckt  in  garments  gay. 

Which  Florimell  had  left  behind  her  late  : 

That  whoso  then  her  saw,  would  surely  say 

It  was  herselfe  whom  it  did  imitate, 

Or  fayrer  then  herselfe,  if  ought  algate 

Might  fayrer  be.     And  then  she  forth  her  brought 

Unto  her  sonne  that  lay  in  feeble  state ; 

W'ho  seeing  her  gan  streight  upstart,  and  thought 

She  was  the  lady  selfe  whom  he  so  long  had  sought. 


Tho,  fast  her  clipping  twixt  his  armes  twayne. 
Extremely  ioyed  in  so  happy  sight, 
And  soone  forgot  his  former  sickely  payne  : 
But  she,  the  more  to  seeme  such  as  she  hight. 
Coyly  rebutted  his  embracement  light ; 
Yet  still,  with  gentle  countenaunce,  retain'd 
Enough  to  hold  a  foole  in  vaine  delight : 
Him  long  she  so  with  shadowes  entertain'd, 
As  her  creatresse  had  in  charc^e  to  her  ordain'd : 


Till  on  a  day,  as  he  disposed  was 

To  walke  the  woodes  with  that  his  idole  faire. 

Her  to  disport  and  idle  time  to  pas 

In  th'  open  freshnes  of  the  gentle  aire, 

A  knight  that  way  there  chaunced  to  repaire  ; 

Yet  knight  he  was  not,  but  a  boastfull  swaine 

That  deedes  of  armes  had  ever  in  despaire. 

Proud  Braggadochio,  that  in  vaunting  vaine 

His  glory  did  repose  and  credit  did  maintaine. 


He,  seeing  with  that  chorle  so  faire  a  wight 
IJecked  with  many  a  costly  ornament, 
-Much  marveiled  thereat,  as  well  he  might. 
And  thought  that  match  a  fowle  disparagement : 
His  bloody  speare  eftesoones  he  boldly  bent 
Against  the  silly  clowne,  who  dead  through  feare 
Fell  streight  to  ground  in  great  astonishment : 
'  Villein,"  sayd  he,  "  this  lady  is  my  deare  ; 
Dy,  if  thou  it  gainesay  :  I  will  away  her  beare." 


The  fearefull  chorle  durst  not  gainesay  nor  dooe. 

But  trembling  stood,  and  yielded  him  the  pray; 

Who,  finding  litle  leasure  her  to  wooe. 

On  Tromparts  steed  her  mounted  without  stay. 

And  without  reskew  led  her  quite  away. 

Proud  man  himselfe  then  Braggadochio  deem'd, 

And  next  to  none,  after  that  liappy  day, 

Being  possessed  of  tliat  spoyle,  which  seem'd 

The  lairest  wight  on  ground  and  most  of  men  esteera'd. 


But,  when  he  saw  himselfe  free  from  poursute, 

He  gan  make  gentle  purpose  to  his  dame 

With  termes  of  love  and  lewdnesse  dissolute  ; 

For  he  could  well  his  glozing  speaches  frame 

To  such  vaine  uses  that  him  best  became  : 

But  she  thereto  would  lend  but  light  regard. 

As  seeming  sory  that  she  ever  came 

liito  his  powre,  that  used  her  so  hard 

To  reave  her  honor  which  she  more  then  life  prefard. 


Thus  as  they  two  of  kindnes  treated  long, 
There  them  by  chaunce  encountred  on  the  way 
An  armed  knight  upon  a  courser  strong. 
Whose  trampling  feete  upon  the  hollow  lay 
Seemed  to  thunder,  and  did  nigh  afl'ray 
That  capons  corage ;  yet  he  looked  grim, 
And  faynd  to  cheare  his  lady  in  dismay. 
Who  seemd  for  feare  to  quake  in  every  lim. 
And  her  to  save  from  outrage  meekely  prayed  him. 


Fiercely  that  straunger  forward  came  ;  and,  nigh 

Approaching,  with  hold  words  and  bitter  threat 

Bad  that  same  boaster,  as  he  mote  on  high, 

To  leave  to  him  that  lady  for  excheat, 

Or  bide  him  batteill  without  further  treat. 

That  challenge  did  too  peremptory  seeme, 

And  fild  his  senses  with  abashment  great ; 

Yet,  seeing  nigh  him  ieopardy  extreme. 

He  it  dissembled  well,  and  light  seemd  to  esteeme  j 


Saying,"  Thou  foolish  knight,  tliatweenst  with  words 

To  steale  away  that  I  with  blowes  have  wonne. 

And  brought  through  points  of  many  perilous  swords! 

But  if  thee  list  to  see  thy  courser  ronne. 

Or  prove  thyselfe  ;  this  sad  encounter  shonne. 

And  seeke  els  without  hazard  of  thy  hedd." 

At  those  prowd  words  that  other  knight  begonue 

To  wex  exceeding  wroth  and  him  aredd 

To  turne  his  steede  about,  or  sure  he  should  he  dedd. 


"  Sith  then,"  said  Braggadochio,  "ne^des  thou  wilt 
Thy  daies  abridge,  through  proofe  of  puissaunce  ; 
Turne  we  our  steeds  ;  that  both  in  eijuall  tilt 
May  meete  again,  and  each  take  happy  chaunce." 
This  said,  they  both  a  furlongs  mountenaunce 
Retird  their  steeds,  to  ronne  in  even  race  : 
But  Braggadochio  with  his  bloody  launce 
Once  having  turnd,  no  more  returnd  his  face. 
But  lefte  kis  love  to  losse,  and  fled  himselfe  apace. 

a  2 


164 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[Book  IIJ 


The  knis:lit,  him  seeing  flie,  had  no  regard 
Him  (0  poursew,  but  to  the  lady  rode  ; 
And,  having  her  from  Trompart  lightly  reard, 
ll^pon  his  courser  sett  the  lovly  lode, 
And  with  her  fled  away  without  abode  : 
Well  weened  he,  that  fairest  Florimell 
It  was  with  wliom  in  company  he  yode, 
And  so  herselfe  did  alwnies  to  him  tell  ; 
So  made  him  thinke  himselfe  in  heven  that  was  in 
hell. 


But  Florimell  herselfe  was  far  away, 
Driven  to  great  distresse  by  fortune  straunge, 
And  taught  the  carefull  mariner  to  play, 
Sith  late  mischaunce  had  her  compeld  to  chaunge 
The  land  for  sea,  at  randon  there  to  raunge  : 
Yett  there  that  cruell  queene  avengenesse. 
Not  satisfyde  so  far  her  to  estraunge 
From  courtly  blis  and  wonted  happinesse, 
Did  heape  on  her  new  waves  of  weary  wretched- 
nesse. 


For,  being  fled  into  the  fishers  bote 

For  refuge  from  the  monsters  cruelty. 

Long  so  she  on  the  mighty  maine  did  flote, 

And  with  the  tide  drove  forward  carelesly ; 

For  th'  ayre  was  niilde  and  cleared  was  the  skie. 

And  all  his  windes  dan  Aeolus  did  keeps 

From  stirring  up  their  stormy  enmity, 

As  pittying  to  see  her  waile  and  weepe  ; 

Jiut  all  the  while  the  fisher  did  securely  sleepe. 


At  last  when  droncke  with  drowsinesse  he  woke, 
And  saw  his  drover  drive  along  the  streame. 
He  was  dismayd  ;  and  thrise  his  hrest  he  stroke. 
For  marveill  of  that  accident  extreame  : 
But  when  he  saw  that  blazing  beauties  beame, 
Which  with  rare  light  his  bote  did  beautifye. 
He  raarveild  more,  and  thought  he  yet  did  dreame 
Not  well  avs'akte  ;  or  that  some  extasye, 
Assotted  had  his  sence,  or  dazed  was  his  eye. 


But,  when  her  well  avizing  hee  perceiv'd 
To  be  no  vision  nor  fantasticke  sight. 
Great  comfort  of  her  presence  he  conceiv'd. 
And  felt  in  liis  old  corage  new  delight 
To  gin  awake,  and  stir  liis  frosen  spright  : 
Tho  rudely  askte  her,  how  she  thether  came  ? 
"  Ah  ! "  sayd  she,  "  father,  1  note  read  aright 
What  hard  misfortune  brought  me  to  this  same  ; 
Yet  am  I  glad  that  here  1  now  in  safety  ame. 


''  But  thou,  good  man,  sitli  far  in  sea  we  bee, 
And  the  great  waters  gin  ajjace  to  swell, 
That  now  no  more  we  can  the  mayn-land  see. 
Have  care,  I  pray,  to  guide  the  cock-bote  well, 
Least  worse  on  sea  then  us  on  land  befell." 
Thereat  th'  old  man  did  nought  but  fondly  grin. 
And  saide,  his  boat  the  way  could  wisely  tell  : 
But  his  deceiptfuU  eyes  did  never  lin 
To  looke  on  her  faire  face   and   marke  her  snowy 
skin, 


The  sight  whereof  in  his  congealed  flesh 
Infixt  such  secrete  sting  of  greedy  lust. 
That  the  drie  withered  stocke  it  gan  refresh, 
And  kindled  heat,  that  soone  in  flame  forth  brust: 
The  driest  wood  is  soonest  burnt  to  dust. 
Rudely  to  her  he  lept,  and  his  rough  hand. 
Where  ill  became  him,  rashly  would  have  thrust; 
But  she  with  angry  scorne  him  did  withstond, 
And  shamefully  reproved  for  his  rudenes  fond. 


But  he,  that  never  good  nor  maners  knew. 

Her  sharpe  rebuke  full  litle  did  esteeme  ; 

Hard  is  to  teach  an  old  horse  amble  trew  : 

The  inward  smoke,  that  did  before  but  steeme. 

Broke  into  open  fire  and  rage  extreme  ; 

And  now  he  strength  gan  adde  unto  his  will, 

Forcyng  to  doe  that  did  him  fowle  misseeme  : 

Beastly  he  threwe  her  downe,  ne  car'd  to  spill 

Her  garments  gay  with  scnles  of  fish,  that  all  did  fill. 


The  silly  virgin  strove  him  to  withstand 

All  that  she  might,  and  him  in  vaine  revild  ; 

Shee  strugled  strongly  both  with  foote  and  hand 

To  save  her  honor  from  that  villaine  vilde, 

And  cride  to  heven,  from  humane  help  exild. 

O  !  ye  brave  knights,  that  boast  this  ladies  love, 

Where  be  ye  now,  when  she  is  nigh  defild 

Of  filthy  wretch  !  well  may  she  you  reprove 

Of  falsehood  or  of  sloutli,  when  most  it  may  behove  ■ 


But  if  that  thou.  Sir  SatjTan,  didst  weete, 
Or  thou,  Sir  Peridure,  her  sory  state. 
How  soone  would  yee  assemble  many  a  fleete. 
To  fetch  from  sea  that  ye  at  land  lost  late  ! 
Towres,  citties,  kingdomes,  ye  would  ruinate 
In  your  avengement  and  despiteous  rage, 
Ne  ought  your  burning  fury  mote  abate  : 
lint,  if  Sir  Calidore  could  it  presage, 
No  living  creature  could  his  cruelty  asswage. 


But,  sith  that  none  of  all  her  knights  is  nye. 

See  how  the  heavens,  of  voluntary  grace 

And  soveraine  favor  towards  chastity. 

Doe  succor  send  to  her  distressed  cace  : 

So  much  High  God  doth  innocence  embrace! 

It  fortuned,  whilest  thus  she  stifly  strove. 

And  the  wide  sea  importuned  long  si)ace 

\Vith  shrilling  shriekes,  Proteus  ubrode  did  rove, 

Along  tlie  fomy  waves  driving  his  finny  drove. 


Proteus  is  sliepheard  of  the  seas  of  yore. 
And  hath  tho  charge  of  Neptune's  mighty  heard  ; 
An  aged  sire  with  head  all  frowy  hore. 
And  sitrinckled  frost  upon  his  deawy  beard: 
Who  when  those  jiittifull  outcries  he  heard 
Through  all  the  seas  so  ruefully  resownd. 
His  charett  swifte  in  hast  he  thether  steard. 
Which  with  a  teeme  of  scaly  Phocas  bownd 
Was    drawne    upon    the    waves,  that    fomed    him 
arownd : 


Canto  VIII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


16.5 


And  comming  to  that  fishers  wandring  bote. 
That  went  at  will  withouten  card  or  sayle, 
He  therein  saw  that  yrkesome  sight,  which  smote 
Deepe  indignation  and  compassion  fravle 
Into  his  hart  attonce  :   streii;ht  did  he  hayle 
The  greedy  villein  from  his  hoped  pray. 
Of  which  he  now  did  very  little  fayle  ; 
And  with  his  statfe,  that  drives  his  heard  astray, 
Him   bett   so    sore,   that   life  and  sence  did  much 
dismay. 


Tlie  wliiles  the  pitteous  ladv  up  did  ryse. 
Ruffled  and  fowly  raid  with  tilthy  soyle. 
And  blubbred  face  with  teares  of  her  faire  eyes  , 
Her  heart  nigli  broken  was  with  weary  toyle, 
I'o  save  herselfe  from  that  outrageous  s])oyle  : 
But  when  she  looked  up,  to  weet  what  wight 
Had  her  from  so  infamous  fact  assoyld, 
For  shame,  but  more  for  feare  of  his  grim  sight, 
Downe  in  her  lap  she  hid  her    face,  and  lowdly 
shright. 


Herselfe  not  saved  yet  from  daunger  dredd 

She  thought,  but  chaung'd  from  one  to  other  feare  ; 

Like  as  a  fearefull  partridge,  that  is  fledd 

From  the  sharpe  hauke  winch  her  attached  neare, 

And  fals  to  ground  to  seeke  for  succor  theare, 

Whereas  the  hungry  spaniells  she  does  spye 

With  greedy  iawes  her  ready  for  to  teare  : 

In  such  distresse  and  sad  perplexity 

Was  Florimell,  when  I'roteus  she  did  see  her  by. 


But  he  endevored  with  speaclies  milde 
Her  to  recomfort,  and  accourage  bold. 
Bidding  her  teare  no  more  her  iWman  vilde, 
Nor  doubt  himselfe  ;  and  who  he  was  her  told  : 
Yet  all  that  could  not  from  atiright  her  hold, 
Ne  to  recomfort  her  at  all  prevayld  ; 
For  her  faint  hart  was  v,ith  the  frosen  cold 
Benurabd  so  inlv  that  her  wits  nigh  fayld. 
And  all    her  sences   with    abashment    quite    were 
quayld. 


Her  up  betwixt  his  rugged  hands  he  reard. 
And  with  his  (rory  lips  lull  softly  kist. 
Whiles  the  cold  ysickles  from  his  rough  beard 
Dropped  adowne  upon  her  j'vory  brest  : 
Yet  he  himselfe  so  busily  addrest, 
I'irjt  her  out  of  astonisiwnent  ho  wrought ; 
And,  out  of  that  sami-  fishers  filthy  nest 
Removing  her,  into  his  charet  brought, 
Aad  there  v.ith  many  gentle  teimes  her  faire  be- 
sought. 

XXXVI. 

But  that  old  leacliour,  which  with  bold  assault 

That  beautie  durst  presume  to  violate. 

He  cast  to  punish  for  his  haiiious  fault : 

Then  tooke  he  liim  yet  trembling  sith  of  late 

And  tyde  hehind  Ins  cir.iret,  to  aggrate 

The  virgin  whom  he  had  abusde  so  sore  ; 

So  diag'd  him  through  the  waves  in  scornful  state, 

And  after  cast  him  up  upon  the  shore  ; 

But  Florimell  with  him  unto  his  bowre  lie  bore. 


His  bowre  is  in  the  bottom  of  the  maine. 
Under  a  raightie  rocke  gainst  which  doe  rave 
The  roring  billowes  in  their  proud  disdaine, 
That  with  the  angry  working  of  the  wave 
Therein  is  eaten  out  an  hollow  cave, 
That  seemes  rougli  masons  hand  with  engines  keene 
Had  long  while  laboured  it  to  engrave  . 
There  was  his  wonne  ;  ne  living  wight  was  seene 
Save   one   old   nymph,    hight  Panope,   to   keepe  it 
cleane. 


Thether  he  brought  the  sory  Florimell, 
And  entertained  her  the  best  he  might, 
(And  Panope  her  entertaind  eke  well,) 
As  an  immortal!  mote  a  mortall  wight. 
To  winne  her  liking  unto  his  delight : 
AVith  flattering  wordes  he  sweetly  wooed  her. 
And  offered  faire  guiftes  t'  allure  her  sight; 
But  she  both  offers  and  the  ofi'erer 
Despysde,  and  all  the  fawning  of  the  flatterer. 


Dayly  he  tempted  her  with  this  or  that. 

And  never  suii'red  her  to  be  at  rest : 

But  evermore  she  him  refused  flat, 

And  all  his  fained  kindnes  did  detest ; 

So  firmely  she  had  sealed  up  her  brest. 

Sometimes  he  boasted  that  a  god  he  hight ; 

But  she  a  mortall  creature  loved  best  : 

Then  he  would  make  himselfe  a  mortall  wight ; 

But  then  she  said  she  lov'd  none  but  a  Faeiy  knight 


Then  like  a  Faerie  knight  himselfe  he  drest ; 

For  every  shape  on  hira  he  could  endew  : 

Then  like  a  king  he  was  to  her  exprest. 

And  offred  kingdoms  unto  her  in  vew 

To  be  his  leman  and  his  lady  trew  : 

But,  when  all  this  he  nothing  saw  prevaile. 

With  harder  meanes  he  cast  her  to  subdew. 

And  with  sharpe  threates  her  often  did  assa)'Ie  f 

So  thinking  for  to  make  her  stubbome  corage  quayle 


To  dreadful!  shapes  he  did  himselfe  transforme  : 

Now  like  a  gyaunt ;  now  like  to  a  feend  ; 

Then  like  a  centaure  ;  then  like  to  a  stcrme 

Raging  within  the  waves :  thereby  he  weend 

Her  will  to  win  unto  his  wished  eend  : 

But  when  with  feare,  nor  favour,  nor  with  all 

He  els  could  doe,  he  saw  himselfe  esteemd, 

Downe  in  a  dongeon  deepe  he  let  her  fall, 

And  threatned  there  to  make  her  his  eternal!  thralL 


Eternall  thraldome  was  to  ner  more  liefe 
Then  losse  of  chastitie,  or  chaunge  of  love  ; 
Dye  had  she  rather  in  tormenting  griefe 
Then  any  should  of  falsenesse  her  reprove, 
Or  loosenes,  that  she  lightly  did  remove. 
jMost  vertuous  virgin  !   glory  be  thv  meed. 
And  crowne  of  lieavenlv  pray.-e  with  saintes  above, 
Where  most  sweet  hymmes  of  tliis  thy  famous  deed 
Are   still    emongst  them  song,  that  far  my  rymes 
ceed  r 


i66 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III 


Fit  song  of  angels  caroled  to  bee  ! 

Hut  yet  whatso  ray  feeble  Muse  can  frame, 

Slial  be  t'  advance  thy  goodly  cliastitee, 

And  to  enroll  thy  memorable  name 

In  til'  heart  of  every  lionourable  dame, 

That  tbey  tb)^  vertuous  deedes  may  imitate, 

4nd  be  partakers  of  thy  endlesse  fame. 

i't  yikes  me  leave  thee  in  this  wofull  state, 

To  tell  of  Satyrane  where  I  him  left  of  late : 


Who  having  ended  with  that  Squj-re  of  Dames 
A  long  discourse  of  liis  adventures  vayne, 
The  which  himselfe  tlien  ladies  more  defames, 
And  finding  not  tli'  hyena  to  be  slayne, 
With  that  same  squyre  retouined  backe  againe 
To  his  first  way  :   And,  as  tliey  forward  went. 
They  spyde  a  knight  favre  pricking  on  the  playne, 
As  if  lie  were  on  some  adventure  bent, 
And  in  his  port  appeared  manly  hardiment. 


Sir  Satyrane  him  towardes  did  addresse. 

To  weet  what  wight  he  was,  and  what  his  quest  : 

And,  comming  nigh,  eftsoones  he  gan  to  gesse 

Both  bv  the  burning  hart  which  on  his  brest 

He  bare,  and  by  the  colours  in  his  crest, 

That  Paridell  it  was  :  Tlio  to  him  yode, 

And,  him  saluting  as  beseemed  best, 

Gan  first  inquire  of  tydings  farre  abrode  ; 

And  afterwardes  on  what  adventure  now  he  rode. 


Who  thereto  answering  said  ;  "  The  tydinges  bad, 

\Vliicli  now  in  Faery  Court  all  men  doe  tell, 

AVhicli  turned  hath  great  mirth  to  mourning  sad 

Is  the  late  ruine  of  proud  IMarineli, 

And  suddein  parture  of  faire  Floriinell 

To  find  him  forth  :  and  after  her  are  gone 

All  the  brave  kniglites,  that  doen  in  armes  excel]. 

To  savegard  her  ywandred  all  alone  ; 

Emongst  the  rest  my  lott  (unworthy')  is  to  be  one.' 


"  Ah  !  gentle  knight,"  said  then  Sir  Satyrane, 
"  Thy  labour  all  is  lost,  I  greatly  dread. 
That  hast  a  thanklesse  service  on  thee  ta'ne. 
And  offrest  sacrifice  unto  the  dead  : 
For  dead,  I  surely  doubt,  tliou  maist  aread 
Hencefortli  for  ever  Klorimell  to  bee: 
'i'hat  all  the  noble  Knights  of  IMaydenliead, 
Which  her  ador'd,  may  sore  repent  with  mee. 
And  all  faire  ladies  may  for  ever  sory  bee." 


Which  wordes  when  Paridell  had  heard,  his  hew 

Gan  greatlv  chaung,  and  seemd  dismaid  to  bee  : 

Then  savd  ;  "  Fayre  sir,  how  may  I  weene  it  trew. 

That  ye  do  tell  in  such  uncerteintee  ? 

Or  speake  ye  of  report,  or  did  ye  see 

lust  cause  of  dread,  that  makes  ye  doubt  so  sore? 

For  perdie  elles  how  mote  it  ever  bee. 

That  ever  hand  should  dare  for  to  engoie 

Her  noble  blood  !  The  hevens  such  crueltie  abhore. 


"  These  eyes  did  see  that  they  will  ever  rew 
T'  have  scene,"  quoth  he,  "  whenas  a  monstrous  beast 
The  palfrey  whereon  she  did  travell  slew, 
And  of  his  bowels  made  his  bloody  feast : 
Which  speaking  token  sheweth  at  the  least 
Her  certein  losse,  if  not  her  sure  decay  : 
Besides,  that  more  susjiicion  encreast, 
I  found  her  golden  girdle  cast  astray, 
Distaynd   with    durt  and  blood,  as   relique    of  the 
pray." 

I.. 

"  Ab  me !"  said  Paridell,  "  the  signes  be  sadd  ; 

And,  but  God  turne  the  same  to  good  soothsay, 

That  ladies  safetie  is  sore  to  be  dradd  : 

Yet  will  I  not  forsake  mv  forward  way,    ' 

Till  trial!  doe  more  certeine  truth  bewray." 

"  Faire  sir,"  quoth  he,  "  well  may  it  vou  succeed  ! 

Ne  long  shall  Satyrane  behind  you  stay  ; 

But  to  the  rest,  which  in  this  quest  proceed, 

IMy  labour  adde,  and  be  partaker  of  tlieir  speed." 


"  Ye  noble  knights,"  said  then  the  Squyre  of  Dames, 
"  Well  miiy  yee  speede  in  so  praise wortliy  jiayne  ' 
But  sitb  the  sunne  now  ginnes  to  slake  liis  beames 
In  deawy  vapours  of  tlie  westerne  mayne, 
And  lose  the  teme  out  of  his  weary  wayne. 
iMote  not  mislike  you  also  to  abate 
Your  zealous  hast,  till  morrow  next  againe 
Both  light  of  heven  and  strength  of  men  relate: 
Which    if  ye  please,  to  yonder  castle  turne   your 
gate." 


That  counsell  pleased  well  ;  so  all  yfere 

Forth  marched  to  a  castle  them  before  ; 

Where  soone  arriving  they  restrained  were 

Of  ready  entraunce,  which  ought  evermore 

To  errant  ktiigbts  be  commune  :   Wondrous  sore 

Thereat  dis])leas('d  they  were,  till  that  young  squyre 

Gan  them  informe  the  cause  why  that  same  dore 

Was  shut  to  all  which  lodging  did  desyre  : 

The  which  to  let  you  weet   -ill  further  time  requyr€i 


Clkto  IX.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


i«r 


CANTO  IX. 

Malbecco  will  no  straunge  Knights  host. 

For  peevish  gealosy  : 
Paridell  giusts  with  Britomart ; 

Both  shew  their  auncestry. 


Redoubted  knights  and  honorable  dames, 

To  whom  I  levell  all  my  labours  end, 

Right  sore  I  feare  least  with  unworthy  blames 

This  odious  argument  my  rymes  should  shend, 

Or  ought  your  goodly  patience  offend, 

Whiles  of  a  wanton  lady  I  doe  write, 

Which  with  her  loose  incontinence  doth  blend 

The  shvning  glory  of  your  soveraine  light; 

And  knighthood  fowle  defaced  by  a  faith lesse  knight. 


Bu   never  let  th'  ensample  of  the  bad 

Offend  the  good  :  for  good.bv  paragons 

Of  evill,  may  more  notably  be  rad  ; 

As  wliite  seemes  fayrer  macht  with  blacke  attone: 

Ne  all  are  shamed  by  the  fault  of  one  : 

For  lo  !  in  heven,  whereas  all  goodnes  is 

Emongst  the  angels,  a  whole  legione 

Of  wicked  sprightes  did  fall  from  happy  blis  ; 

What  wonder  then  if  one,  of  women  all,  did  mis  ■> 


Then  listen,  lordings,  if  ye  list  to  weet 
The  cause  why  Satyrane  and  Paridell 
Mote  not  be  entertaynd,  as  seemed  meet, 
Into  that  castle,  as  that  squvre  does  tell. 
"  Therein  a  cnncred  crabbed  carle  does  dwell. 
That  has  no  skill  of  court  nor  courtesie, 
Ne  cares  what  men  say  of  him  ill  or  well : 
For  all  his  dayes  he  drownes  in  privitie. 
Yet  has  full  large  to  live  and  spend  at  libertie. 


"  But  all  his  mind  is  set  on  mucky  pelfe. 

To  boord  up  heapes  of  evill-gotten  masse. 

For  which  he  others  wrongs,  and  wreckes  himselfe  : 

Yet  is  he  lincked  to  a  lovely  lasse. 

Whose  beauty  doth  her  bounty  far  surpasse  ; 

The  which  to  him  both  far  unequall  yeares 

And  also  far  unlike  conditions  has  ; 

For  she  does  ioy  to  play  emongst  her  peares, 

And  to  be  free  from  hard  restrayntand  gealous  feares. 


"  But  he  is  old,  and  withered  like  hay, 

Unfit  faire  ladies  service  to  supply  ; 

The  privie  guilt  whereof  makes  him  alway. 

Suspect  her  truth,  and  keepe  continual!  spy 

Upon  her  with  his  other  blincked  eye ; 

Ne  suffreth  he  resort  of  living  wight 

Approch  to  her,  ne  keep  her  company. 

But  in  close  bowre  her  mewes  from  all  mens  sight, 

Depriv'd  of  kiudly  ioy  and  .^uturall  delight. 


"  Malbecco  he,  and  Hellenore  she  hight  j 

Unfitly  yokt  together  in  one  teeme. 

That  is  the  cause  wh)^  never  any  knight 

Is  suffred  here  to  enter,  but  he  seeme 

Such  as  no  doubt  of  him  he  need  misdeeme," 

Thereat  Sir  Satyrane  gan  smyle,  and  say ; 

"  Extremely  mad  the  man  I  surely  deeme 

That  weenes,  with  watch  and  liard  restraynt,  to  stay 

A  womans  will  which  is  disposed  to  go  astray 


"  In  vaiue  he  feares  that  which  he  cannot  shonne  • 
For  who  wotes  not,  that  womans  subtiltyes 
Can  guylen  Argus,  when  she  list  misdonne? 
It  is  not  yron  bandes,  nor  hundred  eyes 
Nor  brasen  walls,  nor  many  wakefull  spyes. 
That  can  witjiliold  her  wilfuU-wandring  feet ; 
But  fast  goodwill,  with  gentle  courtesyes. 
And  timely  service  to  her  pleasures  meet, 
INIay  her  perhaps  containe  that  else   would    algates 
fleet." 


"  Then  is  he  not  more  mad,"  sayd  Paridell, 
"  That  hath  himselfe  unto  such  service  sold. 
In  dolefull  thraldome  all  his  dayes  to  dwell  ? 
For  sure  a  foole  I  doe  him  firmely  hold, 
That  loves  his  fetters,  though  they  were  of  gold. 
But  why  doe  wee  devise  of  others  ill, 
Whyles  thus  we  suffer  this  same  dotard  old 
To  keepe  us  out  in  scorne,  of  his  owne  will, 
And  rather  do  not  ransack  all,  and  himselfe  kill  !' 


"  Nay,  let  us  first,"  sayd  Satyrane,  "  entreat 
The  man  by  gentle  meanes,  to  let  us  in  ; 
And  afterwardes  affray  with  cruel!  llireat, 
Ere  that  we  to  efforce  it  doe  begin  : 
Then,  if  all  fiiyle,  we  will  by  force  it  win, 
And  eke  reward  the  wretch  for  !iis  mespnse. 
As  may  be  worthy  of  his  havnous  sin." 
That  counsel!  pleasd  :    Then  I'aridel!  did  ri<e. 
And  to  the  castle-gate  approcht  in  quiet  w  ise 


Whereat  soft  knocking,  entrance  he  dosvrd. 
The  good  man  selfe,  which  then  tiie  portci-  jihiyd^ 
Him  answered,  that  all  were  now  retvrd 
Unto  their  rest,  and  all  the  keyes  convayd 
Unto  tlieir  maister  who  in  bed  was  lavd. 
That  none  l]im  durst  awake  out  of  liis  dreme  , 
And  therefore  them  of  patience  gently  pra,  d. 
Then  Paridell  began  to  clr.uinge  liis  theme. 
And    threatned   him   witli    force    and    punishment 
extreme. 


168 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


Book  III 


But  all  in  vaine  ;  for  nouglit  mote  him  relent: 

And  now  so  long  before  the  wifket  fast 

'J  hev  wayted,  th"lit  the  ni>j;-ht  was  forv.-ard  spent, 

And'  the  fairs  welkin  fowly  overcast 

(Jan  blowen  up  a  bitter  stormy  blast, 

Witli  showre  and  hayle  so  horrible  and  dred, 

'J")jat  this  faire  many  were  compeld  at  last 

To  fiv  for  succour  to  a  little  shed. 

The  which  beside  the  gate  for  swyne  was  ordered. 


It  fortuned,  soone  after  they  were  gone, 
Another  knight,  whom  temjiest  thether  brought, 
Came  to  that  castle,  and  with  earnest  mone, 
Like  as  the  rest,  late  entrance  deare  besought ; 
But,  like  so  as  the  rest,  he  prayd  for  nought ; 
For  flatly  he  of  entrance  was  refiisd  : 
Sorely  thereat  he  was  displeasd,  and  thought 
How  to  avenge  himselfe  so  sore  abusd. 
And  evermore  the  carle  of  courtesie  accusd. 


But,  to  avoyde  th'  intollerable  stowre. 

He  was  compeld  to  seeke  some  refuge  neare, 

And  to  that  shed,  to  shrowd  him  from  the  sliowre, 

He  came,  which  full  of  guests  he  found  whyleare, 

So  as  he  was  not  let  to  enter  there  : 

Whereat  he  gan  to  wex  exceeding  wroth. 

And  swore  that  he  would  lodge  with  them  yfere 

Or  them  dislodg,  all  were  they  liefe  or  loth ; 

And  so  defyde  them  each,  and  so  defyde  them  both. 


Both  were  full  loth  to  leave  that  needful!  tent, 
And  both  full  loth  in  darkenesse  to  debate  ; 
Yet  both  full  liefe  him  lodgnig  to  have  lent. 
And  both  full  liefe  his  boasting  to  abate  : 
But  chiefely  Pandell  his  hart  did  grate 
To  heare  him  threaten  so  des])ightfully. 
As  if  he  did  a  dogge  in  kenell  rate 
That  durst  not  barke  :  and  rather  had  he  dy 
Then,  when  he  was  defyde,  in  coward  corner  ly. 


Tbo,  hastily  remounting  to  his  steed, 
He  forth  issew'd  ;  like  as  a  boystrous  winde, 
Which  in  th'  earthes  liollow  caves  hath  long  ben  hid 
And  shut  up  fast  within  lier  ]irisons  blind, 
Makes  the  huge  element,  against  her  kinde, 
'J'o  move  and  tremble  as  it  were  aghast, 
Unfill  that  it  an  issew  forth  may  tinde  ; 
'I'hen  forth  it  breakes,  and  witli  his  furious  blast 
('onfounds  both  land  and  seas,  and  skyes  doth  over- 
cast. 


Their  steel-bed    speares   tliey   strongly  coucht,  and 
TiiL;ether  with  im])('tuous  rage  and  forse,     '       [met 
I  hat  with  the  terrour  of  their  (ierce  aftret 
Thev  rudely  drove  to  ground  both  man  and  horse. 
That  each  awliile  lay  like  a  sencelesse  corse. 
But  Baridell  sore  brused  with  tlie  blow 
Could  not  arise,  the  counterchaunge  to  scorse  ; 
'I'ill  that  young  s'|uyrft  him  reared  from  below  ; 
Then  drew  he  his  bright   sword,  and  gan  about  him 
til  row. 


But  Satyrane  forth  stepping  did  them  stay, 
And  with  faire  treaty  pacifide  their  yre  : 
Then,  when  they  were  accorded  from  the  fray, 
Against  that  castles  lord  they  gan  consjjire. 
To  heape  on  him  dew  vengeaunce  for  his  hire. 
They  beene  agreed,  and  to  the  gates  they  goe 
'I'o  burn  the  same  with  unquenchable  lire. 
And  that  uncurteous  carle,  their  commune  foe. 
To  doe  fowle  death  to  die,  or  wrap  in  grievous  foe. 

XVIII. 

Malbecco  seeing  them  resolvd  in  deed 
To  flame  the  gates,  and  hearing  them  to  call 
For  fire  in  earnest,  ran  with  fearfuU  speed. 
And,  to  them  calling  from  the  castle  wall. 
Besought  them  humbly  him  to  beare  withall, 
As  ignorant  of  servants  bad  abuse 
And  slacke  attendaunce  unto  straungers  call. 
The  knights  were  willing  all  things  to  excuse, 
Though  nought  belev'd,  and  entraunce  late  did  not 
refuse. 


They  beene  ybrought  into  a  comely  bowre. 
And  servd  of  all  things  that  mote  needfull  bee  ; 
Yet  secretly  tlieir  hoste  did  on  tliera  lowre. 
And  welcomde  more  for  feare  then  charitee ; 
But  they  dissembled  what  they  did  not  see. 
And  welcomed  themselves.     Each  gan  undight 
'J'heir  garments  wett,  and  weary  armour  free, 
To  dry  themselves  by  Vulcanes  flaming  light, 
And  eke  their  lately  bruzed  parts  to  bring  in  plight. 


And  eke  that  straunger  knight  emongst  the  rest 
\Vas  for  like  need  enforst  to  disaray : 
Tho,  whenas  vailed  was  her  lofty  crest. 
Her  golden  locks,  that  were  in  tramells  gay 
Ui)bounden,  did  themselves  adowne  display 
And  raught  unto  her  heeles  ;  like  sunny  beames, 
That  in  a  cloud  their  light  did  lonj;  time  stay. 
Their  vapour  vaded,  shewe  their  golden  gleames, 
And  through  the  persant  aire  shoote  forth  their  azure 
streames. 


Shee  also  dofte  lier  heavy  haberieon", 

^\■llicll  the  faire  feature  of  her  limbs  did  liyde  ; 

And  her  well-])lighted  frock,  which  she  did  won 

To  tucke  about  her  short  when  she  did  ryde, 

Shoe  low  let  fall,  tliat  flowd  from  her  lanck  syde 

Downe  to  her  foot  with  carelesse  modestee. 

Then  of  them  all  she  plainly  was  esjtyde 

To  be  a  woman-wight,  unwist  to  bee, 

The  fairest  woman -wijiht  that  ever  eie  did  see. 


Like  as  Bellona  (being  late  returnd 

From  slauglit(!r  of  the  giaunts  conquered  ; 

^Vll(•^e  ]ir(unl  J",nrela(le,  whose  wide  nosethrilsburnd 

^\'ith  Ijieatlicd  flames  like  to  a  furnace  redd, 

Transfixed  witli  her  sjieare  downe  tombled  dedd 

P'rom  top  of  Henius  by  him  heaped  bye  ;) 

Hath  loosd  her  helmet  from  her  lofty  hedd, 

And  her  Corgonian  shield  giuii  to  untye 

From  her  lefte  arme,  to  rest  in  glorious  victorye. 


Canto  IX. j 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


169 


Which  whenas  thev  belield,  thpy  smitten  were 

Witli  i^^reat  amazement  of  so  wondrous  sight ; 

Ami  eac-Ii  on  olliei,  and  they  a-1  on  her, 

Stood  gazing-  ;  as  it'  suddein  great  aft'right 

Had  them  surprizd  :   At  last  avising  right 

Hei  goodlv  personage  and  glorious  hew, 

\Vhich  ihey  so  much  mistooke,  thev  tooke  delight 

In  their  first  error,  and  vett  still  anew 

With  wonder  oi  her  beauty  fed  their  hongry  vew  ■• 


Yet  n'ote  their  hongry  vew  be  satisfide, 

But,  seeing,  still  the  more  desir'd  to  see. 

And  ever  tirmely  fixed  did  abide 

In  contemjdation  of  divinitee  : 

But  most  they  mervaild  at  her  chevalree 

And  noble  prowesse  which  they  had  approv'd, 

That  much  thev  faynd  to  know  who  she  mote  bee  : 

Yet  none  of  all  them  her  thereof  amov'd  ; 

Yet  every  one  her  likte,  and  every  one  her  lov'd. 


And  Paridell,  though  partly  discontent 
With  his  late  fall  and  fowle  indignity. 
Yet  was  soone  wonne  his  malice  to  relent, 
Tlirough  gracious  regard  of  her  faire  eye, 
And  knightly  worth  which  he  too  late  did  try, 
Yet  tried  did  adore.     Supper  was  dight  ; 
Then  they  IMalbecco  prayd  of  courtesy, 
That  of  his  lady  they  might  have  the  sight 
And  company  at  meat,  to  do  them  more  delight. 


But  he,  to  sbifte  their  curious  request, 

Gan  causen  why  she  could  not  come  in  place; 

Her  erased  helth,  her  late  recourse  to  rest. 

And  humid  evening  ill  for  sicke  tblkes  cace  : 

But  none  of  those  excuses  could  take  place  ; 

Ke  would  thev  eate,  till  she  in  p^e^^ence  came : 

Shee  came  in  presence  with  right  comelv  grace. 

And  fairely  them  saluted,  as  liecame. 

And  shewd  herselfe  in  all  a  gentle  courteous  dame. 


They  sate  to  meat ;  and  Satvrane  his  chaunce 

Was  her  before,  and  Paridell  beside ; 

But  he  himselfe  sate  looking  still  askaunce 

Gainst  Britomart,  and  ever  closely  eide 

Sir  Satyrane,  that  glaunces  might  not  glide  : 

But  his  blinde  eie,  that  sided  Paridell, 

All  his  demeasnure  from  his  sight  did  hide  : 

On  her  faire  face  so  did  he  feede  his  fill. 

And  seni  close  messages  of  love  to  her  at  will 


And  ever  and  anone,  when  none  was  ware, 
With  speaking  Icokes,  that  close  embassage  bore. 
He  rovM  at  Im  r,  and  told  his  secret  can;  ; 
For  all  tba'  art  he  learned  had  of  yore : 
Ne  was  she  ignoraunt  of  that  leud  lore, 
But  in  hi^  eve  his  meaning  wiselv  redd, 
And  with  tlic  like  him  aunswerd  evermore  : 
Shee  sen'  a!  him  one  fyrie  dart,  whose  liedd 
Empoisneii  «as  with  privy  lust  and  gealoiis  dredd. 


He  from  that  deadly  throw  made  no  defence. 
But  to  the  wound  his  weake  hear:  opened  wyde  : 
The  wicked  engine  through  false  influence 
Past  through  his  eies,  and  secretly  did  glyde 
Into  his  heart,  which  it  did  sorely  grvde. 
But  nothing  new  to  him  was  that  same  paine, 
Ne  paine  at  all  ;  for  he  so  ofte  had  tryde 
The  powre  thereof,  and  lov'd  so  ofi  in  vaine. 
That  thing  of  course  he  counted,  love  to  entertaine. 


Thenceforth  to  her  he  sought  t    intimate 

His  inward  griefe,  by  meanes  to  him  well  knowne 

Now  Bacchus  fruite  out  of  the  silver  plate 

He  on  the  table  dasht,  as  overthrowne, 

Or  of  the  fruitful!  liquor  overflowne  ; 

And  by  the  dauncing  bubbles  did  divine, 

Or  therein  write  to  lett  his  love  be  showne  ; 

Which  well  she  redd  out  of  the  learned  line  : 

A  sacrament  prophane  in  mistery  of  wine. 


And,  wbenso  of  his  hand  the  pledge  she  raught, 
The  guilty  cup  she  fained  to  mistake. 
And  in  her  lap  did  shed  her  idle  draught. 
Shewing  desire  her  inward  flame  to  slake. 
By  such  close  signes  they  secret  way  did  make 
Unto  their  wils,  and  one  eies  watch  escape  : 
Two  eies  him  needeth,  for  to  watch  and  wake, 
Who  lovers  will  deceive.     Thus  was  the  ape, 
By  their  faire  handling,  put  into  Malbeccoes  cape. 


Now,  when  of  meats  and  drinks  they  had  their  fill, 

Purjiose  was  moved  by  tliat  gentle  dame 

Unto  those  knights  adventurous,  to  tell 

Of  deeds  of  amies  which  unto  them  became. 

And  every  one  his  kindred  and  his  name. 

Then  Paridell,  in  whom  a  kindly  pride 

Of  gratious  speach  and  skill  his  words  to  ii'ame 

Abounded,  beins  glad  of  so  fitte  tide 

Him  to  commend  to  her,  thus  spake,  of  al  well  eide 


"  Troy,  that  art  now  nought  but  an  idle  name, 

And  in  thine  ashes  buried  low  dost  lie, 

Though  whilome  far  much  greater  then  thy  fame, 

Before  that  angry  Gods  and  cruell  skie 

Upon  thee  heapt  a  direful  destinie  ; 

^Vllat  boots  it  lioast  thv  glorious  descent. 

And  fetch  from  heven  thy  great  genealogie, 

Sith  all  thv  worthie  pravses  being  blent 

Their  ofspring  hath  embaste,  and  later  glory  shent  • 


"  Mo  ;t  famous  worthy  of  the  world,  by  whome 

That  warre  was  kindled  which  did  Troy  inflame, 

And  stately  towres  of  llion  whilume 

Brought  uii'o  balefull  mine,  was  bv  name 

Sir  Paris  f;ir  reiiownd  through  noble  fame  , 

\Vho,  through  great  prowesse  and  bold  hardinesse, 

From  Lacedaemon  fetcht  the  f'ayrest  ihime 

That  t  v(  r  Gixece  did  boast,  or  knight  possesse, 

U  ho.u  \  enu:s  to  him  gave  for  meed  o-f  worthinesse; 


170 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IIL 


"  Fayre  Helene,  flowre  of  beautie  excellent, 

And  girlond  of  the  mij^litv  comiuerours, 

That  madest  many  hulies  deare  lament 

The  heavie  Icsse  of  tlieir  brave  paramours, 

Which  thev  far  off  beheld  from  Trojan  toures, 

And  saw  the  fieldes  of  faire  Scamander  strowne 

With  carcases  of  noble  warrioures 

Whose  Iruiilesse  lives  were  under  furrow  sowne, 

And  Xanthus  sandy  bankes  with  blood  all  overflowne  ! 


"  From  him  my  linage  I  derive  aright, 
Who  long-  before  the  ten  yeares  siege  of  Troy, 
Whiles  yet  on  Ida  he  a  shepeheard  hight, 
On  faire  Oenone  got  a  lovely  boy, 
Whom,  for  reniembrance  of  her  passed  ioy, 
f>he,  of  his  father,  Parius  did  name  ; 
Who,  after  Greekes  did  Priams  realme  destroy, 
Gathred  the  Trojan  reliques  sav'd  from  flame. 
And,  with  them  sayling  thence,  to  th'  isle  of  Faros 
came. 


"  That  was  by  him  cald  Pares,  which  before 

Hight  Nausa  ;  there  he  many  yeares  did  raine, 

And  built  Nausicle  by  the  Pontick  shore ; 

The  which  he  dying  lefte  next  in  remaine 

To  Paridas  his  sonne. 

From  whom  I  Paridell  by  kin  descend : 

But,  for  faire  ladies  love  and  glories  gaine, 

My  native  soile  have  lefte,  my  dayes  to  spend 

lu  seewing  deeds  of  armes,  my  lives  and  labors  end." 


Wlienas  the  noble  Britomart  heard  tell 

Of  Trojan  warres  and  Priams  citie  sackt, 

(The  ruefull  story  of  Sir  Paridell,) 

She  was  empassiond  at  that  piteous  act. 

With  zelous  envy  of  Greekes  cruell  fact 

Against  that  nation,  from  whose  race  of  old 

Slie  heard  that  she  was  lineally  extract : 

For  noble  Britons  sprong  from  Trojans  bold, 

And  Troynovant  was  built  of  old  I'royes  ashes  cold. 

XXXIX. 

Then  sighing  soft  awhile,  at  last  she  thus  : 
"  O  lamentable  fall  of  famous  towne. 
Which  raignd  so  many  yeares  victorious, 
And  of  all  Asie  bore  the  soveraine  crowne. 
In  one  sad  night  consumed  and  throwen  downe  ! 
What  stonv  hart,  that  heare.s  thy  haplesse  fate. 
Is  not  empierst  with  deepe  com])assiowne. 
And  makes  ensample  of  mans  wretched  state, 
That  iioures  so  fresh  at  morne,  and  fades  at  evening 
late! 


"  Behold,  sir,  how  your  pitiful!  complaint 
Ilatii  fovvnd  another  partner  of  your  ])ayne  : 
For  nothing  may  impresse  so  deare  constraint 
As  countries  cause,  and  commune  foes  disdayne. 
But,  if  it  should  not  grieve  you  backe  agayne 
To  turne  your  course,  I  would  to  heare  desyro 
What  to  Aeneas  fell;  sith  th;rt  men  sayne 
He  was  not  in  the  cities  wofull  fyre 
Consum'd.  but  did  bimselfe  to  safety  retyre." 


''  Anchyses  sonne  begott  of  Venus  fayre," 
Said  he,  "  out  of  the  flames  for  safegard  fled, 
And  witli  a  remnant  did  to  sea  repayre  ; 
\\'here  he,  through  fatall  errour  long  was  led 
Full  many  yeares,  and  weetlesse  wandered 
From  shore  to  shore  emongst  the  Lybick  sandes. 
Ere  rest  he  fownd  :  Much  there  he  suffered. 
And  many  perilles  past  in  forreine  landes. 
To  save   his    people   sad   from   victours    vengeful! 
bandes : 

XLII. 

"  At  last  in  Latium  he  did  arry  ve, 

Where  he  with  cruell  warre  was  entertaind 

Of  th'  inland  folke  which  sought  him  backe  to  drive 

Till  he  with  old  Latinus  was  constraind 

To  contract  wedlock,  so  the  fates  ordaind  ; 

Wedlocke  contract  in  blood,  and  eke  in  blood 

Accomplished  ;  that  many  deare  complaind  : 

The  rivall  slaine,  the  victour  (through  the  flood 

Escaped  hardly)  hardly  praisd  his  wedlock  good 

XLIII. 

"  Yet,  after  all,  he  victour  did  survive. 
And  with  Latinus  did  the  kingdom  ])art: 
But  after,  when  both  nations  gan  to  strive 
Into  their  names  the  title  to  convart. 
His  Sonne  liilus  did  from  thence  depart 
With  all  the  warlike  youth  of  Troians  bloud. 
And  in  long  Alba  plast  his  throne  apart ; 
\Vhere  faiie  it  florished  and  long  time  stoud, 
Till  Romulus,  renewnig  it,  to  Rome  removd." 

XLIV. 

"  There  ;  there,"  said  Ikitomart,  "  afresh  appeard 

The  glory  of  the  later  world  to  spring, 

And  Troy  againe  out  of  her  dust  was  reard 

To  sitt  in  second  seat  of  soveraine  king 

Of  all  the  world,  under  her  governing. 

But  a  third  kingdom  yet  is  to  arise 

Out  of  the  Troians  scattered  ofsj>ring, 

'I'hat,  in  all  glory  and  great  enterprise. 

Both  first  and  second  1  roy  shall  dare  to  equalise. 


"  It  Troynovant  is  hight,  that  with  the  waves 
Of  wealthy  Thamis  washed  is  along, 
Upon  whose  stubborne  neck  (whereat  he  raves 
With  roring  rage,  and  sore  bimselfe  does  throng, 
■j'hat  all  men  feare  to  tempt  his  billowes  strong,) 
She  fastned  hath  her  foot ;   which  stand  so  by. 
That  it  a  wonder  of  the  world  is  song 
In  forreine  landes  ;  and  all,  which  passen  by. 
Beholding   it  from  farre  doe  think  it  threa 
skye. 

XLVI. 

"  The  Troian  Brute  did  first  that  citie  fownd. 
And  Hygate  made  the  inearo  thereof  by  West, 
And  Overt-gat(i  by  North  :  that  is  the  bownd 
Toward  the  land  ;  two  riAers  bownd  the  rest. 
So  huge  a  scoj)e  at  first  him  seemed  best, 
To  he  the  compasse  of  his  Mugdon-.es  seat  : 
So  huge  a  mind  could  not  in  lesser  lest, 
Ne  in  small  meares  containe  1  is  glory  gri'at. 
That  Albion  had  conquered  liist  by  warlike  feat.** 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


171 


'  Ah  !  fairest  lady-knight,"  said  Paridell, 
"  Pardon  I  pray  mv  lieedlesse  oversight, 
Who  had  forgot  that  wliylome  I  heard  tell 
From  aged  Mnemon  ;  for  mv  wits  beene  light. 
Indeed  he  said,  if  I  remember  riglit, 
That  of  the  antique  Trojan  stocke  there  grew 
Another  plant,  that  rauglit  to  wondrous  biglit, 
And  far  abroad  his  mighty  braunches  threw 
Into  the  utmost  angle  ofjJie  world  he  knew. 


"  Fo-  that  same  Brute,  whom  much  he  did  advaunce 
Ir  all  his  speach,  was  Sylvius  his  sonne, 
'v'hom  having  slain  through  lucklesarrowes  glaunce, 
He  fled  for  feare  of  that  he  had  misdonne, 
Or  els  for  shame,  so  fowle  reproch  to  slionne, 
And  with  him  ledd  to  sea  an  youthly  trayne  ; 
Where  wearie  wandring  they  long  time  did  wonne, 
And  many  fortunes  prov'd  in  th'  ocean  mayne, 
And  great  adventures  found,  that  now  were  long  to 
sayne. 

XI.IX. 

''  At  last  by  fatall  course  they  driven  were 

Into  an  island  spatious  and  brode, 

The  furthest  North  that  did  to  them  appeare: 

Which,  after  rest,  they,  seeking  farre  abrode, 

Found  it  the  fittest  soyle  for  their  abode, 

Fruitfull  of  all  thinges  fitt  for  living  foode, 

l)Utwholy  waste  and  void  of  peoples  trode. 

Save  an  huge  nation  of  the  geaunts  broode 

That  fed  on  living  flesh,  and  dronck  mens  vitall  blood. 


"  W^hom  he,  through  wearie  wars  and  labours  long 

Subdewd  with  losse  of  many  Britons  bold : 

In  which  the  great  (iotimagot  of  strong 

Corineus,  and  Coulin  of  Debonold, 

Were  overthrowne  and  laide  on  th'  earth  full  cold, 

Wliicli  quaked  under  their  so  liideous  masse  : 

A  famous  history  to  bee  enrold 

In  everlasting  monimeuts  of  brasse. 

That  all  the  antique  worthies  merits  far  did  passe. 


His  worke  great  Troynovant,  his  worke  is  eke 

Fair  Lincolne,  both  renowned  far  away  ; 

That  who  from  F.ast  to  West  will  endlong  seeks. 

Cannot  two  fairer  cities  find  this  day, 

Exce])t  Cleopolis  ;  so  heard  I  say 

Old  JMnemon  :   Therefore,  Sir.  I  greet  you  well 

Your  countrey  kin  :   and  you  entyrely  pray 

Of  pardon  for  the  strife,  which  late  befell 

Betwixt  us  both  unknowne,"     So  ended  Paridell, 


But  all  the  while,  that  he  these  speeches  spent. 

Upon  his  lips  hong  faire  Dame  Hellenore 

With  vigilant  regard  and  dew  attent. 

Fashioning  worldes  of  fancies  evermore 

In  her  fraile  witt,  that  now  her  quite  forlore  : 

The  whiles  unwares  away  her  wondring  eye 

And  greedy  eares  her  weake  hart  from  her  bore  : 

Wliich  he  perceiving,  ever  privily. 

In  speaking,  many  false  belgardes  at  her  let  fly. 


So  long  these  knightes  discoursed  diversly 
Of  straunge  affaires,  and  noble  hardiment, 
Which  they  had  past  with  mickle  ieopardy. 
That  now  the  humid  night  was  farforth  spent. 
And  hevenly  lampes  were  halfendeale  ybrent : 
Which  th'old  man  seeing  wel,  who  too  long  thought 
Every  discourse,  and  every  argument, 
AV^Jiich  by  the  hours  he  measured,  besought 
Them  go   to  rest.     So  all  unto  their  bowres  were 
brought. 


CANTO  X. 

Paridell  rapeth  Hellenore; 

ISIalbecco  her  poursewes  ; 
Fynds  emougst  Satyres,  whence  with  him 

To  turne  she  doth  refuse. 


The  morrow  next,  so  scone  as  Phoebus  lamp 

Bewrayed  had  the  world  with  early  light, 

And  fresh  Aurora  had  the  shady  damp 

Out  of  the  goodly  heven  amoved  quight, 

Faire  Britomart  and  that  same  Faery  knight 

I'jirose,  forth  on  their  iourney  for  to  wend : 

But  Paridell  complaynd,  that  his  late  fight 

With  Britomart  so  soie  did  him  offend, 

That  ryile  he  could  not  till  his  hurts  he  did  amend. 


So  foorth  they  far'd  ;  but  he  behind  them  stayd, 
Maulgre  his  host,  who  grudged  grivously 
To  house  a  guest  that  would  be  needes  obayd, 
And  of  his  owne  him  lefte  not  liberty  : 
Might  wanting  measure,  moveth  surquedry. 
Two  things  he  feared,  but  the  third  was  death; 
1  hat  fiers  youngmans  unruly  maystery  ; 
His  money,  which  he  lov'd  as  living  breath; 
And  his  faire  wife  whom  honest  long  he  kept  uneatli. 


172 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  HI. 


But  patience  perforce  ;  he  must  abie 

What  fortune  and  his  fate  on  him  will  lay  : 

Fond  is  the  foare  th  it  findes  no  remedie. 

Yei  warilv  he  watclieth  everv  way, 

Bv  wliicli  he  feareth  evill  happen  may  ; 

So  th'  evil!  tliinkes  by  watchino^  to  prevent : 

Ne  (loth  he  sutler  her,  nor  niti;lit  nor  day, 

Out  of  his  sight  herselfe  once  to  absent : 

3o  doth  he  punish  her,  and  eke  himself  torment. 


But  Paridell  kept  better  watch  then  hee, 

A  tit  occasion  for  his  turne  to  finde. 

False  love  !   why  do  men  say  thou  canst  not  see. 

And  in  tlieir  foolish  fancy  feigne  thee  blinde. 

That  with  thy  charmes  the  sharpest  sight  doest  binde. 

And  to  thy  will  abuse  ?      Thou  walkest  free, 

And  seest  every  secret  of  the  mimle  ; 

Thou  seest  all,  yet  none  at  all  sees  thee  : 

All  that  is  by  the  working  of  thy  deitee. 


So  perfect  in  that  art  was  Paridell, 

'J'liat  he  -Malbeccoes  halfen  eye  did  wyle  ; 

His  hali'en  eye  he  wiled  wondrous  well, 

And  Hellenors  both  eyes  did  eke  beguyle, 

J5oth  eyes  and  hart  attonce,  during  the  vvhyle 

That  he  there  soiourned  his  woundes  to  heale; 

That  Cupid  selfe,  it  seeing,  close  did  sinyle 

To  Aveet  liovv  he  her  love  away  did  steale, 

And  bad  that  none  their  ioyous  treason  should  reveale. 


The  learned  lover  lost  no  time  nor  tyde 
That  least  avantage  mote  to  him  afford, 
Vet  bore  so  faire  a  sayle,  that  none  espyde 
His  sf'cret  drift  till  he  her  layd  abord. 
W  henso  in  open  place  and  commune  bord 
He  fortun'd  her  to  meet,  with  commune  speach 
He  courted  her  ;  yet  bay  ted  every  word, 
'I'hat  his  ungentle  hoste  note  him  appeach 
Of  vile  ungeutlenesse  or  hospitages  breach. 


But  when  apart  (if  ever  her  apart 

He  found)  then  his  false  engins  fast  he  plyde, 

And  all  the  sleights  unbosoind  in  his  hart : 

He  sigh'd,  he  sobd,  he  swoownd,  he  jierdy  dyde, 

And  cast  himselfe  on  ground  her  fast  bi-syde  : 

Tho'  when  againe  he  him  betiiought  to  live. 

He  wept,  and  wayld,  and  false  laments  belyde, 

Saying,  but  if  she  mercie  would  him  give, 

That  he  mote  algates  dye,  yet  did  his  death  forgive. 


And  otherwhyles  with  amorous  delights 

And  pleasing  toyes  ho  would  her  entertaine  ; 

Now  singing  sweetly  to  surprize  her  sprights, 

Now  making  layes  of  love  and  lovers  paine. 

I'ransles,  ballads,  virelayes,  and  verses  vaine ; 

Oft  purposes,  oft  riddles,  he  devysd. 

And  tliousands  like  which  flownd  in  his  brainc, 

With  whicii  he  fed  her  fancy,  and  entysd 

To  take  to  his  new  love,  and  lest-e  Ser  old  despysd. 


And  every  wiiere  he  might  and  everie  while 

He  ilid  her  service  dewtifuU,  and  sewd 

At  hand  with  humble  pride  and  pleasing  guile; 

So  closely  yet,  that  none  but  she  it  vewd. 

Who  well  perceived  all,  and  all  indewd. 

Thus  finely  did  he  his  false  nets  dispred, 

With  which  he  many  weake  harts  had  subdewd 

Of  yore,  and  many  had  ylike  misled  : 

^Vhat  wonder  then  if  she  \(jere  likewise  carried  ? 


No  fort  so  fensible,  no  wals  so  strong. 

But  that  continuall  battery  will  rive, 

Or  daily  siege,  through  dispurvayaunce  long 

And  lacke  of  reskewes,  will  to  parley  drive  ; 

And  peece,  that  unto  parley  eare  will  give, 

Will  shortly  yield  itselfe,  and  will  be  made 

The  vassall  of  the  I'ictors  will  bylive  : 

That  stratageme  had  oftentimes  assayd 

This  crafty  paramoure,  and  now  it  plains  display'd. 


For  through  his  traines  he  her  intrapped  hath, 

Tiiat  she  her  love  and  hart  hath  wholy  sold 

To  him  without  regard  of  gaine,  or  scath, 

Or  care  of  credits,  or  of  husband  old, 

Whom  she  hatji  vow'd  to  dub  a  fayre  cucqu61d. 

Nought  wants  but  time  and  place,  which  shortly  shea 

Devized  hath,  and  to  her  lover  told. 

It  pleased  well  :  so  well  they  both  agree , 

So  readie  rype  to  ill,  wemens  counsels  bee  1 


Darke  was  the  evening,  fit  for  lovers  stealth. 

When  chaunst  Malbecto  busie  be  elsewhere. 

She  to  his  closet  went,  where  a  1  his  wealth 

Lay  hid  ;  thereof  she  countlesse  summes  did  reare, 

The  which  she  meant  away  witii  her  to  beare  ; 

The  rest  she  fyr'd,  for  sport  or  for  despight  : 

As  Hellene,  when  she  saw  aloft  appeare 

Tiie  i'roiane  flames  and  reach  to  hevens  hight, 

Did  clap  her  hands,  and  ioyed  at  that  doleful  sight ; 


The  second  Hellene,  fayre  Dame  Hellenore, 
The  whiles  her  hu.'-biuid  ran  with  sory  haste 
To  (lueiich  the  flames  which  she  had  tyn'd  before, 
Laught  at  his  foolish  labour  sjjeut  in  waste, 
And  ran  into  her  lovers  amies  right  fast ; 
Where  streight  embraced  she  to  him  did  crv 
And  call  alowd  for  helpe,  ere  lieljje  were  past; 
For  lo  !  that  guest  did  beare  her  forcibly, 
And  meant  to  ravish  her,  that  rather  had  to  dy  I 


'J"he  wretched  man  hearing  her  call  for  ayd, 
And  ready  seeing  him  with  her  to  fly, 
In  his  distjuiet  mind  was  much  dismayd  : 
But  when  againe  he  backeward  cast  his  eye, 
And  saw  the  wicked  fire  so  furiously 
Consume  his  hart,  and  scorch  his  idoles  face. 
He  was  therewith  distressed  diversely, 
Ne  wist  he  how  to  turne,  nor  to  what  jilace  : 
Was  never  wretched  man  in  such  a  wofuU  cace- 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


173 


Ay  when  to  him  she  cryde,  to  her  he  turnd. 
And  left  the  fire  ;  love,  money  overcame  : 
But,  when  he  marked  how  his  money  burnd, 
He  left  bis  wife;  money  did  love  disclaime  : 
Both  was  he  loth  to  loose  his  loved  dame, 
And  loth  to  leave  his  liefest  pelfe  behinde  ; 
Yet,  sith  he  no'te  save  both,  he  sav'd  that  same 
Which  was  tlie  dearest  to  his  dounsfhill  minde, 
The  god  of  his  desire,  the  ioy  of  misers  blinde. 


Thus  whilest  all  thino;s  in  troublous  uprore  were, 
'And  all  men  busie  to  suppresse  the  flame, 
The  loving  couple  neede  no  reskew  feare, 
But  leasure  had  and  liberty  to  frame 
Their  purpost  flight,  free  from  all  mens  reclame  ; 
And  A'ight,  the  patronesse  of  love-stealth  fayre, 
Gave  them  safe  conduct  till  to  end  they  came  : 
So  beene  they  gone  yfere,  a  wanton  payre 
Of  lovers  loosely  knit,  where  list  them  to  repayre. 


Soone  as  the  cruell  flames  yslaked  were, 

Malbeeeo,  seeing  how  his  losse  did  lye, 

Out  of  the  flames  which  he  had  quencht  whylere, 

Into  huge  waves  of  griefe  and  gealosye 

Full  deepe  emplonged  was,  and  drowned  nye 

Twixt  inward  doole  and  felonous  despight : 

He  rav'd,  he  wept,  he  starapt,  he  lowd  did  cry  ; 

And  all  the  passions,  that  in  man  may  light, 

Did  himattonce  oppresse,  and  vex  his  caytive  spright. 


Long  thus  be  chawd  the  cud  of  inward  griefe 
And  did  consume  his  gall  with  anguish  sore  : 
Still  when  he  mused  on  his  late  mischiefe, 
Then  still  the  smart  thereof  increased  more, 
And  seemd  more  grievous  then  it  was  before  ; 
At  last  when  sorrow  he  saw  booted  nought, 
Ne  griefe  might  not  his  love  to  him  restore. 
He  gan  devise  how  her  he  reskew  mought  ; 
Ten  thousand  wayes  he  cast  in  his  confused  thought. 


At  last  resolving,  like  a  pilgrim  pore, 
To  search  her  forth  whereso  she  might  be  fond, 
And  bearing  with  him  treasure  in  close  store. 
The  rest  lie  leaves  in  ground  :  so  takes  in  bond 
To  seeke  her  endlong  both  by  sea  and  lond. 
Lon^;  he  ht- r  sought,  he  sought  her  far  and  nere. 
And  every  where  that  he  mote  understond 
Of  knightes  and  ladies  any  meetings  were  ; 
And  of  each  one  he  mett  he  tidings  did  inquere. 


But  all  in  vaine  ;  his  woman  was  too  wise 

Ever  to  come  into  his  clouch  againe, 

And  bee  too  simple  ever  to  surprise 

The  iolly  Paridell,  for  all  his  paine. 

One  day,  as  he  forpassed  by  the  plaine 

\\'ith  weary  pace,  he  far  away  espide 

A  couple,  seeming  well  to  be  his  twaine. 

Which  hoved  close  under  a  forest  side, 

As  if  they  lay  in  wait,  or  els  themselves  did  hide. 


Well  weened  bee  that  those  the  same  mote  oee ; 

And,  as  he  better  did  their  shape  avize. 

Him  seemed  more  their  nianer  did  agree  ; 

For  th'  one  was  armed  all  in  warlike  wize. 

Whom  to  be  Paridell  he  did  devize  ; 

And  til'  other,  al  yclad  in  garments  light 

Discolourd  like  to  womanish  disguise, 

He  did  resemble  to  his  lady  bright ; 

And  ever  liis  faint  hart  much  earned  at  the  sight . 


And  ever  faine  he  towards  them  would  goe. 

But  yet  durst  not  for  dread  approchen  nie, 

But  stood  aloofe,  unweeting  what  to  doe  ; 

Till  that  prickt  forth  with  loves  extremity, 

That  is  the  father  of  fowle  gealosy, 

He  closely  nearer  crept  the  truth  to  weet : 

But,  as  he  nigher  drew,  he  easily 

JMight  scerne  that  it  was  not  his  sweetest  sweet, 

Ne  yet  her  Belamour,  the  partner  of  his  sheet: 


But  it  was  scornefull  Braggadochio, 
That  with  his  servant  Trompart  hoverd  there 
Sith  late  he  fled  from  his  too  earnest  foe  : 
Wliom  such  whenas  Malbeeeo  spyed  clere. 
He  turned  backe,  and  would  have  fled  arere  ; 
Till  Trompart,  ronning  hastely,  him  did  stay 
And  bad  before  his  soveraine  lord  appeare  : 
That  was  him  loth,  yet  durst  he  not  gainesay. 
And  comming  him  before  low  louted  on  the  lay. 


The  boaster  at  him  sternely  bent  his  browe. 

As  if  he  could  have  kild  him  with  his  looke, 

That  to  the  ground  him  meekly  made  to  bowe 

And  awfuU  terror  deepe  into  him  strooke, 

That  every  member  of  his  body  quooke. 

Said  he,  "  Thou  man  of  nought !  what  doest  thou  here 

Unfitly  furnisht  with  thy  bag  and  booke, 

AVhere  I  expected  one  with  shield  and  spere 

To  prove  some  deedes  of  armes  upon  anequall  jjere?  " 


The  wretched  man  at  his  imperious  speach 

Was  all  abasht,  and  low  prostrating  said  ; 

"  Good  sir,  let  not  my  rudeness  be  no  breach 

Unto  your  patience,  ne  be  ill  ypaid  ; 

For  I  unwares  this  way  by  fortune  straid, 

A  silly  pilgrim  driven  to  distresse, 

Tliat  seeke  a  lady" — There  he  suddein  staid. 

And  did  the  rest  with  grievous  sighes  suppresse, 

While  teares  stood  in  his  eies,few  drops  of  bittemesse. 


"  What  lady?" — "  I\Ian,"  said  Trompart,  "  take  sfood 
And  tell  thy  griefe,  if  any  hidilen  lye  :  [hart. 

Was  never  better  time  to  shew  thy  smart 
Then  now  that  noble  succor  is  thee  by, 
That  is  the  wliole  worlds  commune  remedy." 
That  chearful  word  his  weak  heart  much  did  cheare 
And  with  vaine  hope  his  spirits  faint  supply. 
That  bold  he  sayd,  "  O  most  rodoubted  Fere, 
Vouchsafe  with  mild  reg-ard  a  wretches  cace  to  Ueare. 


f* 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


[Book  111. 


Then  sighing  sore,  "  It  is  not  long,"  saide  hee, 
"  Suh  I  eniovd  tlie  gentlest  dame  alive  ; 
Of  whom  a  knight,  (no  knight  at  all  perdee, 
But  shame  of  all  tliat  doe  for  lionor  strive,) 
By  treacherous  deceipt  did  me  deprive  ; 
Througli  open  outrage  he  her  bore  away. 
And  with  fowle  force  unto  his  will  did  drive  ; 
Wliich  al  good  knights,  that  amies  do  bear  tliis  day, 
Are  bownd  for  to  revenge  and  punish  if  they  may. 


"  And  you,  most  noble  lord,  that  can  and  dare 
Redresse  thd  wrong  of  miserable  wight. 
Cannot  employ  your  most  victorious  speare 
In  better  quarrell  then  defence  of  right. 
And  for  a  lady  gainst  a  faithlesse  knight  : 
So  shall  your  glory  be  advaunced  much, 
And  all  faire  ladies  magnify  your  might, 
And  eke  myselfe,  albee  I  simple  such. 
Your  worthy  paine  shall  wel  reward  with  guerdon 
rich." 


With  that,  out  of  his  bouget  forth  he  drew 
Great  store  of  treasure,  therewith  him  to  tempt ; 
But  he  on  it  lookt  scornefully  askew, 
As  much  disdeigning  to  be  so  misdempt, 
Or  a  war-monger  to  be  basely  nempt ; 
And  savd  :  "  Thy  oilers  base  I  greatly  loth. 
And  eke  thy  words  uncourteous  and  unkempt : 
I  tread  in  dust  thee  and  thy  money  both  ; 
That,  were  it  not  for  shame  " — So  turned  from  him 
wroth. 


But  Trompart,  that  his  maistres  humor  knew 

In  lofty  looks  to  hide  an  humble  minde, 

Was  inly  tickled  with  that  golden  vew, 

And  in  his  eare  him  rownded  close  behinde  ■ 

Yet  stoupt  he  not,  but  lay  still  in  the  winde. 

Waiting  advauntage  on  the  pray  to  sease  ; 

Till  Trompart,  lowly  to  the  grownd  inclinde. 

Besought  him  his  great  corage  to  appease. 

And  pardon  simple  man  that  rash  did  him  displease. 


Big  looking  like  a  doughty  doucepere, 

At  last  he  thus  ;  "  Thou  clod  of  vilest  clay, 

I  pardon  yield,  and  with  thy  rudenes  beare  , 

But  weete  henceforth,  that  all  that  golden  pray, 

And  all  that  tls  the  vaine  world  vaunten  may, 

I  loath  as  doung,  ne  deeme  my  dew  reward  : 

Fame  is  my  meed,  and  glory  vertuous  pay  : 

But  minds  of  mortall  men  are  muchell  mard 

And  mov'd  amisse  with  massy  mucks  unmeet  regard. 


"  And  more  ;  I  graunt  to  thy  great  misery 
Orations  respect  ;  thy  wife  shall  backe  be  sent : 
And  that  vile  knight,  whoever  that  he  bee, 
WhicJi  hath  thy  lady  reft  and  knighthood  shent. 
By  Sanglamort  my  sword,  wliose  deadly  dent 
The  blood  hath  of  so  many  thousands  shedd, 
I  sweare  ere  long  shall  dearely  it  repent  ; 
Ne  he  twixt  heven  and  earth  shall  hide  his  liedd, 
But  soone  he  shall  be  fownd,  and  shortly  doen  be 
dedd." 


The  foolish  man  thereat  woxe  wondrous  blith. 
As  if  the  word  so  spoken  were  halfe  donne. 
And  humb  y  thanked  him  a  thousand  sith 
That  had  from  death  to  life  him  newly  wonne. 
Tho  forth  the  boaster  marching  brave  begonne 
His  stolen  steed  to  thunder  furiously, 
As  if  he  heaven  and  hell  would  over-ronne. 
And  all  the  world  confound  with  cruelty  ; 
That  much  Malbecco  ioyed  in  his  ioUity. 


Thus  long  they  three  together  travelled, 
Through  many  a  wood  and  many  an  uncouth  way, 
To  seeke  his  wife  that  was  far  wandered  : 
But  those  two  sought  nought  but  the  present  pray 
To  weete,  the  treasure  which  he  did  bewraj% 
On  which  their  eies  and  harts  were  wholly  sett, 
With  purpose  how  they  might  it  best  betray  ; 
For,  sith  the  howre  that  first  he  did  them  lett 
The  same  behold,  therwith  their  keene  desires  were 
whett. 


It  fortuned,  as  they  together  far'd, 

They  spide  where  Paridell  came  piicking  fast 

Upon  the  plaine,  the  which  himselfe  prepar'd 

To  giust  with  that  brave  straunger  knight  a  cast, 

As  on  adventure  by  the  way  he  past : 

Alone  he  rode  without  his  paragone  ; 

For,  having  iilcht  her  bells,  her  up  he  cast 

To  the  wide  world,  and  lett  her  fly  alone ; 

He  nould  be  clogd :  so  had  he  served  many  one. 


The  gentle  lady,  loose  at  random  lefte. 

The  greene-wood  long  did  walke,  and  wander  wide 

At  wilde  adventure,  like  a  forlorne  wefte  ; 

Till  on  a  day  the  Satyres  her  espide 

Straying  alone  withouten  groome  or  guide  : 

Her  up  they  tooke,  and  with  them  home  her  ledd. 

With  them  as  housewife  ever  to  abide,  [bredd  ; 

To   milk   their  gotes,   and   make   them   cheese  and 

And  every  one  as  commune  good  her  handeled  : 


That  shortly  she  Malbecco  has  forgott. 
And  eke  Sir  Paridell  all  were  he  deare  ; 
Who  from  her  went  to  seeke  another  lott. 
And  now  by  fortune  was  arrived  here. 
Where  those  two  guilers  with  Malbecco  were. 
Soone  as  the  old  man  saw  Sir  Paridell, 
He  fainted,  and  was  almost  dead  with  feare, 
Ne  word  he  had  to  speake  his  griefe  to  tell. 
But  to  him  louted  low,  and  greeted  goodly  well ; 

XXXVIII. 

And,  after,  asked  him  for  Hellenore  : 

"  1  take  no  keepe  of  her,"  sayd  I'aridell, 

"  She  wonneth  in  the  forrest  there  before." 

So  forth  he  rode  as  his  adventure  fell  ; 

The  whiles  the  boaster  from  his  loftie  sell 

Faviid  to  alight,  something  amisse  to  mend  ; 

liut  the  frt'sii  swayne  would  not  his  leasure  dwell. 

I'ut  went  his  way  ;  whom  when  he  ])assed  kend, 

lie  up  remounted  light,  and  after  faind  to  wend. 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


175 


"  Perdv  nay,"  said  Malbecco,  shall  ye  not ; 
But  let  him  j)asse  as  lightly  as  he  came ; 
for  little  good  of  him  is  to  be  got, 
And  mickle  perill  to  bee  put  to  shame. 
But  let  us  goe  to  seeke  my  dearest  dame, 
Whom  he  hath  left  in  yonder  forest  wyld  . 
For  of  her  safety  in  great  doubt  I  ame. 
Least  salvage  beastes  her  person  have  despoyld  : 
Then  all  the  world   is  lost,  and  we   in  vaine  have 
toyld  !" 

XL. 

They  all  agree,  and  forward  them  addrest : 

"  Ah  !  but,"  said  crafty  Trompart,  "  weete  ye  well, 

That  yonder  in  that  wasteful!  wildernesse 

Huge  monsters  haunt,  and  many  dangers  dwell ; 

Dragons,  and  minotaures,  and  feendes  of  hell. 

And  many  wilde  woodmen  which  robbe  and  rend 

All  travellers  ;  therefore  advise  ye  well, 

Before  ye  enterprise  that  way  to  wend  : 

One  may  his  iourney  bring  too  soone  to  evill  end." 


Malbecco  stopt  in  great  astonishment. 

And,  with  pale  eyes  fast  fixed  on  the  rest. 

Their  counsell  crav'd  in  daunger  imminent. 

Said  'J'rompart ;  "  You,  that  are  the  most  opprest 

With  burdein  of  great  treasure,  I  thinke  best 

Here  for  to  stay  in  saft-tie  behynd  : 

My  lord  and  1  will  search  the  wide  forest." 

That  counsell  pleased  not  Malbeccoes  mynd  ; 

For  he  was  much  afraid  himselfe  alone  to  fynd. 


"  Then  is  it  best,"  said  he,  "  that  ye  doe  leave 
Your  treasure  here  in  some  security, 
Either  fast  closed  in  some  hollow  greave. 
Or  buried  in  the  ground  from  ieopardy, 
Till  we  returne  againe  in  safety  : 
As  for  us  two,  least  doubt  of  us  ye  have. 
Hence  farre  away  we  will  blyndfolded  ly, 
Ne  privy  bee  unto  your  treasures  grave." 
It  pleased  ;  so  he  did  :    Then  they  march  forward 
brave. 


Now  when  amid  the  thickest  woodes  they  were, 
Ihey  heard  a  noyse  of  many  bagpipes  shrill. 
And  shrieking  hububs  them  approching  nere, 
Which  all  tlie  forest  did  with  horrour  till  : 
'lliat  dreadfull  sound  the  bosters  hart  did  thrill 
With  such  amazement,  that  in  hast  he  fiedd, 
Ne  ever  looked  back  for  good  or  ill  ; 
And  after  him  eke  fearful!  Trompart  spedd  : 
'J  he  old  man  could  not  fly,  but  fell  to  ground  half 
dedd: 


Yet  afterwardes  close  creeping  as  he  might. 

He  in  a  bush  did  hyde  his  fearefull  hedd. 

'I'he  ially  satyres  full  of  fresh  delij;ht 

Came  dauncing  forth,  and  with  thfm  nimbly  ledd 

Faire  Ilelenore  with  girlonds  all  bespredd. 

Whom  their  May-lady  they  had  newly  made  : 

She.  j.roude  of  that  new  honour  which  they  redd. 

And  of  their  lovely  fellowship  full  glade, 

Daunst  lively,  and  her  face  did  with  a  lawrell  shade. 


The  silly  man  that  in  the  thickett  lay 

Saw  all  this  goodly  sport,  and  grieved  sore ; 

Yet  durst  he  not  against  it  doe  or  say. 

But  did  his  hart  with  bitter  thoughts  engore. 

To  see  th'  unkindnes  of  his  Hellenore. 

All  day  they  daunced  with  great  lustyhedd, 

And  with  their  horned  feet  the  greene  gras  wore ; 

The  whiles  their  gotes  upon  the  brouzes  fedd. 

Till  drouping  Phoebus  gan  to  hyde  his  golden  hedd 


Tho  up  they  gan  their  mery  pypes  to  trusse, 
And  all  their  goodly  heardes  did  gather  rownd  ; 
But  every  satyre  first  did  give  a  busse 
To  Hellenore  ;  so  busses  did  abound. 
Now  gan  the  humid  vapour  shed  the  grownd 
With  perly  deaw,  and  th'  earthes  gloomy  shade 
Did  dim  the  brightnesse  of  the  welkin  rownd. 
That  every  bird  and  beast  awarned  made 
To  shrowd  themselves,  while  sleep  their  senses  did 
invade. 


Which  when  Malbecco  saw,  out  of  the  bush 

Upon  his  handes  and  feete  he  crept  full  light, 

And  like  a  gote  emongst  the  gotes  did  rush; 

That  through  the  helpe  of  his  faire  homes  on  hightj 

And  misty  dampe  of  misconceyving  night. 

And  eke  through  likenesse  of  his  gotish  beard, 

He  did  the  better  counterfeite  aright  : 

So  home  he  marcht  emongst  the  horned  heard, 

That  none  of  all  the  satyres  him  espyde  or  heard. 


At  night,  when  all  they  went  to  sleepe,  he  vewd. 

Whereas  his  lovely  wife  emongst  them  lay. 

Embraced  of  a  satyre  rough  and  rude. 

Who  all  the  night  did  mind  his  ioyous  play  : 

Nine  times  he  heard  him  come  aloft  ere  day. 

That  all  his  hart  with  gealosy  did  swell ; 

But  yet  that  nights  ensample  did  bewray 

That  not  for  nought  his  wife  them  loved  so  well. 

When  one  so  oft  a  night  did  ring  his  matins  bell. 


So  closely  as  he  could  he  to  them  crept. 
When  wearie  of  their  sport  to  sleepe  they  fell. 
And  to  his  wife,  that  now  full  soundly  slept. 
He  whispered  in  her  eare  and  did  her  tell. 
That  it  was  he  which  by  her  side  did  dwell ; 
And  therefore  prayd  her  wake  to  heare  him  plaint. 
As  one  out  of  a  dreame  not  waked  well 
She  turnd  her,  and  returned  backe  againe  : 
Yet  her  for  to  awake  he  did  the  more  constraine. 


At  last  with  irkesom  trouble  she  abrayd  ; 

And  then  perceiving,  that  it  was  indeed 

Her  old  Malbecco,  which  did  her  upbrayd 

With  loosenesse  of  her  love  and  loathly  deed, 

She  was  astonisht  with  exceeding  dreed. 

And  would  have  wakt  the  satyre  by  her  syde  ; 

But  he  her  prayd,  for  mercy  or  for  meed. 

To  save  his  life,  ne  let  him  be  descryde. 

But  hearken  to  his  lore,  and  all  his  counsell  hyde. 


176 


THE  faerip:  queene. 


[Book  III. 


The  gan  be  her  perswade  to  leave  that  lewd 
And  loatlisom  lite,  of  God  and  man  abhord, 
And  home  retiirne,  wliere  nil  should  be  rerewd 
With  perfect  peace  and  bandes  of  fresh  accord 
And  siie  receivd  againe  to  bed  and  bord, 
As  if  no  trespas  ever  had  beene  donne  : 
IJut  she  it  all  refused  at  one  word, 
And  by  no  meanes  would  to  his  will  be  wonne, 
.But  chose  emongst  the  iolly  satyres  still  to  wonne- 


Still  fled  he  forward,  looking  backward  still , 

Ne  stavd  his  flig-ht  nor  fearefull  agony 

'J'ill  that  he  came  unto  a  rocky  hill 

Over  the  sea  suspended  dreadfully. 

That  living-  creature  it  would  terrify 

To  looke  adowne,  or  upward  to  the  bight : 

From  thence  be  threw  himselfe  dispiteously, 

All  desperate  of  his  fore-damned  spright, 

That  seemd  no  help  for  him  was  left  in  living  sight. 


He  wooed  her  till  day-spring  he  espyde  ; 

I)Ut  all  in  vaine  :  and  then  turnd  to  the  heard, 

Who  butted  him  with  homes  on  every  syde, 

And  trode  downe  in  the  durt,  where  his  hore  beard 

Was  fowly  dight,  and  he  of  death  afeard. 

Early,  beiore  the  heavens  fairest  light 

Out  of  the  ruddy  East  was  fully  reard. 

The  heardes  out  of  their  foldes  were  loosed  quight, 

Aad  he  emongst  the  rest  crept  forth  in  sory  plight. 


But,   through    long    anguish    and    selfe-murd'ring 
He  was  so  wasted  and  forpined  quight,        [thought. 
That  all  his  substance  was  consum'd  to  nought, 
And  nothing  left  but  like  an  aery  spright  ; 
That  on  the  rockes  he  fell  so  flit  and  light, 
That  he  thereby  receiv'd  no  hurt  at  all ; 
But  chaunced  on  a  craggy  clitf  to  light  ; 
W^hence  he  with  crooked  clawes  so  long  did  crall. 
That  at  the  last  he  found  a  cave  with  entrance  smaiL 


So  soone  as  he  the  prison-dore  did  pas. 

He  ran  as  fast  as  both  his  feet  could  beare. 

And  never  looked  who  behind  him  was, 

Ne  scarsely  who  before :  like  as  a  beare, 

That  creeping  close  amongst  the  hives  to  reare 

An  hony-combe,  the  wakefull  dogs  espy. 

And  him  assayling  sore  his  carkas  teare. 

That  hardly  he  with  life  away  does  fly, 

Ne  stayes,'tdl  safe  himselfe  he  see  from  ieopardy. 


Into  the  same  he  creepes,  and  thenceforth  there 

Resolv'd  to  build  his  balefull  mansion 

In  drery  darkenes  and  continuall  feare 

Of  that  rocks  fall,  which  ever  and  anon 

Threates  with  huge  ruine  him  to  fall  upon, 

That  he  da  e  never  sleepe,  but  that  one  eye 

Still  Ope  he  keepes  for  that  occasion  ; 

Ne  ever  rests  he  in  tranquillity. 

The  roring  billowes  beat  his  bowre  so  boystrously 


Ne  stayd  he,  till  he  came  unto  the  place 
Where  late  his  treasure  he  entombed  had  ; 
Where  when  he  found  it  not,  (for  Trompart  bace 
Had  it  purloyned  for  his  maister  bad,) 
With  extreme  fury  lie  became  quite  mad. 
And  ran  away  ;  ran  with  himselfe  away  : 
That  who  so  straungely  had  him  seene  bestadd. 
With  upstart  haire  and  staring  eyes  dismay. 
From  Limbo  lake  him  late  escaped  sure  would  say. 


Ne  ever  is  he  wont  on  ought  to  feed 
But  todes  and  frogs,  his  pasture  poysonous, 
Which  in  his  cold  complexion  doe  breed 
A  filthy  blood,  or  humour  rancorous, 
flatter  of  doubt  and  dread  suspitious. 
That  doth  with  curelesse  care  consume  the  hart. 
Corrupts  the  stomacke  with  gall  vitious. 
Cross-cuts  the  liver  with  internall  smart. 
And  doth  transfixe  the  soule  with  deathes  eternal! 
dart. 


High  over  hilles  and  over  dales  he  fledd, 

As  if  the  wind  him  on  his  winges  had  borne  ; 

Ne  banck  nor  bush  could  stay  him,  when  he  spedd 

His  nimble  feet,  as  treading  still  on  thorne  : 

Griefe,  and  Desi)ight,  and  Gealosy,  and  Scorne, 

Did  all  the  way  him  follow  hard  behynd  ; 

And  he  himselfe  himselfe  loatli'd  so  forlorne. 

So  shamefully  forlorne  of  womankynd  : 

That,  as  a  snake,  still  lurked  in  liis  wounded  myud. 


Yet  can  he  never  dye,  but  dying  lives. 
And  doth  himselfe  with  sorrow  new  suslaine, 
That  death  and  life  attonce  unto  him  gives. 
And  painefull  pleasure  turnes  to  pleasing  paine. 
There  dwels  he  ever,  miserable  swaine, 
Hatefull  both  to  himselfe  and  every  wight ; 
Where  he,  tlirough  jirivy  griefe  and  honour 
Is  woxen  so  deform'd,  tliat  he  has  quiglit 
Forgot  he  was  a  man,  and  Gelosv  is  hiuht. 


P<)OK  JII.J 


Tlir:   PAKRIK  gUF.ENT. 


177 


CAxXTO  XI. 

Britoraart  clracetli  OUypliiint ; 

Fimles  Scudamour  distrest: 
Assayes  the  house  of  Husyrane, 

Where  loves  spoyles  are  expres'. 


0  HATEFUL  hellish  snake!  what  furie  furst 
Brought  thee  from  balefull  house  of  Proseriiine, 
Where  in  her  bosome  she  tiiee  long  had  nurst, 
And  fostred  up  with  bitter  milke  of  tine  ; 
Fowle  gealosy  !  tliat  turnest  love  divine 
To  ioyles&e  dread,  and  niak'st  the  loving  hart 
W^ith  hateful!  thoughts  to  languish  and  to  pine, 
And  feed  itselfe  with  selfe-consuming  smart, 
Of  all  the  passions  in  tlie  mind  thou  vilest  art ! 


O  let  him  far  be  banished  away, 

And  in  his  stead  let  love  for  ever  dwell ! 

Sweete  love,  that  doth  his  golden  wings  embay 

In  blessed  nectar  and  pure  pleasures  well, 

Untroubled  of  vile  feare  or  bitter  fell. 

And  ye,  faire  ladies,  that  your  kingdomes  make 

In  th'  harts  of  men,  them  governe  wisely  well. 

And  of  faire  Britomart  ensample  take. 

That  was  as  trew  in  love  as  turtle  to  her  make 


Who  with  Sir  Satyrane,  as  earst  ye  red. 
Forth  ryding  from  INIalheccoes  hostlesse  hous. 
Far  off  aspyde  a  young  man,  the  which  fled 
From  an  huge  geaunt,  that  with  hideous 
And  hateful  outrage  long  him  chaced  thus; 
It  was  that  Ollyphant,  the  brother  deare 
Of  that  Argante  vile  and  vitious, 
From  whom  the  Squyre  of  Dames  was  reft  whylere  ; 
This  all  as  bad  as  she,  and   worse,  if  worse  ought 
were. 


For  as  the  sister  did  in  feminine 

And  filthy  lust  exceede  all  womankinde ; 

So  he  surpassed  his  sex  masculine, 

In  beastly  use,  all  that  I  ever  finde : 

Whom  when  as  Britomart  beheld  behinde 

The  fearefull  bey  so  greedily  poursew. 

She  was  emmoved  in  her  noble  minde 

T'  employ  her  puissaunce  to  his  reskew, 

And  pricked  fiercely  forward  where  she  did  him  vew. 


Ne  was  Sir  Satyrane  her  far  behinde 
But  with  like  fiercenesse  did  ensew  the  chace : 
Whom  when  the  gyaunt  saw,  he  soone  resinde 
His  former  suit,  and  from  them  fled  apace : 
They  after  both,  and  boldly  bad  him  bace, 
And  each  did  strive  the  other  to  otitgoe  ; 
But  he  them  both  outran  a  wondrous  space, 
For  he  was  long  and  swift  as  anv  roe, 
nd  now  made  better  speed  t'escape  ibis  feared  foe. 


It  was  not  Satyrane,  whom  he  did  feare, 

Biit  Britomart  the  fiowre  of  chastity  ; 

For  he  the  powre  of  chaste  hands  might  not  beare. 

But  alwayes  did  their  dread  encounter  fly 

And  now  so  fast  his  feet  he  did  apply. 

That  he  has  gotten  to  a  forre-st  aeare. 

Where  he  is  shrowded  in  security. 

The  wood  thev  enter,  and  searcli  everie  where  ; 

They  searched  diversely  ;  so  both  divided  were. 


Fayre  Britomart  so  long  him  followed, 
That  she  at  last  came  to  a  fountaine  sheare, 
By  which  there  lay  a  knight  all  wallowed 
Upon  the  grassy  ground,  and  by^  him  neare 
His  haberieon,  his  helmet,  and  his  speare  : 
A  little  off,  his  shield  was  rudely  throv\-ne. 
On  which  the  winged  boy  in  colours  clears 
Depeincted  was,  full  easie  to  be  knowne. 
And  he  thereby,  wherever  it  in  field  was  showne. 


His  face  upon  the  grownd  did  groveling  ly. 
As  if  he  had  beene  slombring  in  the  shade; 
That  the  brave  mayd  woulil  not  for  courtesy 
Out  of  his  quiet  slomber  hmi  abrade. 
Nor  seeme  too  suddeinly  him  to  invade  : 
Still  as  she  stood,  she  heard  with  grievous  throb 
flim  grcne,  as  if  his  hart  were  peeces  made. 
And  with  most  painefull  pangs  to  sigh  and  sob, 
That  pitty  did  the  virgins  hart  of  patience  rob. 


At  last  forth  breaking  into  bitter  plaintes 
He  sayd  ;  "  O  soverayne  Lord  that  sit'st  on  hye 
And  raignst  in  blis  emongst  thy  blessed  saintes. 
How  sutFrest  thou  such  shamefull  cruelty 
So  long  unwreaked  of  thine  enimy  ! 
Or  hast  thou.  Lord,  of  good  mens  cause  no  heed  ? 
Or  doth  thy  iustice  sleepe  and  silent  ly  1 
What  booteth  then  the  good  and  righteous  deed, 
If  goodnesse  find  no   grace,  nor  righteousnesse   no 
meed ! 

X. 

"  If  good  find  grace,  and  righteousnes  reward, 
Why  then  is  Amoret  in  caytive  band, 
Sith  that  more  bounteous  creature  never  far'd 
On  foot  upon  the  face  of  living  land  ! 
Or  if  that  hevenly  iustice  may  withstand 
Tlie  wrongful!  outrage  of  unrighteous  men. 
Why  thenis  Busirane  with  wicked  hand 
Sufified,  these  seven  monethes  day,  in  secret  den 
My  lady  and  my  love  so  cruelly  to  pen  I 


178 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III 


"  My  lady  and  my  love  is  cruelly  pend 

In  doleful!  darkenes  from  the  vew  of  day, 

Whilest  deadly  torme-iits  doe  her  chiist  brest  rend, 

And  the  sharpe  Steele  doth  rive  her  hart  in  tway. 

All  for  she  8cudamore  will  not  denay. 

Vet  thou,  vile  man,  vile  Sciidamore,  art  sour.d, 

Ne  canst  her  ayde,  ne  canst  her  foe  dismav  ; 

Unworthy  wretch  to  tread  upon  the  gTound, 

J^or  whom  so  faire  a  lady  feeles  so  sore  a  wound." 


There  an  huge  heape  of  singulfes  did  oppresse 
His  strug'ling  soule,  and  swelling  throbs  empeach 
His  foltring  toung  with  pangs  of  drerinesse, 
Choking  the  remnant  of  his  plaintife  speach, 
As  if  Ills  dayes  were  come  to  their  last  reach. 
Which  when  she  heard,  and  saw  the  ghastly  fit 
Threatning  into  his  life  to  make  a  breach. 
Both  with  great  ruth  and  terrour  she  was  smit, 
Fearing  least  from  her  cage  the  wearie  soule  would 
flit. 

xin. 

Tho,  stouping  downe,  she  him  amoved  light ; 
Who,  therewith  somewhat  starting,  up  gan  looke. 
And  seeing  him  behind  a  stranger  knight, 
Whereas  no  living  creature  he  mistooke, 
W^ith  great  iudignaunce  he  that  sight  forsooke. 
And,  downe  againe  himselfe  disdainefully 
Abiecting,  th'  earth  with  his  faire  forhead  strooke  : 
Which  the  bold  virgin  seeing,  gan  apply 
-Fit  medcine  to  his  griefe,  and  spake  thus  courtesly ; 


'"  Ah  !  gentle  knight,  whose  deepe-conceived  griefe 
Well  seenies  t'exceede  the  powre  of  patience, 
Yet,  if  that  hevenly  grace  some  good  reliefe 
You  send,  submit  you  to  High  Providence  ; 
And  ever,  in  your  noble  hart,  prepense, 
That  all  the  sorrow  in  the  world  is  lesse 
Then  vertues  might  and  values  confidence  : 
For  who  nill  bide  the  burden  of  distresse. 
Must  not  here  thinke  to  live ;  for  life  is  wretched- 
uesse. 

XV. 

"  Therefore,  faire  sir,  doe  comfort  to  vou  take. 

And  freely  read  what  wicked  felon  so 

Hath  outrag'd  you,  and  thrald  your  gentle  make. 

Perhaps  this  hand  may  help  to  ease  your  woe, 

And  wreake  your  sorrow  on  your  ci  uell  foe  ; 

At  least  it  faire  endevour  will  ap))ly."' 

Those  feeling  words  so  near  the  (juicke  did  goe. 

That  up  his  head'  he  reared  easily  ; 

And,  leaning  on  his  elbowe,  these  few  words  lett  fiy  i 


"  What  boots  it  plains  that  cannot  be  redrest. 

And  sow  vainc  sorrow  in  a  fniitlesse  care, 

Sith  powr"  of  hand,  nor  skill  of  learned  brest, 

Ne  worldly  price,  cannot  redceine  my  deare 

Out  of  her  thraldonie  and  coiilinuall  feare  ! 

For  he,  the  tyrant,  which  her  hath  in  ward 

By  strong  enchauntnients  and  hlacke  niagicke  leare, 

Hath  in  a  dungeon  deepe  her  close  emlr.iid, 

And  many  dreadfull  feends  hath  pointed  to  her  gard. 


"  There  he  tormenteth  her  most  terribly. 

And  day  and  night  afflicts  with  mortaU'pame, 

Because  to  yield  him  love  she  doth  deny. 

Once  to  me  yold,  not  to  be  yolde  againe  : 

But  yet  by  torture  he  would  her  constr'aine 

Love  to  conceive  in  her  disdainfuU  brest : 

Till  so  she  doe,  she  must  in  doole  remaine, 

Ne  may  by  living  meanes  be  thence  relest : 

What  boots  it  then  to  plaine  that  cannot  be  redrest ! 


With  this  sad  hersall  of  his  heavy  stresse 

The  warlike  damzell  was  empassiond  sore. 

And  sayd  ;  "  Sir  knight,  your  cause  is  nothing  lesse 

Then  is  your  sorrow  certes,  if  not  more: 

For  nothing  so  much  pitty  doth  implore 

As  gentle  ladyes  helplesse  misery  ; 

But  yet,  if  please  ye  listen  to  my  lore, 

I  will,  with  proofe  of  last  extremity. 

Deliver  her  fro  thence,  or  with  her  for  you  dy." 


"  Ah  !  gentlest  knight  alive,"  sayd  Scudamore, 
"  What  huge  heroinke  magnanimity  [more. 

Dwells  in  thy  bounteous  brest?  what  couldst  thou 
If  shee  were  thine,  and  thou  as  now  am  l'>. 
O  spare  thy  happy  dales,  and  them  a\^]>\y 
To  better  bnot ;  but  let  me  die  that  ought: 
JMore  is  more  losse  ;  one  is  encugh  to  dy!" 
"  Life  is  not  lost,"  said  she,  •'  for  which  is  bought 
Endlesse  renowra;    that,  more  then  death,  is  to  be 
sought." 


Thus  she  at  length  persuaded  him  to  rise. 

And  with  her  wend  to  see  what  new  successe 

Mote  him  befall  upon  new  enterprise  ; 

His  amies,  which  he  had  vowed  to  disprofesse, 

She  -gathered  up  and  did  about  him  dresse, 

And  his  forwandred  steed  unto  him  gott  : 

So  forth  they  loth  yfere  make  their  progresse. 

And  march,  not  past  the  mountenaunce  of  a  shott, 

Till  they  arriy'd  whereas  their  purpose  they  did  plott. 


There  thry  dismounting  drew  their  weapons  bold, 
And  stovitly  came  unto  the  castle  gate, 
\V'hereas  no  gate  they  found  them  to  withhold, 
Nor  wdi"d  to  waite  at  morne  and  evening  late ; 
I'ut  in  the  ])orch  that  did  them  sore  amate, 
A  fla/uiiigfiri'  ymixt  with  sinouhlry  smoke 
And  stinking  sul]ihurp,  that  with  griesly  hate 
And  dreadfull  horror  did  all  entraunce  choke, 
Enforced  them  their  i'orward  footing  to  revoke. 


Greatly  thereat  was  Britomart  dismayd, 

Ne  in  that  slowr.a  wist  how  herselfe  to  beare  ; 

For  diiunger  vaine  it  were  to  have  assayd 

Tliat  cruell  element,  which  all  things  feare, 

Ne  none  can  suffer  to  apj)roachen  neare  : 

Ami,  turning  backe  to  Scudarnour,  thus  sayd  ; 

"  \\  hat  monstrous  enmity  jnovoke  we  here  ? 

Foolhardy  as  th'  carthes  children,  tin-  which  made 

Battcill  against  the  gods,  so  we  a  god  invade. 


Cavto  XL] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


179 


"  Daunger  without  discretion  to  attempt, 
Inglorious,  beast-like,  is  :  therefore.  Sir  Knight, 
Aread  what  course  of  3'ou  is  safest  dempt. 
And  how  we  with  our  foe  may  come  to  fig'ht." 
"  This  is,"  quoth  he,  "  the  dolorous  despight. 
Which  earst  to  you  I  playnd  :   for  neither  may 
This  fire  be  quencht  by  any  witt  or  might, 
Ne  yet  by  any  meanes  remov'd  away ; 
So  mighty  be'  th'  enchauntments  which  the  same  do^ 
stay. 

XXIV. 

"  What  is  there  ells  but  cease  these  fruitlesse  paines, 

And  leave  me  to  my  former  languishing ! 

Faire  Amorett  must  dwell  in  wicked  chaines. 

And  Scudamore  here  die  with  sorrowing  !" 

"  Perdy  not  so,"  saide  sliee;  "  for  shameful  thing 

Yt  were  t'  abandon  noble  chevisaunce. 

For  shewe  of  perill,  without  venturing  : 

Rather,  let  try  extremities  of  chaunce 

Then  enterprised  praise  for  dread  to  disavaunce." 


Therewith,  resolv'd  to  prove  her  utmost  might. 

Her  ample  shield  she  threw  before  her  face, 

And  her  swords  point  directing  forward  right 

Assayld  the  flame  ;  the  which  eftesoones  gave  place, 

And  did  itselfe  divide  with  equall  space. 

That  through  she  passed  :  as  a  thonder-bolt 

Perceth  the  yielding  ayre,  and  doth  displace 

The  soring  clouds  into  sad  showres  yinolt ; 

So  to  her  yold  the  flames,  and  did  their  force  revolt. 


Whom  whenas  Scudamour  saw  past  the  fire 

Safe  and  untoucht,  he  likewise  gan  assay 

With  greedy  will  and  envious  desire. 

And  bade  the  stubborne  flames  to  yield  him  way  : 

But  cruell  Mulciber  would  not  obay 

His  threatfuU  pride,  but  did  the  more  augment 

His  mighty  rage,  and  with  imperious  sway 

Him  forst,  maulgre  his  fercenes,  to  relent. 

And  backe  retire  all  sorcht  and  pitifully  brent. 


With  huge  impatience  he  inly  swelt, 

More  for  great  sorrow  that  he  could  not  pas 

Then  for  the  burning  torment  which  he  felt ; 

That  with  fell  woodnes  he  effierced  was. 

And  wilfully  him  throwing  on  the  gras 

Did  beat  and  bounse  his  head  and  brest  fiill  sore  : 

The  whiles  the  championesse  now  entred  has 

1  he  utmost  rowme,  and  past  the  foremost  dore  ; 

The  utmost  rowme  abounding  with  all  precious  store : 


For,  round  about  the  walls  yclothed  were 
With  goodly  arras  of  great  maiesty. 
Woven  with  golde  and  silke  so  close  and  nere 
That  the  rich  metall  lurked  privily, 
As  faining  to  be  hidd  from  envious  eye ; 
\  et  here,  and  there,  and  every  where,  unwares, 
It  shewd  itselfe  and  shone  unwillingly  ; 
l.ike  to'  a  discolourd  snake,  whose  hidden  snares 
Th'-oiigh  the  greene  gras  his   long    bright  burni"ht 
back  declares. 


And  in  those  tapets  weren  fashioned 

jMany  faire  pourtraicts,  and  many  a  faire  feate : 

And  all  of  love,  and  al  of  lusty-hed. 

As  seemed  by  their  sembluunt,  did  entreat : 

And  eke  all  Cupids  warres  they  did  repeate, 

And  cruell  battailes,  v.'hich  he  whilome  fought 

Gainst  all  the  gods  to  make  his  empire  great ; 

Besides  the  huge  massacres,  which  he  wrought 

On  mighty  kings  and  kesars  into  thraldome  brought. 


Therein  was  writ  how  often  thondring  love 
Had  felt  the  point  of  his  hart-]iercing  dart. 
And,  leaving  heavens  kingdome,  here  did  rove 
In  straunge  disguize,  to  slake  his  scalding  smart; 
Now,  like  a  ram,  faire  Ilelle  to  pervart. 
Now,  like  a  bull,  Europa  to  withdraw  : 
Ah,  how  the  fearefull  ladies  tender  hart 
Did  lively  seeme  to  tremble,  when  she  saw 
The  huge  seas  under  her  t'  obay  her  servaunts  law ! 


Soone  after  that,  into  a  golden  showre 
Himselfe  he  cbaung'd,  faire  Danae  to  vew ; 
And  through  the  roofe  of  her  strong  brasen  towre 
Did  raine  into  her  lap  an  bony  dew  ; 
The  whiles  her  foolish  garde,  that  little  knew 
Of  such  deceipt,  kept  th'  yron  dore  fast  bard. 
And  watcht  that  none  should  enter  nor  issew ; 
Vaine  was  the  watch,  and  bootlesse  all  the  ward, 
Whenas  the  god  to  golden  hew  himselfe  transfard. 


Then  was  he  tumd  into  a  snowy  svean, 

To  win  faire  Leda  to  his  lovely  trade : 

O  wondrous  skill,  and  sweet  wit  of  the  man. 

That  her  in  daffadillies  sleeping  made 

From  scorching  heat  her  daintie  limbes  to  shade ! 

Whiles  the  proud  bird,  ruffing  his  fethers  wyde 

And  brushing  his  faire  brest,  did  her  invade. 

She  slept ;  yet  twixt  her  eielids  closely  spyde 

How  towards  her  he  rusht,  and  smiled  at  his  pryde 


Then  shewd  it  how  the  Thebane  Semelee, 

Deceivd  of  geaious  Juno,  did  require 

To  see  him  in  his  soverayne  malestee 

Armd  with  his  thunderbolts  and  lightning  fire, 

Whens  dearely  she  with  death  bought  her  desire. 

But  fair  Alcmena  better  match  did  make, 

loying  his  love  in  likenes  more  entire  : 

Three  nights  m  one  they  say  that  for  her  sake     * 

He  then  did  put,  her  pleasures  lenger  to  partake. 


Twice  was  he  scene  in  soaring  eagles  shape. 
And  with  wide  winges  to  beat  the  buxome  ayre : 
Once,  when  he  with  Asterie  did  scape  ; 
Againe,  whenas  the  Trojane  boy  so  fayie 
He  snatcht  from  Ida  hill, and  with  him  bare: 
Wondrous  delight  it  was  there  to  behould 
How  the  rude  shepheards  after  him  did  stare. 
Trembling  through  feare  least  down  he  fallen  should 
And  often  to  him  calling  to  take  surer  hould. 

N  2 


130 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  III 


In  satjTes  shape  Antiopa  he  snatcht ; 
And  like  a  fire,  when  he  Aegiii'  assayd  : 
A  shepeheard,  when  Mnemosyne  he  catcht ; 
And  like  a  serpent  to  the  Thracian  mayd.       [playd, 
Whyles  thus  on  earth   great  love  these  pageaunts 
The  winged  boy  did  thrust  into  his  throne. 
And,  scoffing,  thus  unto  his  mother  sayd  ; 
"  Lo !  now  the  hevens  ohey  to  me  alone. 
And  take  me  for  their  love,  whiles  love  to  earth  is 
gone." 


And  thou,  faire  Phosbus,  in  thy  colours  bright 
Wast  there  enwoven,  aud  the  sad  distresse 
In  which  that  boy  thee  plonged,  for  despight 
That  thou  bewray'dst  his  mothers  wantonnesse, 
When  she  with  Mars  was  meynt  in  joyfulnesse  : 
Eorthy  he  thrild  thee  with  a  leaden  dart 
To  love  fair  Daphne,  which  thee  loved  lesse  ; 
Lesse  she  thee  lov'd  than  was  thy  iust  desart. 
Yet  was  thy  luve  her  death,  and  her  death  was  thy 
smart. 


So  lovedst  thou  the  lusty  Hyacinct ; 
So  lovedst  thou  the  faire  Coronis  deare  : 
Yet  both  are  of  thy  haplesse  hand  extinct ; 
Yet  both  in  flowres  doe  live  and  love  thee  beare, 
The  one  a  paunce,  the  other  a  sweete-breare  : 
For  griefe  whereof,  ye  mote  have  lively  seene 
The  god  himselfe  rending  his  golden  heare. 
And  breaking  quite  his  garlond  ever  greene, 
With  other  signes  of  sorrow  and  impatient  teene. 


Both  for  those  two,  and  for  his  owne  deare  sonne, 

The  Sonne  of  Climene,  he  did  repent ; 

Who,  bold  to  guide  the  charet  of  the  sunne, 

Himselfe  in  thousand  peeces  fondly  rent, 

And  all  the  world  with  flashing  fier  brent ; 

So  like,  that  all  the  walles  did  seeme  to  flame. 

Yet  cruell  Cupid,  not  herewith  content, 

Forst  him  eftsoones  to  follow  other  game, 

And  love  a  shepheards  daughter  for  his  dearest  dame. 


He  loved  Isse  for  his  dearest  dame, 

And  for  her  sake  her  cattell  fedd  awhile, 

And  for  her  sake  a  cowheard  vile  became  : 

Tlje  servant  of  Admetus,  cowheard  vile. 

Whiles  that  from  heaven  he  suffered  exile. 

Long  were  to  tell  each  other  lovely  fitt ; 

Now,  like  a  lyon  hunting  after  spoile  ; 

Now,  like  a  hag  ;  now,  like  a  faulcon  flit: 

All  which  in  that  faire  arras  was  most  lively  writ. 


Next  unto  bim  was  Neptune  pictured. 
In  his  divine  resemblance  wondrous  lyke  : 
His  face  was  rugged,  and  his  hoarie  bed 
Dropped  with  brackish  deaw  :  his  threeforkt  pyke 
He  stearnly  shooke,  and  therwith  fierce  did  stryke 
The  raging  billow^  s  that  on  every  syde 
They  trembling  stood,  and  mado  a  long  broad  dyke. 
That  his  swift  charet  might  have  passage  wvde. 
Which  foure  great  hippodames  did  draw  in  teme-wise 
tyde. 


His  seahorses  did  seeme  to  snort  amayne. 

And  from  their  nosethrilles  blow  the  brynie  stream© 

That  made  the  sparckling  waves  to  smoke  agayne 

And  flame  with  gold  ;  but  the  white  fomy  creame 

Did  shine  with  silver,  and  shoot  forth  his  beame  : 

The  god  himselfe  did  pensive  seeme  and  sad. 

And  hong  adowne  his  head  as  he  did  dreame  ; 

For  privy  love  his  brest  empierced  had, 

Ne  ought  but  deare  Bisaltis  ay  could  make  him  glad.. 


He  loved  eke  Iphimedia  deare. 

And  Aeolus  faire  deughter,  Arne  hight, 

For  whom  he  turned  himselfe  into  a  stearo. 

And  I'edd  on  fodder  to  beguile  her  sight. 

Also,  to  win  Deucalions  daughter  bright. 

He  turned  himselfe  into  a  dolphin  fayre  ; 

And,  like  a  winged  horse,  he  tooke  his  flight 

To  snaky-locke  Medusa  to  repayre, 

On  whom  he  got  faire  Pegasus  that  flitteth  in  the  ayre. 


Next  Saturne  was,  (but  who  would  ever  weene 

That  sullein  Saturne  ever  weend  to  love  1 

Yet  love  is  sullein,  and  Saturnlike  seene, 

As  he  did  for  Erigone  it  prove,) 

That  to  a  centaure  did  himselfe  transmove. 

So  proov'd  it  eke  that  gratious  god  of  wine. 

When,  for  to  compasse  Philliras  hard  love. 

He  turnd  himselfe  into  a  fruitfuU  vine. 

And  into  her  faire  bosome  made  his  grapes  decline 


Long  were  to  tell  the  amorous  assayes, 
And  gentle  pangues,  with  which  be  maked  meeke 
The  niightie  Mars,  to  learne  his  wanton  playes; 
How  oft  for  Venus,  and  how  often  eek 
For  many  other  nymphes,  he  sore  did  shreek  ; 
With  womanish  teares,  and  with  unwarlike  smarts. 
Privily  moystening  his  horrid  cheeke  : 
There  was  he  j)ainted  full  of  burning  dartes. 
And  many  wide  woundes  launched  through  his  inner 
partes. 

XLV. 

Ne  did  he  spare  (so  cruell  was  the  elfe) 

His  owne  deare  mother,  (ah!  why  should  he  so?) 

Ne  did  he  spare  sometime  to  pricke  himselfe, 

That  he  might  taste  the  sweet  consuming  woe, 

Which  he  had  wrought  to  many  others  moe. 

But,  to  declare  the  niournfull  tragedyes 

And  spoiles  wherewith  he  all  the  i;round  did  strow, 

IMore  eath  to  number  with  hoiv  many  eyes 

High  heven  beholdes  sad  lovers  nightly  theeveryes. 


Kings,  queenes,  lords,  ladies,  knights,  and  damsels 

Were  heap'd  together  with  the  vulgar  sort,      [gent 

And  mingled  with  the  raskall  rablement. 

Without  respect  of  jierson  or  of  port, 

To  shew  Dan  Cupids  powre  and  great  eflTiirt  : 

And  round  about  a  border  was  entrayld 

Of  broken  bowes  and  arruwes  shivered  short; 

And  a  long  bloody  river  through  them  rayld, 

So  lively,  and  so  like,  that  living  sf'uce  it  fayld. 


Cai^to  XL] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


181 


And  at  tbe  upper  end  of  that  faire  rowme 
riiere  was  au  altar  built  of  pretious  stone 
Of  passing  valew  and  of  great  renowme, 
On  which  there  stood  an  image  all  alone 
Of  ma>sy  gold,  whicli  with  his  owne  light  shone  ; 
And  winges  it  had  with  sondry  colours  dight, 
Wore  sondry  co'ours  tlit'n  the  proud  pavoue 
Beares  in  his  boasted  fan,  or  Iris  biight. 
When  her  discolourd  bow  she  spreds  through  heven 
brisrht. 


Blyndfold  lie  was  ;  and  in  his  cruell  fist 
A  morlall  bow  and  arrowes  keene  did  hold, 
With  wliich  he  shot  at  raiidon  when  him  list, 
Some  headed  Avith  sad  lead,  some  with  pure  gold  ; 
(Ah  !  man,  beware  how  thou  those  darles  behold  !) 
A  wounded  dragon  under  him  did  ly. 
Whose  hideous  tayle  his  lefte  foot  did  enfold. 
And  with  a  shaft  was  shor  through  either  eye. 
That  no  man  forth  might  draw,  iie  no  man  reraedye. 


And  underneath  his  feet  was  written  thus, 
Unto  the  Victor  of  the  gods  this  bee: 
And  all  the  people  in  that  ample  hous 
Did  to  thar  image  bowe  their  humble  knee. 
And  oft  committed  fowle  idolatree. 
That  wondrous  sight  faire  i5ritoniart  amazd, 
Ne  seeing  could  her  wonder  satislie, 
But  ever  more  and  more  upon  it  gazd, 
The  whiles  the  passing  brightnes  her  fraile  sences 
dazd. 


Tho,  as  she  backward  cast  her  busie  eye 
To  search  each  secrete  of  that  goodly  sted, 
Over  the  dore  thus  w-ritten  she  did  spye. 
Bee  bold :  she  oft  and  oft  it  over-red, 
Yet  could  not  find  what  sence  it  figured-: 
But  whatso  were  therein  or  writ  or  ment. 
She  was  no  whit  thereby  discouraged 
From  prosecuting  of  her  first  intent, 
But  forward  with  bold  steps  into  the  next  roome 
went. 


IMuch  fayrer  then  the  former  was  that  roome. 
And  richlier,  by  many  partes,  arayd  ; 
For  not  with  arras  made  in  painefull  loome, 
But  with  pure  gold  it  all  was  overlayd, 
W'rought  with  wilde  antickes  which  their  follies  pliyd 
In  the  rich  metall,  as  tliey  living  were  : 
A  thousand  monstrous  formes  therein  v\-ere  made. 
Such  as  false  Love  doth  oft  upon  him  weare  ; 
For   love  in  thousand   monstrous  formes   doth  oft 
appeare. 

LII. 

And,  all  about,  the  glistring  walles  were  hong 
With  warlike  spoiles  and  with  victorious  pniyes 
Of  mightie  coni|uerours  and  captaines  strong. 
Which  were  wliilome  captived  in  their  dayes 
To  cruell  love,  and  wrought  their  owne  decayes  : 
Their  swerds  and  speres  were  broke,  and  haubt-rques 

rent. 
And  their  proud  girlonds  of  tryumphant  bayes 
Troden  in  dust  with  fury  insolent. 
To  shew  the  victors  miuht  and  merciless  intent. 


The  warlike  mayd,  beholding  earnestly 
The  goodly  ordinaunce  of  this  rich  place, 
Did  greatly  wonder  :  ne  could  satisfy 
Her  greedy  eyes  with  gazing  a  long  space  : 
But  more  she  mervaild  that  no  footings  trace 
Nor  wight  appeard,  but  wastefull  emptiness 
And  solemne  silence  over  all  that  place  : 
Straunge  thing  it  seem'd,  that  none  was  to  possesse 
So  rich  purveyaunce,  ne  them  keepe  with  careful 
nesse. 


And,  as  she  lookt  about,  she  did  behold 
How  over  that  same  dore  was  likewise  writ, 
Be  bolde,  be  bolde,  and  every  where.  Be  bold  ; 
That  much  she  muz'd,  yet  could  not  construe  it 
By  any  ridling  skill  or  commune  wit. 
At  last  she  spyde  at  that  rowmes  upper  end 
Another  yron  dore,  on  which  was  writ, 
Be  not  too  bold ;  whereto  though  she  did  bend 
Her  earnest  miude,  yet  wist  not  what  it  might  ioa 
tend. 


Thus  she  there  wayted  untill  eventyde, 
Yet  living  creature  none  she  saw  appeare. 
And  now  sad  shadowes  gan  the  world  to  hyde 
From  mortall  vew,  and  wrap  in  darkenes  dreare  j 
Yet  nould  she  d'off  her  weary  armes,  for  feare 
Cf  secret  daunger,  ne  let  sleepe  oppresse 
Her  heavy  eyes  with  natures  burdein  deare, 
But  drew  herselfe  aside  in  sickernesse. 
And  her  welpointed  wepons  did  about  her  drease/ 


Ifc3 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IlJ 


CANTO  XII. 

Tlie  niaslie  of  Cupid,  and  tli' enchaun- 
ted  chamber  are  displayd  ; 

Whence  Britomart  redeemes  faire  A. 
moret.  through  charmes  decayd. 


Tho,  whenas  chearelesse  night  yeovered  had 

Fa\Te  heaven  with  an  universal!  clowd, 

That  every  wight  dismayd  witlj  darkenes  sad 

In  silence  and  in  sleepe  themselves  did  shrowd, 

She  heard  a  shrilling  trumpet  sound  alowd, 

Signe  of  nigh  battaill,  or  got  victory  : 

Nought  therewith  daunted  was  her  courage  prowd. 

But  rather  stird  to  cruell  enmity, 

Expecting  ever  when  some  foe  she  might  descry. 


With  that,  an  hideous  storme  of  winde  arose, 
With  dreadfuU  thunder  and  lightning  atwixt, 
And  an  earthquake,  as  if  it  streight  would  lose 
The  worlds  foundations  from  his  centre  fixt : 
A  direfull  stench  of  smoke  and  sulphure  mixt 
Ensewd,  whose  novaunce  fild  the  fearefull  sted 
From  the  fourth  liowre  of  night  untill  the  sixt ; 
Yet  the  bold  Britonesse  was  nought  ydred, 
Though  much  emmov'd,  but  stedfast  still  persevered. 


All  suddeinly  a  stormy  whirlwind  blew 
J'liroughout  the  house,  that  clapped  every  dore, 
\\  ith  which  that  yron  wicket  open  flew. 
As  it  with  mighty  levers  had  bene  tore; 
And  forth  yssewd,  as  on  the  readie  flore 
Of  some  theatre,  a  grave  personage 
ri'iit  in  his  hand  a  braunch  of  luurell  bore, 
With  comely  liaveour  and  count'nance  sage, 
Vclad  in  costly  garments  fit  for  tragicke  stage. 


Proceeding  to  the  midst  he  stil  did  stand, 
As  if  in  minde  he  somewhat  had  to  say  ; 
And  to  the  vulgare  beckning  with  his  hand. 
In  signe  of  silence,  as  to  heare  a  play, 
By  lively  actions  he  gan  bewray 
Some  argument  of  matter  ])assioned; 
Which  doen,  he  backe  rotyrcil  soft  away, 
And  passing  by,  his  name  discovered. 
Ease,  on  his  robe  in  golden  letters  cyphered. 


The  noble  mayd  still  standing  all  this  vewd. 
And  merveild  at  his  straunije  intendiment  ; 
With  that  a  ioyous  fellowship  issewd 
Of  minstrales  making  goodly  meriment. 
With  wanton  bardes,  and  rymcrs  impudent; 
All  which  together  song  full  chearefully 
A  lav  of  loves  delight  wilh  sweet  concent; 
After  whom  murcht  a  iollv  coiiipanv. 
In  manner  of  a  maske,  enranged  orderly. 


The  whiles  a  most  delitious  harmony 

In  full  straunge  notes  was  sweetly  heard  to  sound. 

That  the  rare  sweetnesse  of  the  melody 

The  feeble  sences  wholv  did  confound. 

And  the  fravle  soule  in  deepe  delight  nigh  drownd  : 

And,  when  it  ceast,  shrill  trompets  lowd  did  bray. 

That  their  report  did  far  away  rebound  ; 

And,  when  they  ceast,  it  gan  againe  to  play. 

The  whiles  the  maskers  marched  forth  in  trim  aray. 


The  first  was  Fansy,  like  a  lovely  hoy 
Of  rare  aspect  and  beautie  without  peare, 
JMatchable  either  to  that  ympe  of  Troy, 
Whom  love  did  love  and  chose  his  cup  to  beare ; 
Or  that  same  daintie  lad,  which  was  so  deare 
To  great  Alciiies,  that,  whenas  he  dyde, 
He  wailed  womanlike  with  many  a  teare. 
And  every  wood  and  every  vallev  wyde 
He  filld  with  Hylas  name ;  the  nymphes  eke  Hylas 
cryde. 

vni. 

His  garment  neither  was  of  silke  nor  say, 

I')Ut  paynted  plumes  in  goodly  order  dight. 

Like  as  the  sunburnt  Indians  do  aray 

Their  tawney  bodies  in  their  proudest  plight : 

As  those  same  plumes,  so  seemd  he  vaine  and  light, 

That  bv  his  gate  might  easily  appeare ; 

P'or  still  he  far'd  as  dauncing  in  delight. 

And  in  his  hand  a  windy  fan  did  beare. 

That  in  the  ydle  ayre  he  mov'd  still  here  and  theare. 


And  him  beside  marcht  amorous  Desyre, 
Who  seemd  of  ryper  J'eares  then  th'  other  swayne, 
Yet  was  that  other  swayne  this  elders  syre, 
And  gave  him  being,  commune  to  them  twayne: 
His  garment  was  disguysed  very  vayne. 
And  his  emhrodered  bonet  sat  awry  : 
Twixt  both  his  hands  fewsjvarks  he  close  did  strayne, 
Which  still  he  blew  and  kindled  busily. 
That  sooiie  they  lile  conceiv'd,  and  i'orth  in  flames 
did  fly. 

X. 

Next  after  him  went  Doubt,  who  was  yclad 
In  a  discolour'd  cote  of  straunge  disguyse, 
That  at  his  bncke  a  brode  capuciio  had, 
And  sleeves  dcpendaunt  Albanese-wyse  ; 
He  lookt  askew  with  his  mislrustfull  eyes. 
And  ijyccly  trode,  as  thornes  hiy  in  his  way. 
Or  that  the  fiore  to  shriiike  he  did  avyse ; 
And  on  a  broken  re(  d  he  still  did  stay 
His  feeble  steps,  which  shrunck  when  hard  thereoi 
he  lav. 


Canto  XII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


ili3 


With  him  went  Daunger,  cloth'd  in  ragged  weed 
Made  of  beares  skin,  that  him  more  dreadfull  made 
Yet  his  owne  face  was  dreadfull,  ne  did  need 
Straunge  horrour  to  deforme  his  griesly  shade  : 
A  net  in  th'  one  hand,  and  a  rusty  blade 
In  th'  other  was  ;  this  IMischiefe,  that  Mishap  ; 
With  th'  one  his  foes  he  threatned  to  invade, 
With  th'  other  he  his  friends  ment  to  enwrap  : 
For  whom  he  could  not  kill  he  practizd  to  entrap. 


Next  him  was  Feare,  all  arra'd  from  top  to  toe, 
Yet  thought  himselfe  not  safe  enough  thereby, 
But  feard  each  shadow  moving  to  or  froe  ; 
And,  his  owne  amies  when  glittering  he  did  spy 
Or  clashing  heard,  he  fast  away  did  fly, 
As  ashes  pale  of  hew,  and  winged  heeld  ; 
And  evermore  on  Daunger  fixt  his  eye. 
Gainst  whom  he  alwayes  bent  a  brasen  shield. 
Which  his  right  hand  unarmed  fearetully  did  wield. 


With  him  went  Hope  in  rancke,  a  handsome  mayd, 

Of  chearefull  looke  and  lovely  to  behold  ; 

In  silken  samite  she  was  light  arayd. 

And  her  fayre  lockes  were  woven  up  in  gold  : 

She  alway  smyld,  and  in  her  hand  did  hold 

An  holy-water-sprinckle,  dipt  in  deowe, 

With  which  she  sprinckled  favours  manifold 

On  whom  she  list,  and  did  great  liking  sheowe. 

Great  liking-  unto  many,  but  true  love  to  feowe. 


And  after  them  Dissemblaunce  and  Suspect 
Marcht  in  one  rancke,  yet  an  unequall  paire  ; 
For  she  was  gentle  and  of  milde  aspect. 
Courteous  to  all  and  seeming  debonaire. 
Goodly  adorned  and  exceeding  faire  ; 
Yet  was  that  all  but  paynted  and  purlojTied,  [haire  ; 
And  her  bright  browes  vi-ere  deckt  with   borrowed 
Her  deeds  were  forged,  and  her  words  false  coynd. 
And  alwaies  in  her  hand  two  clewes  of  silke  she 
twynd : 

XV. 

But  he  was  fowle,  ill  favoured,  and  grim. 
Under  his  eiebrowes  looking  still  askaunce  ; 
\nd  ever,  as  Dissemblaunce  laught  on  him, 
Her  lowrd  on  her  with  daungerous  eve-glaunce, 
Shewing  his  nature  in  his  countenaunce ; 
His  rolling  eies  did  never  rest  in  place. 
But  walkte  each  where  for  feare  of  hid  mischaunce. 
Holding  a  lattis  still  before  his  face. 
Through  which  hestil  did  peep  as  forward  he  did 
pace. 

XVI. 

Next  him  went  Griefe  and  Fury  matcht  yfere  ; 

Griefe  all  in  sable  sorrowiully  clad, 

Downe  hangmg  his  dull  head  with  heavy  chere. 

Yet  inly  being  more  then  seeming  sad  : 

A  paire  of  pincers  in  his  hand  he  had. 

With  which  he  pinched  people  to  the  hart, 

That  from    henceforth  a  wretched  life  they  ladd. 

In  willfull  hmjjuor  and  consuming  smart. 

Dying  each  day  with  inward  wounds  of  dolours  dart. 


But  Fury  was  fidl  ill  appareiled 
In  rags,  that  naked  nigh  she  did  appeare. 
With  ghastly  looks  and  dreadfull  drerilied  ; 
And  from  her  backe  her  garments  she  did  teare, 
And  from  her  head  ofte  rente  her  snarled  hears ; 
In  her  right  hand  a  tirehrand  shee  did  tosse 
About  her  head,  still  roaming  here  and  there  ; 
As  a  dismayed  deare  in  chace  embost, 
Forgetfull  of  his  safety,  hath  his  right  way  loit. 


After  them  went  Displeasure  and  Pleasaunce, 

He  looking  lompish  and  full  suUein  sad. 

And  hanging  downe  his  heavy  countenaunce  ; 

She  chearfull,  fresh,  and  full  of  ioyaunce  glad. 

As  if  no  sorrow  she  ne  felt  ne  dr;id  ; 

That  evill  matched  paire  they  seemd  to  bee : 

An  angry  waspe  th'  one  in  a  viall  had, 

Th'  other  in  hers  an  hony  lady-bee. 

Thus  marched  these  six  couples  forth  in  faire  degree. 


After  all  these  there  marcht  a  most  fau-e  dame. 

Led  of  two  grysie  villeins,  th'  one  Despight, 

The  other  cleped  Cruelty  by  name  : 

She  dolefull  lady,  like  a  dreary  spright 

Cald  by  strong  charmes  out  of  eternall  night, 

Had  Deathes  own  ymage  figurd  in  her  face. 

Full  of  sad  signes,  fearfuU  to  living  sight ; 

Yet  in  that  horror  shewd  a  seemely  grace. 

And  with  her  feeble  feete  did  move  a  comely  pace. 


Her  hrest  all  naked,  as  nett  yvory 
Without  adorne  of  gold  or  silver  bright 
Wherewith  the  craftesman  wonts  it  beautify. 
Of  her  dew  honour  was  despoyled  quight ; 
And  a  wide  wound  therein  (O  ruefuU  sight !) 
Entrenched  deep  with  knyfe  accursed  keene. 
Yet  freshly  bleeding  forth  her  fainting  spright, 
(The  worke  of  cruell  hand)  was  to  be  seene, 
That  dyde  in  sanguine  red  her  skin  all  snowy  cleene  ■ 


At  that  wide  orifice  her  trembling  hart 
Was  drawne  forth,  and  in  silver  basin  layd, 
Quite  through  transfixed  with  a  deadly  dart, 
And  in  her  blood  yet  steeming  fresh  embayd. 
And  those  two  villeins  (which  her  steps  upstayd. 
When  her  weake  feete  could  scarcely  her  sustaine, 
And  fading  vitall  powres  gan  to  fede,) 
Her  forward  still  with  torture  did  coustraine. 
And  evermore  encreased  her  consuuihig  paine. 


Next  after  her.  the  winged  god  himselfe 

Came  riding  on  a  lion  ravenous. 

Taught  to  obav  the  menage  of  that  elfe 

That  man  and  beast  with  j)owre  imperious 

Subdeweth  to  his  kingdonie  tyrannous  : 

His  blindfold  eies  he  bad  awhile  unbinde. 

That  his  proud  spoile  oi'  that  same  dolorous 

Fair  dame  he  might  behold  in  perfect  kicde ; 

Which  seene,  he  much  reioyced  in  his  criiell  minda 


184 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  111. 


Of  which  ful  prowd,  himselfe  uprearing  hye 

1!p  looked  round  about  with  sterne  disdayne, 

And  did  survay  his  goodly  company  ; 

And.  marshalling-  the  evil-ordered  trayne, 

With  that  the  darts  which  his  right  hand  did  straine 

Full  dreadfully  he  shooke,  that  all  did  quake. 

And  clapt  on  hye  his  coulourd  wingiis  twaine, 

'J'hat  all  his  many  it  affraide  did  make  : 

Jho,  blinding  him  againe,  bis  way  he  forth  did  take. 


Behinde  him  was  Reproch,  Repentaunce,  Shame  ; 
Reproch  the  first,  Shame  next,  Repent  behinde  • 
Repentaunce  feeble,  sorrowfull,  and  lame  ; 
Reproch  despightful,  carelesse,  and  unkinde  ; 
Shame  most  ill-favourd,  bestiall,  and  blinde  : 
Shame  lowrd, Repentaunce  sighd, Reproch  did  scould; 
Reproch  sharpe  stings, Repentaunce  whips  entwinde, 
Shame  burning  brond-yrons  in  her  band  did  hold  : 
All  three  to  each  unlike,  yet  all  made  in  one  mould. 


And  after  them  a  rude  confused  rout 

Of  persons  flockt,  whose  names  is  hard  to  read  : 

Emongst  them  was  sterne  Strife  ;  and  Anger  stout  ; 

Unquiet  Care  ;  and  fond  Unthriftybead  ; 

Lewd  Losse  of  Time;  and  Sorrow  seeming  deadj 

Inconstant  Chaunge  ;  and  false  Disloyalty  ; 

Consuming  Riotise  ;  and  guilty  Dread 

Of  heavenly  vengeaunce  ;  faint  Infirmity  ; 

Vile  Poverty ;  and,  lastly,  Death  with  infamy. 


There  were  full  many  moe  like  maladies, 

Whose  names  and  natures  I  note  readen  well  ; 

So  many  moe,  as  there  be  jshantasies 

In  wavering  wemens  witt,  that  none  can  tell, 

Or  paines  in  love,  or  punishments  in  hell : 

All  which  disguized  marcht  in  masking-wise 

About  the  chamber  by  the  damozell  : 

And  then  returned,  having  marched  thrise. 

Into  the  inner  rowme  from  whence  they  first  did  rise. 


So  soone  as  they  were  in,  the  dore  streightway 

Fast  locked,  driven  with  that  stormy  blast 

Which  first  it  opened,  and  bore  all  away. 

Then  the  brave  maid,  which  al  this  while  was  plast 

In  secret  shade,  and  saw  both  first  and  last. 

Issewed  forth  and  went  unto  the  dore 

To  enter  in,  but  fownd  it  locked  fast : 

In  vaine  she  thought  with  rigorous  uprore 

For  to  efforce,  when  charmes  had  closed  it  afore. 


Wliere  force  might  not  availe,  there  sleights  and  art 
She  cast  to  use,  both  fitt  for  iiard  emjirize  : 
Fortliv  from  that  same  rowme  not  to  de|jart 
rill  morrow  next  shee  did  herselfe  avize. 
When  tliat  same  maske  aj;aine  should  forth  arize. 
The  morrowe  next  apj)enrd  with  iouyous  clieare, 
Calling  men  to  their  daily  exercize  ; 
Then  she,  as  morrow  fresh,  herselfe  did  rears 
Out  of  her  secret  stand  thiit  day  for  to  outweare. 


All  that  day  she  outwore  in  wandering 

And  gazing  on  that  chambers  ornament. 

Till  that  againe  the  second  evening 

Her  covered  with  her  sable  vestiment, 

Wherewith  the  worlds  faire  beautie  she  hath  blent 

Then,  when  the  second  watch  was  almost  past. 

That  brasen  dore  flew  open,  and  in  went 

Bold  Britomart,  as  she  had  late  forecast. 

Nether  of  ydle  showes  nor  of  false  charmes  :i;j,hast 


So  soone  as  she  was  entred,  rownd  about 
Shee  cast  her  eies  to  see  what  was  become 
Of  all  those  persons  which  she  saw  without. 
But  lo  !  they  streight  were  vanisht  all  and  some  ; 
Ne  living  wight  she  saw  in  all  that  roome. 
Save  that  same  woefull  lady  ;  both  whose  hands 
Were  bounden  fast,  that  did  her  dl  become. 
And  her  small  waste  girt  rownd  with  yron  bands 
Unto  a  brasen  pillour,  by  the  which  she  stands. 


And,  her  before,  the  vile  enchaunter  sate, 
Figuring  straunge  characters  of  his  art  ; 
With  living  blood  he  those  characters  wrate. 
Dreadfully  dropping  from  her  dying  hart, 
Seeming  transfixed  with  a  cruel!  dart : 
And  all  perforce  to  make  her  him  to  love. 
Ah  !  who  can  love  the  worker  of  her  smart ! 
A  thousand  charmes  he  formerly  did  prove  ; 
Yet  thousand  charmes  could  not  her  stedfast  hart 
remove. 


Soon  as  that  virgin  knight  he  saw  in  place. 

His  wicked  bookes  in  hast  he  overthrew, 

Not  caring  his  long  labours  to  deftice  ; 

And,  fiercely  running  to  that  lady  trew, 

A  murdrous  knife  out  of  his  pocket  drew. 

The  which  he  thought,  for  villeinous  despight. 

In  her  tormented  bodie  to  embrew : 

But  the  stout  damzell  to  him  leaping  light 

His  cursed  hand  withheld,  and  maistered  his  might. 

XXXIII. 

From  her,  to  whom  his  fury  first  he  ment, 
The  wicked  weapon  rashly  he  did  wrest. 
And,  turning  to  herselfe  his  fell  intent, 
Un  wares  it  strooke  into  her  snowie  chest, 
That  litle  drops  empurjded  her  faire  brest. 
Exceeding  wroth  therewith  the  virgin  grew, 
Albe  the  wound  were  nothing  deepe  imprest, 
And  fiercely  forth  her  mortall  blade  she  drew, 
To  give  him  the  reward  for  such  vile  outrage  dew. 

XXXIV. 

So  mightily  she  smote  him,  that  to  ground 

He  fell  halfedead  ;  next  stroke  liim  should  have  slaine, 

Had  not  tlie  lady,  which  by  him  stood  bound, 

Dernly  unto  her  called  to  abstaine 

IVom  doing  him  to  dy  ;  for  else  her  paine 

Should  be  remedilesse  ;  sith  none  but  bee 

Which  wrought  it  could  the  same  recure  againe. 

Therewith  she  stayd  her  hand,  loth  stayd  to  bee  ; 

For  life  she  liim  envyde,  and  long'd  revenge  to  see. 


Canto  XII. t 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


185 


And  to  him  said  ;  "  Thou  wicked  man,  whose  meed 

For  so  huge  mischiefe  and  vile  villany 

Is  death,  or  if  that  ought  doe  death  exceed  ; 

lie  sure  that  nought  may  save  thee  from  to  dy 

Put  if  that  thou  this  dame  do  presently 

Ilestore  unto  her  health  and  former  state  ; 

'1  111-;  doe,  and  live  ;  els  dye  undoubtedly.*' 

Ill',  glad  of  life,  that  lookt  for  death  but  iafe, 

Did  yield  himselfe  right  willing  to  prolong  his  date  : 


And  rising  up  gan  streight  to  over-looke 

'J  iiose  cursed  leaves,  his  charmes  hack  to  reverse  : 

Full  dreadfull  thinges  out  of  that  baleful!  booke 

He  red,  and  measur'd  many  a  sad  verse. 

That  horrour  gan  the  virgins  hart  to  perse, 

And  her  fuire  locks  up  stared  stift'e  on  end. 

Hearing  him  those  same  bloody  lynes  reherse  ; 

And,  all  the  while  he  red,  she  did  extend 

Her  sword  high  over  him,  if  ought  he  did  oflend. 


Anon  she  gan  perceive  the  house  to  quake, 

And  all  the  dores  to  rattle  round  about ; 

Yet  all  that  did  not  her  dismaied  make, 

Nor  slack  her  threatfull  hand  for  daungers  dout, 

l)Ut  still  with  stedfast  eye  and  courage  stout 

Abode,  to  weet  what  end  would  come  of  all : 

At  last  thatmightie  chaine,  which  round  about 

Her  tender  waste  was  wound,  adowne  gan  fall, 

And  that  great  brasen  pillour  broke  in  peeces  small. 


The  cruell  Steele,  which  thrild  her  dying  hart, 

Fell  softly  forth,  as  of  his  owne  accord  ; 

And  the  wyde  wound,  which  lately  did  dispart 

Her  bleeding  brest  and  riven  bowels  gor'd, 

W  as  closed  up  as  it  had  not  beene  sor'd  ; 

And  every  part  to  safety  full  sownd. 

As  she  were  never  hurt,  was  soone  restord  : 

I  ho,  when  she  felt  herselfe  to  be  unbownd 

And  perfect  hole,  prostrate  she  fell  unto  thegrownd; 


Before  faire  Britomart  she  fell  prostrate, 
Sviymg ;  "  Ah  !  noble  knight,  what  worthy  meede 
Can  wretched  lady,  quitl  from  wofull  state, 
\ield  you  in  lieu  of  this  your  gracious  deed  ? 
Your  vertue  selfe  her  owne  reward  shall  breed, 
Even  immoitall  prayse  and  glory  wyde, 
\\  hich  I  your  vassall,  by  your  prowesse  freed. 
Shall  through  the  world  make  to  be  notifyde. 
And  goodly  well  advaunce  tliat  goodly  well   was 
tryde." 


But  Britomart,  uprearing  her  from  grownd, 
Said  ;  "  Gentle  dame,  reward  enough  I  weene. 
For  many  labours  more  than  1  have  found. 
This,  that  in  safetie  now  1  have  you  seene, 
And  meane  of  your  deliverance  have  beene  : 
Henceforth,  faire  lady,  comfort  to  you  take, 
And  put  away  remembrance  of  late  teene  ; 
Insted  thereof,  know  that  your  loving  make 
Hath  no  lesse  griefe  endured  for  your  gentle  sake. 


She  much  was  cheard  to  heare  him  mentiond, 

Whom  of  all  living  wightes  she  loved  best. 

Then  laid  the  noble  championesse  strong  bond 

Upon  th"  enchaunter  which  had  her  distrest 

So  sore,  and  with  foule  outrages  opprest : 

With  that  great  chaine,  wherewith  not  long  vgoe 

He  bound  that  pitteous  lady  prisoner  now  relest, 

Himselfe  she  bound,  more  worthy  to  be  so. 

And  captive  with  her  led  to  wretchednesse  and  wo. 


Returning  back,  those  goodly  rowmes  which  erst 
She  saw  so  rich  and  royally  aravd, 
Now  vanisht  utterly  and  cleane  subvorst 
She  found,  and  all  their  glory  quite  decavd  ; 
That  sight  of  such  a  chaunge  lier  much  dismavd. 
Thence  forth  descending  to  that  pei-lous  porch. 
Those  dreadfull  flames  she  also  found  delay d 
And  quenched  (juite  like  a  cons-umed  forch, 
That  erst  all  entrers  won,  so  cruelly  to  scorch. 


More  easie  issew  now  then  entrance  late 

She  found;'  for  now  that  fained  dreadfull  flame, 

Which  chokt  the  porch  of  that  enchaunted  gate 

And  passage  bard  to  ;ill  that  thither  came 

Was  vanisht  quite,  as  it  were  not  the  same, 

And  gave  her  leave  at  pleasure  forth  to  passe. 

Th'  enchaunter  selfe,  which  all  tliat  fraud  did  frame 

To  have  efturst  the  love  of  that  faire  lasse, 

Seeing  his  worke  now  wasted,  deepe  engrieved  was. 


But  wlien  the  victoresse  arrived  there 
Where  late  she  left  the  pensife  Scudamore 
With  her  own  trusty  squire,  both  full  of  feare. 
Neither  of  them  she  found  where  she  them  lore  : 
Thereat  her  noble  hart  was  stonisht  sore  ; 
But  most  faire  Amoret,  whose  gentle  spright 
Now  gan  to  feede  on  hope,  which  she  before 
Conceived  had,  to  see  her  own  deare  knight. 
Being  thereof  beguyld,  was  fild  with  new  affright. 


But  he,  sad  man,  when  he  had  long  in  drede 
Awayted  there  for  Britomarts  returne. 
Yet  saw  her  not,  nor  signe  of  her  good  speed, 
His  expectation  to  despaire  did  turne, 
IMisdeeming  sure  that  her  those  flames  did  bume  ; 
And  therefore  gan  advize  with  her  old  squire. 
Who  her  deare  nourslings  losseno  lesse  didmoume, 
Tbence  to  depart  for  further  aide  t'  enquire  : 
Where   let  them  wend  at  will,   whilest  here  I  doa 
respire. 


THE    FOURTH    BOOKE 


THE    FAERIE    QUEENE, 


CONTAYJJING 


THE  LEGEND  OF  CAMBEL  AND  TRIAMOND,  OR  OF  FRIENDSHIP 


The  ruo;ged  forhead,  tbat  with  grave  foresight 
Welds  king-domes  causes  and  affaires  of  state, 
My  looser  rimes,  I  wote,  doth  sharply  wite 
For  praising  love  as  I  have  done  of  late, 
And  magnifying  lovers  deare  debate  ; 
By  which  fraile  youth  is  oft  of  foUie  led, 
Through  false  allurement  of  that  pleasing  baite, 
That  better  were  in  vertues  discipled. 
Then  with  vaine  poemes  weeds  to  have  their  fancies 
fed. 


Such  ones  ill  iudge  of  love,  that  cannot  love, 

Ne  in  their  frosen  hearts  feele  kindly  flame  : 

Forthy  they  ought  not  thing  unknowne  reprove, 

Ne  naturall  affection  faultlesse  blame 

For  fault  of  few  that  have  abusd  the  same  ; 

For  it  of  honor  and  all  vertue  is 

The  roote,  and  brings  forth  glorious  flowres  of  fame, 

That  crowne  true  lovers  with  immortall  blis, 

The  meed  of  them  that  love,  and  do  not  live  amisse. 


Which  whoso  list  looke  backe  to  former  ages, 

And  call  to  count  the  things  that  then  were  donne. 

Shall  find  that  all  the  workes  of  those  wise  sages. 

And  brave  exploits  which  j;reat  heroes  wonne, 

In  love  wpre  either  ended  or  begunne : 

^Vitnesse  the  father  of  Philosophie, 

Which  to  his  Critias,  shaded  oft  from  sunne, 

Of  love  full  manie  lessons  did  apply, 

The  which  these  stoicke  censours  cannot  well  deny. 


To  such  tlierefore  I  do  not  sing  at  all ; 
Ikit  to  that  sacred  saint  my  soveraione  queene 
In  whose  chast  brest  all  bountie  naturall 
And  treasures  of  true  love  enlocked  beene, 
]5ove  all  her  sexe  that  ever  yet  was  seene  ; 
To  her  I  sing  of  love,  that  loveth  best, 
And  best  is  lov'd  of  all  alive  I  weene  ; 
To  her  this  song,  most  fitly  is  addrest, 
The  Queene  of  Love,  and  Prince  of  Peace  from  Lcs> 
yen  blest. 


Which  that  she  may  the  better  deigne  to  heare, 

Do  thou,  dread  infant,  Venus  dearling  dove, 

From  her  Jiigh  spirit  chase  imperious  feare. 

And  use  of  awfull  maiestie  remove  : 

Insted  thereof  with  drops  of  melting  love, 

Deawd  with  ambrosiall  kisses,  by  thee  gotten 

From  thy  sweete-smyling  mother  from  above, 

Sprinckle  her  heart,  and  haughtie  courage  soften, 

That  she  may  hearke  to  love,  and  reade  this  lesson  often. 


Canto  l.J 


THE  FAERIE  QULENE, 


CANTO  I. 

Fayre  Britomart  saves  Amoret : 

buessa  discord  breedes 
Twixt  Scudaraour  and  Blandamour  ; 

Their  fight  and  warlike  deedes. 


Of  lovers  sad  calamities  of  old 

Full  many  piteous  stories  doe  remaine, 

But  none  more  piteous  ever  was  ytold 

Then  tl)at  of  Amorets  hart-binding  chaine, 

And  this  of  Florimels  unworthio  paine  : 

The  deare  compassion  of  whose  bitter  fit 

My  softned  heart  so  sorely  doth  constraine, 

That  I  with  teares  full  oft  doe  pittie  it, 

And  oftentimes  doe  wish  it  never  had  bene  writ. 


For,  from  the  time  that  Scudamour  her  bought 

In  perilous  fight,  she  never  ioyed  day  ; 

A  perilous  fight  !  when  he  with  force  her  brought 

From  twentie  knights  that  did  him  all  assay  ; 

Yet  fairely  well  he  did  them  all  dismay, 

And  with  great  glorie  both  the  shield  of  Love 

And  eke  the  ladie  selfe  he  brought  away  ; 

Whom  having  wedded,  as  did  him  behove, 

A  new  unknoweu  mischiefe  did  from  him  remove. 


For  that  same  vile  enchauntour  Busyran, 
The  very  selfe  same  day  that  she  was  wedded, 
Amidst  the  bridale  feast,  whilest  every  man 
Surcharg'd  with  wine  were  heedlesse  and  ill-hedded. 
All  bent  to  mirth  before  the  bride  was  bedded, 
Brought  in  that  mask  of  love  which  late  was  showen  ; 
And  there  the  ladie  ill  of  friends  bestedded, 
By  way  of  sport,  as  oft  in  maskes  is  knowen. 
Conveyed  quite  away  to  living  wight  unknowen. 


Seven  moneths  he  so  her  kept  in  bitter  smart, 
Because  his  sinfuU  lust  she  would  not  serve, 
Untill  such  time  as  noble  Britomart 
Released  her,  that  else  was  like  to  sterve 
Through  cruell  knife  that  her  deare  heart  did  kerve  : 
And  now  she  is  with  her  upon  the  way 
Marching  in  lovely  wise,  that  could  deserve 
No  spot  of  blame,  though  spite  did  oft  assay 
To  blot  her  with  dishonor  of  so  faire  a  pray. 


Yet  should  it  be  a  pleasant  tale,  to  tell 
The  diverse  usage,  and  demeanure  daint, 
That  each  to  other  made,  as  oft  befell : 
For  Amoret  right  fearefull  was  and  faint 
Lest  she  with  blame  her  honor  should  attaint. 
That  everie  word  did  tremble  as  she  spake, 
And  everie  looke  was  coy  and  wondrous  quaint, 
And  everie  limbe  that  touched  her  did  quake ; 
Yet  should  she  not  but  curt.flus  countenance  to  her 
make. 


For  well  she  wist,  as  true  it  was  indeed. 

That  her  live's  lord  and  patrone  of  her  health 

Right  well  deserved,  as  his  duefuU  meed, 

Her  love,  her  service,  and  her  utmost  wealth  : 

All  is  his  iustly  that  all  freely  deal'th. 

Nalhlesse  htT  honor  dearer  then  her  life 

She  sought  to  save,  as  thing  reserv'd  from  stealth  ; 

Die  had  she  lever  with  enchanters  knife 

Then  to  be  false  in  love,  profest  a  virgine  wife. 


Thereto  her  feare  was  made  so  much  the  greater 
Through  fine  abusion  of  (hat  Briton  mayd  ; 
Who,  for  to  hide  her  fained  sex  the  better 
And  maske  her  wounded  mind,  both  did  and  sayd 
Full  many  things  so  doubtfull  to  be  wayd. 
That  well  she  wist  not  what  by  them  to  gesse  : 
For  othorwhiles  to  her  she  purpos  made 
Of  love,  and  otherwhiles  of  lustfulnesse. 
That  much  she  feard  his  mind  would  grow  to  some 
excesse. 


His  will  she  feard  ;  for  him  she  surely  thought 

To  be  a  man,  such  as  indeed  he  seemed  ; 

And  much  the  more,  by  that  he  lately  wrought, 

When  her  from  deadly  thraldonie  he  redeemed. 

For  which  no  service  she  too  much  esteemed  : 

Yet  dread  of  shame  and  doubt  of  fowle  dishonor 

]\Iade  her  not  yeeld  so  much  as  due  she  deemed. 

Yet  Britomart  attended  duly  on  her. 

As  well  became  a  knight,  and  did  to  her  all  honor. 


It  so  befell  one  evening  that;  they  came 
Unto  a  castell,  lodged  there  to  bee, 
^Vheve  many  a  knight,  and  many  a  lovely  dame. 
Was  then  assembled  deeds  of  amies  to  see  : 
Amongst  all  which  was  none  more  faire  then  shee. 
That  many  of  them  mov'd  to  eye  her  sore. 
The  custome  of  that  place  was  such,  that  hee. 
Which  had  no  love  nor  lemman  there  in  store. 
Should  either  winne  him  one,  or  lye  without  the  dore, 


Amongst  the  rest  there  was  a  iolly  knight. 

Who,  being  asked  for  his  love,  avow'd 

That  fairest  Amoret  was  his  by  right. 

And  offred  that  to  iustifie  alowd. 

The  warlike  virgine,  seeing  his  so  prowd 

And  boastfull  chalenge,  vvexed  inlie  wroth. 

But  for  the  present  did  her  anger  shrowd  ; 

And  sayd,  her  love  to  lose  she  was  full  loth, 

But  either  he  should  neither  of  them  have,  or  both. 


188 


THE  FAi:rxiF,  Qur:j:NE 


[Book  IV 


So  foorth  they  went,  and  booth  together  giiisted; 
But  that  sameyounker  soone  was  overthrowue, 
And  made  repent  tliat  he  had  raslily  lusted 
For  thing  unlawful!  that  was  not  liis  owne  : 
Vet  since  he  seemed  valiant,  though  unknowne, 
She,  that  no  lesse  was  courteous  then  stout, 
Cast  how  to  salve,  that  both  the  custome  showne 
Were  kept,  and  yet  that  kniglit  not  locked  out; 
That  seem'd  full   hard  t'accord  two  things  so  far  iu 
dout. 


The  seneschall  was  cal'd  to  deeme  tlie  right; 
Whom  she  requir'd,  that  tirst  favre  Amoret 
Might  be  to  her  allow'd,  as  to  a  knight 
That  did  her  win  and  free  from  clialenge  set : 
Which  straight  to  her  was  yeelded  without  let: 
Then,  since  that  strange  knights  love  from  him  was 
She  claim'd  that  to  herselfe,  as  ladies  det,    [quitted. 
He  as  a  knight  might  iustly  be  admitted  ; 
So  none  should  be  out  shut,  sith  all  of  loves  were  fitted. 


With  that,  her  glistring  helmet  she  unlaced  ; 
Which  doft,  her  golden  lockes,  that  were  upbound 
Still  in  a  knot,  unto  her  heeles  downe  traced, 
And  like  a  silken  veile  in  compasse  round 
About  her  backe  and  all  her  bodie  wound  : 
Like  as  the  shining  skie  in  summers  night. 
What  time  the  dayes  with  scorching  heat  abound, 
Is  creasted  all  with  lines  of  firie  light. 
That  it  prodigious  seemes  in  common  peoples  sight. 


uch,  when  those  knights  and  ladies  all  about 
Beheld  her,  all  were  with  amazement  smit. 
And  every  one  gan  grow  in  secret  dout 
Of  this  and  that,  according  to  each  wit  : 
Some  thought  that  some  enchantment  faygned  it: 
Some,  that  Bellona  in  that  warlike  wise 
'J'o  them  appear'd,  with  shield  and  armour  fit ; 
Some,  that  it  was  a  maske  of  strange  disguise  : 
So  diversely  each  one  did  sundrie  doubts  devise. 


But  that  young  knight,  which  through  her  gentle  deed 
Was  to  that  goodly  fellowship  rest'or'd, 
Ten  thousand  thankes  did  yeeld  her  for  her  meed. 
And,  doubly  overcommen,  her  ador'd  : 
So  did  they  all  their  former  strife  accord  ; 
And  eke  fay  re  Amoret,  now  freed  from  feare, 
More  franke  affection  did  to  her  aflbrd  ; 
And  to  her  bed,  which  she  was  wont  forbeare. 
Now  freely  drew,  and  found  right  safe  assurance 
theaie : 


A'here  all  that  night  thfy  of  their  loves  did  treat, 
And  hard  adventures,  twixt  themselves  alone, 
That  each  t!ie  other  gau  with  i)assion  great 
And  griefuU  pittie  privately  bemone. 
The  niorow  next,  so  soone  as  I'itan  shone. 
They  both  uprose,  and  to  their  waies  them  di"-hl ; 
Long  waiidred  they,  yet  never  met  witii  none 
That  to  their  willes  could  them  direct  aright. 
Or  to  them  tydings  tell  that  mote  their  harts  delight. 


Lo  thus  fhev  lode,  till  at  tlie  last  they  spide 
Two  armed  knights  that  toward  them  did  pace, 
And  ech  of  tliem  had  ryding  by  his  side 
A  ladle,  seeming  in  so  farre  a  space  . 
But  ladies  none  they  were,  albee  in  face 
And  outward  shew  faire  semblance  they  did  beare  ; 
For,  under  maske  of  beautie  and  good  grace 
Vile  treason  and  fowle  falshood  hidden  were. 
That  mote  to  none  but  lo  the  warie  wise  appears 


XVIII. 

The  one  of  thfm  the  false  Duessa  bight. 

That  now  had  chang'd  her  former  wonted  hew  ; 

For  she  could  d'on  so  manie  shapes  in  sight, 

As  ever  could  cameleon  colours  new  ; 

So  could  she  forge  all  colours,  save  the  trew  : 

The  other  no  whit  better  was  than  shee. 

But  that,  such  us  she  was,  she  pliine  did  shew; 

Yet  otherwise  much  worse,  if  worse  might  bee. 

And  da^ly  more  offensive  unto  each  degree  • 


Tier  name  was  Ate,  mother  of  debate 
And  all  dissention  which  doth  dayly  grow 
Amongst  fraile  men,  that  many  a  publike  state 
And  many  a  pri\-ate  oft  doth  overtlirow. 
Pier  false  Duessa,  wdio  full  well  did  know 
To  be  most  fit  to  trouble  noble  knights 
Which  hunt  for  honor,  raised  from  below 
Out  of  the  dwellings  of  the  damned  sprights, 
W  here  she  in  darkues  wastes  her  cursed  daies  and 
nights. 


Hard  by  the  gates  of  hell  her  dwelling  is ; 
There,  whereas  all  the  jdagues  and  hannes  abound 
Which  punish  wicked  men  that  walke  amisse : 
It  is  a  darksome  delve  farre  under  ground. 
With  thornes  and  barren  brakes  environd  round, 
That  none  the  same  may  easily  out  win  ; 
Yet  many  waies  to  enter  mav  be  found, 
But  none  to  issue  forth  wiien  one  is  in  : 
For  discord  harder  is  to  end  then  to  begrin. 


And  all  within,  the  riven  walls  were  hung 
With  ragged  monuments  of  times  fbrepast, 
All  which  the  sad  effects  of  discord  sung  : 
There  were  rent  robes  and  broken  scepters  plast ; 
Altars  defyld,  and  holy  things  defast ; 
Disshivered  speares,  and  shields  ytorne  in  twaine ; 
Great  cities  ransackt,  and  strong  castles  rast : 
Nations  captived,  and  huge  armies  slaine  : 
Of  all  which  ruiues  there  some  relicks  did  remaine. 


There  was  the  signe  of  antique  Babylon  ; 

Of  fatall  Thebes  ;  of  Rome  tliat  raigned  long; 

Of  sacred  Salem  ;  and  sad  Ilion, 

For  meniorie  of  which  on  high  there  Iiong 

The  golden  ap])le,  cause  of  all  their  wrong, 

For  which  the  three  faire  goddesses  did  strive  : 

There  also  was  the  name  of  iNimrod  strong  ; 

Of  Alexander,  and  his  i)rinces  five 

Which  shar'dto  them  the  sj)oiles  that  he  had  got  alive: 


Canto  I.J 


THE   FAKRIP:  QUKENE. 


189 


And  there  the  relicks  of  the  drunken  fray, 
The  which  amongst  the  Lapithees  befell  ; 
And  of  the  bloodie  feast,  which  sent  away 
So  many  centaures  drunken  soules  to  hell, 
That  under  great  Alcides  furie  fell : 
And  of  the  dreadfull  discord,  which  did  drive 
The  noble  Argonauts  to  outrage  fell, 
That  each  of  life  sought  others  to  deprive, 
AU  mindlesse  of  the  goldeeu  fleece,  which   made 
them  strive. 


And  eke  of  private  persons  many  moe, 
That  were  too  long  a  worke  to  count  them  all ; 
Some,  of  sworne  friends  that  did  their  faith  forgoe  ; 
Some,  of  borne  brethren  prov'd  unnaturall : 
Some,  of  deare  lovers  foes  perpetuall  : 
Witnesse  their  broken  bandes  there  to  be  seene, 
Their  girlonds  rent,  their  bowres  despoyled  all  ; 
The  moniments  whereof  there  byding  beene. 
As  plaine  as  at  the  first  when  they  were  fresh  and 
greene. 

XXV. 

Such  was  her  house  within  ;  but  all  without, 
The  barren  ground  was  full  of  wicked  weedes, 
Which  she  herselfe  had  sowen  all  about. 
Now  growen  great,  at  first  of  little  seedes, 
The  seedes  of  evill  wordes  and  factious  deedes  ; 
Which,  when  to  ripenesse  due  they  growen  arre, 
Bring  forth  an  infinite  increase  that  breedes 
Tumultuous  trouble,  and  contentious  iarre, 
''"he  which  most  often  end  in  bloudshed  and  in  warre. 


And  those  same  cursed  seedes  doe  also  serve 

To  her  for  bread,  and  yeeld  her  living  food  : 

For  life  it  is  to  her,  when  others  sterve 

Through  mischievous  debate  and  deadly  feood, 

That  she  may  sucke  their  life  and  drinke  their  blood, 

With  which  she  from  her  childhood  had  bene  fed  : 

For  she  at  first  was  borne  of  hellish  brood. 

And  by  infefnall  furies  nourished  ; 

That  by  her  monstrous  shape  might  easily  be  red. 


Her  face  most  fowle  and  filthy  was  to  see, 
With  squinted  eyes  contrarie  wayes  intended. 
And  loathly  mouth,  unmeete  a  mouth  too  bee, 
That  nought  but  gall  and  venim  comprehended, 
And  wicked  wordes  that  God  and  man  offended  : 
Her  lying  tongue  was  in  two  parts  divided, 
And  both  the  parts  did  speake,  and  both  contended  ; 
And  as  her  tongue  so  was  her  hart  discided, 
That  never  thought  one  thmg,  but  doubly  stil  was 
guided. 


Ah  as  she  double  spake,  so  heard  she  double, 
W  ith  mutclilesse  eares  deformed  and  distort, 
Fild  with  false  rumors  and  seditious  trouble. 
Bred  in  assemblies  of  the  vulgar  sort, 
That  still  are  led  with  every  ligiit  report : 
And  as  her  eares,  so  eke  her  feet  were  odde, 
And  much  unlike ;  th'  one  long,  the  other  short. 
And  both  misplast ;  that,  when  th'  one  forward  yode. 
The  other  backe  retired  and  contrarie  trode. 


Likewise  unetjuall  were  her  handes  twaine ; 
'J'hat  one  did  reach,  the  other  pusht  away; 
That  one  did  make,  the  other  mard  againe. 
And  sought  to  bring  all  things  unto  decay  ; 
^Vhereby  great  riches,  gathered  manie  a  day, 
She  in  short  space  did  often  bring  to  nought, 
And  their  posse.'^sours  often  did  dismay  : 
For  all  her  studie  was  and  all  her  thought 
How  she  might  overthrow  the  things  that  Concord 
wrought. 


So  much  her  malice  did  her  might  surpas. 

That  even  th'  Almightie  selfe  she  did  maiigne, 

Because  to  man  so  mercifull  he  was. 

And  unto  all  his  creatures  so  benigne, 

Sith  she  herselfe  was  of  his  grace  indigne  : 

For  all  this  worlds  faire  workmanship  she  tride 

Unto  his  last  confusion  to  bring, 

And  that  great  golden  chaine  quite  to  divide, 

AVith  which  it  blessed  Concord  hath  together  tide. 


Such  was  that  hag,  which  with  Duessa  roade; 
And,  serving  her  in  her  malitious  use 
To  hurt  good  knights,  was,  as  it  were,  her  baude 
Te  sell  her  borrov/ed  beautie  to  ahuse  : 
For  though,  like  withered  tree  that  wanteth  iuyce 
She  old  and  crooked  were,  yet  now  of  late 
As  fresh  and  fragment  as  the  floure-deluce 
Slie  was  become,  by  chaunge  of  her  estate, 
And  made  full  goodly  ioyance  to  her  new-found 
mate : 


Her  mate,  he  was  a  iollie  youthfull  knight 

'J  hat  bore  great  sway  in  armes  and  chivalrie. 

And  was  indeed  a  man  of  mickle  might  ; 

His  name  was  Blandamour,  that  did  descrie 

His  fickle  mind  full  of  inconstancie  : 

And  now  himselfe  he  fitted  had  right  well 

^Vith  two  companions  of  like  qualitie, 

Faithlesse  Duessa,  and  fal^se  Paridell, 

That  whether  were  more  false,  full  hard  it  is  to  tell. 


Now  when  this  gallant  with  his  goodly  crew 
From  farre  espide  the  famous  Britomart, 
Like  knight  adventurous  in  outward  vew. 
With  his  faire  paragon,  his  conquests  part, 
Approching  nigh  ;  eftsoones  his  wanton  hart 
Was  tickled  with  delight,  and  iesting  sayd ; 
"  Lo  !  there.  Sir  Paridel,  for  your  desart. 
Good  lucke  presents  you  with  yond  lovely  mayd , 
For  pitie  that  ye  want  a  fellow  for  your  ayd." 


By  that  the  lovely  paire  drew  nigh  to  bond  : 

Whom  whenas  Paridel  more  plaine  beheld, 

Albee  in  heart  he  like  affection  fond, 

Yet  mindful!  how  he  late  by  one  was  feld 

That  did  those  armes  and  that  same  scutchion  weld 

He  had  small  lust  to  buy  his  love  so  deare. 

But  answered  ;  "  Sir,  him  wise  I  never  held, 

That,  having  once  escai)ed  perill  neare, 

AYould  afterwards  afresh  the  sleeping  evill  reare. 


190 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IV 


"  This  knight  too  late  his  manhood  and  his  might 
I  did  assay,  that  me  right  dearely  cost ; 
Ne  list  I  for  revenge  provoke  new  fight, 
Ne  for  light  ladies  love,  that  soone  is  lost." 
The  hot-spurre  youtli  so  scorning  to  be  crost, 
'  Take  then  to  you  this  dame  of  mine,"  quoth  has, 
"  And  I,  without  your  perill  or  your  cost. 
Will  chaleuge  yond  same  other  for  my  fee." 
So  forth  he  fiercely  prickt,  that  one  him  scarce  could 
see. 


The  warlike  Britonesse  her  soone  aildrest, 

And  with  such  uncouth  welcome  did  receave 

Her  fayned  paramour,  her  forced  guest. 

That,  being  forst  his  saddle  soone  to  leave, 

Himselfe  he  did  of  his  new  love  deceave  ; 

And  made  himselfe  th'  ensample  of  his  follie. 

Which  done,  she  passed  forth,  not  taking  leave, 

And  left  him  now  as  sad  as  whilome  iollie. 

Well  warned  to  beware  with  whom  he  dar'd  to  dallie. 


Which  when  his  other  companie  beheld, 
They  to  his  succour  ran  with  readie  ayd  ; 
And,  finding  him  unable  once  to  weld. 
They  reared  him  on  horse-backe  anf*  upstayd, 
Till  on  his  way  they  had  him  forth  convayd  : 
And  all  the  way,  with  wondrous  griefe  of  mynd 
And  shame,  he  shewd  himselfe  to  be  dismayd 
!More  for  the  love  which  he  had  left  behynd, 
Then  that  which  he  had  to  Sir  Paridel  resynd. 


Nathlesse  he  forth  did  march,  well  as  he  might, 
And  made  good  semblance  to  his  companie. 
Dissembling  his  disease  and  evill  plight; 
Till  that  ere  long  they  chaunced  to  espie 
Two  other  knights,  that  towards  them  did  ply 
With  speedie  course,  as  bent  to  charge  them  new 
\Vhom  whenas  Blandamour  approching  nie 
Perceiv'd  to  be  such  as  they  seemd  in  vew. 
He  was  full  wo,  and  gan  his  former  griefe  renew. 


For  th'  one  of  them  be  perfectly  descride 
To  be  Sir  Scudamour,  (by  that  he  bore 
Tlie  god  of  love  with  wings  displayed  wide,) 
Whom  mortally  he  hated  evermore, 
Both  for  his  worth,  that  all  men  did  adore. 
And  eke  because  liis  love  he  wonne  by  right : 
Which  when  he  thought,  it  grieved  him  full  sore. 
That,  through  the  bruses  of  his  former  fight. 
He  now  unable  was  to  wreake  his  old  despight, 


t'orthy  he  thus  to  Paridel  bespake  : 
"  Faire  Sir,  of  friendship  let  me  now  you  pray, 
That  as  I  late  adventured  for  your  sake, 
Tlie  hurts  wliereof  me  now  from  battell  stay, 
^'e  will  me  now  with  like  good  turne  repay, 
And  iustifie  my  cause  on  yonder  knij^ht." 
"  Ah  !  Sir,"  said  Paridel,  "  do  not  dismay 
Vourselfe  for  this  ;  inyselfe  will  for  you  fight. 
As  ye  have  done  for  me  :    The  left  liund  rubs  the 
right." 


With  that  he  put  his  spurres  unto  his  steed. 
With  speare  in  rest,  and  toward  him  did  fare. 
Like  shaft  out  of  a  bow  preventing  speed. 
But  Scudamour  was  shortly  well  aware 
Of  his  approch,  and  gan  himselfe  prepare 
Him  to  receive  with  entertainment  meete. 
So  furiously  they  met,  that  either  bare 
The  other  downe  under  their  horses  feete, 
That  what  of  them  became  themselves  did  scarslj' 
weete. 


As  when  two  billowes  in  the  Irish  sowndes, 

Forcibly  driven  with  contrarie  tydes. 

Do  meete  together,  each  abacke  rebowndes 

With  roaring  rage  ;  and  dashing  on  all  sides, 

That  filleth  all  the  sea  with  fome,  divydes 

The  doubtfull  current  into  divers  wayes  : 

So  fell  those  two  in  spight  of  both  their  prydes  ; 

But  Scudamour  himselfe  did  soone  uprayse, 

And,  mounting  light,  his  foe  for  lying  long  upbrayes. 


Who,  rolled  on  an  heape,  lay  stil  in  swound 
All  carelesse  of  his  taunt  and  bitter  rayle  ; 
'I'ill  that  the  rest  him  seeing  lie  on  ground 
Ran  hastily,  to  weete  what  did  him  ayle  : 
Where  finding  that  the  breath  gan  him  to  fayle. 
With  busie  care  they  strove  him  to  awake. 
And  doft  his  helmet,  and  undid  his  mayle  : 
So  much  they  did,  that  at  the  last  they  brake 
His  slomber,  yet  so  mazed  that  he  nothing  spake. 


Which  whenas  Blandamour  beheld,  he  sayd  ; 

"  False  faitour  Scudamour,  that  ha*;t  by  slight 

And  foule  advantage  this  good  knight  dismayd, 

A  knight  much  better  then  thyselfe  behight, 

Well  falles  it  thee  that  I  am  not  in  plight 

This  day,  to  wreake  the  dammage  by  thee  donne ! 

Such  is  thy  wont,  tliat  still  when  any  knight 

Is  vveakned,  then  thou  doest  him  overronne  : 

So  hast  thou  to  thyselfe  false  honour  often  wonno." 


He  little  answer'd,  but  in  manly  heart 

J  lis  mightie  indignation  did  forbeare  ; 

\Vliich  was  not  yet  so  secret,  but  some  part 

Tlioreof  did  in  his  frouning  face  appeare  : 

Like  as  a  gloomie  cloud,  the  which  doth  beare 

An  liideous  storme,  is  by  the  northerne  blast 

(()uite  overblowne,  yet  doth  not  ])asse  so  cleare 

I'.uf  that  it  all  tlie  skio  doth  overcast 

With  darknes  drcd,  and  threatens  all  the  world  to  wast 


"  Ah  !   gentle  knight,"  then  false  Duessa  sayd, 
"  Why  do  ye  strive  for  ladies  love  so  sore. 
Whose  chiefe  desire  is  love  and  friendly  aid 
Mongst  gentle  knights  to  nourish  evermore  ! 
Ne  be  ye  wroth.  Sir  Scudamour,  therefore, 
That  she  your  love  list  love  another  knight, 
Ne  do  vourselfe  dislike  a  whit  the  more  ; 
For  love  is  free,  and  led  with  selfe-delight, 
Ne  will  enforced  be  with  n>aisterdome  or  might.' 


Camo  II  ;j 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


191 


So  false  Duessa:  but  vile  Ate  thus  ; 
"  Both  foolish  knights,  I  can  but  laugh  at  both, 
That  strive  and  storme  with  stirre  outrageous 
For  her,  that  each  of  3'ou  alike  doth  loth. 
And  loves  another,  with  whom  now  she  go'th 
In  lovely  wise,  and  sleepes,  and  sports,  and  playesj 
Whilest  both  you  here  with  many  a  cursed  oth 
Sweare  she  is  yours,  and  stirre  up  bloudie  frayes. 
To  win  a  willow  bough,  whilest  other  weares  the 
bayes. 

XL  VIII. 

"  Vile  hag,"  sayd  Scudamour,  "why  dost  thou  lye, 
And  frtlsly  seekst  a  virtuous  wight  to  shame  ?" 
"  I'ond  knight,"  sayd  she,  "the  thing  that  with  this 
I  saw,  why  should  I  doubt  to  tell  the  same  1"    [eye 
"  'Ihentell,"  quoth  BlanJamour,  "  and  feare  no  blame ; 
'I  (-11  what  thou  saw'st,  maulgre  whoso  it  heares." 
"  I  saw,"  quoth  she, "  a  straunger  knight, -^hose  name 
I  wote  not  well,  but  in  his  shield  he  heares 
(  That  well  I  wote)  the  heads  of  many  broken  speares  j 


"  I  saw  him  have  your  Amoret  at  will ; 
i  saw  him  kisse  ;  I  saw  him  her  embrace  ; 
I  saw  him  sleepe  with  her  all  night  his  fill ; 
All,  manie  nights  ;  and  manie  by  in  place 
That  present  were  to  testifie  the  case." 
Which  whenas  Scudamour  did  heare,  his  heart 
Was  thrild  with  inward  griefe  :  as  when  in  chace 
The  Parthian  strikes  a  stag  with  shivering  dart, 
1  he  beast  astonisht  stands  in  middest  of  his  smart  j 


So  stood  Sir  Scudamour  when  this  he  heard, 
Ne  word  he  had  to  speake  for  great  dismay. 
But  lookt  on  Glauce  grim,  who  woxe  afeard 
Of  outrage  for  the  words  which  she  heard  say, 
Albee  untrue  she  wist  them  by  assay. 
But  Blandamour,  whenas  he  did  espie 
His  chaunge  of  cheere  that  anguish  did  bewray, 
He  woxe  full  blithe,  as  he  had  got  thereby. 
And  gan  thereat  to  triumph  without  victorie. 


"  Lo  !  recreant,"  sayd  he,  "  the  fruitlesse  end 
Of  thy  vaine  boast,  and  spoile  of  love  misgotten, 
Whereby  the  name  of  knight-hood  tliou  dost  sliend, 
And  all  true  lovers  with  dishonor  blotten  : 
All  things  not  rooted  well  will  soone  be  rotten. 
"  Fy,  fy,  false  knight,"  then  false  Duessa  crvde, 
"  Unworthy  life,  that  love  with  guile  hast  gotten  ; 
Be  thou,  whereever  thou  do  go  or  ryde, 
Loathed  of  ladies  all,  and  of  all  knights  defyde ! 


But  Scudamour,  for  passing  great  despight, 
Staid  not  to  answer  ;  scarcely  did  refraiue 
But  that  in  all  those  knights  and  ladies  sight 
He  for  revenge  had  guiltlesse  Glauce  skine  : 
But,  being  past,  he  thus  began  amaine  ; 
"  False  traitour  squire,  false  squire  of  falsest  knight, 
Why  doth  mine  hand  from  thine  avenge  abstaine, 
Whose  lord  hath  done  my  love  this  foule  despight  ! 
Why  do  I  not  it  wreaks  on  thee  now  in  my  might ! 


"  Discourteous,  disloyall  Britomart, 
Untrue  to  God,  and  unto  man  uniust ! 
What  vengeance  due  can  equall  thy  desart. 
That  hast  with  shamefull  spot  of  sinfull  lust 
Defil'd  the  pledge  committed  to  thy  trust  ! 
Let  ugly  shame  and  endlesse  infamy 
Colour  thy  name  with  foule  reproaches  rust  ! 
Yet  thou,  false  squire,  his  fault  shall  deare  aby, 
And  with  thy  punishment  his  penance  shalt  supply. 


The  aged  dame  him  seeing  so  enraged 

Was  dead  with  feare  ;  nathlesse  as  neede  required 

His  flaming  furie  sought  to  have  assuaged 

With  sober  words,  that  sufferance  desired 

Till  time  the  tryall  of  her  truth  expyred  ; 

And  evermore  sought  Britomart  to  cleare  : 

But  he  the  more  with  furious  rage  was  fyred. 

And  thrise  his  hand  to  kill  her  did  upreare. 

And  thrise  he  drew  it  backe  :  so  did  at  last  forbeare. 


CANTO  IL 

Blandamour  winnes  false  Florimell  ; 

Paridell  for  her  strives : 
They  are  accorded  :  Agape 

Doth  lengthen  her  sonues  lives. 


Firebrand  of  hell  first  tynd  in  Phlegeton 
By  thousand  furies,  and  from  thence  out-throwen 
Into  this  world  to  worke  confusion 
And  set  it  all  on  fire  by  force  unknowen. 
Is  wicked  Discord;  whose  small  sparkesonce  blowen 
None  but  a  god  or  godlike  man  can  slake  : 
Such  as  was  Orj,heus,  that,  when  strife  was  growen 
Amongst  those  famous  jonpes  of  Greece,  did  fake 
His  silver  harpe  in  hand  and  shortly  friendes  them 
make  : 


Or  such  as  that  celestial!  psalmist  was, 
That,  when  the  wicked  feend  his  lord  tormented,     '. 
^Vith  heavenly  notes,  timt  did  all  other  pas. 
The  outrage  of  his  furious  fit  relented. 
Such  musicke  is  wise  words  with  time  concented. 
To  moderate  stiife  mindes  disposd  to  strive  : 
Such  as  that  prudent  Romane  well  mvented  ; 
What  time  his  people  into  partes  did  rive, 
Them   reconcyld  againe,   and    to  their   homes  did 
drive. 


192 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IV 


Such  us'd  wise  Glance  to  that  wrathfull  knight, 
To  caline  the  tempest  of  his  troubled  thought : 
Yet  Blandamour,  with  termes  of  foule  despight. 
And  Paridell  her  scornd,  and  set  at  nought, 
As  old  and  crooked  and  not  good  for  ought. 
Both  they  unwise,  and  warelesse  of  the  evill 
'J'hat  by  themselves  unto  themselves  is  wrought. 
Through  that  false  witch,  and  that  foule  aged  drevill ; 
The  one  a  feend,  the  other  an  incarnate  devill. 


With  whom  as  they  thus  rode  accompanide. 
They  were  encountred  of  a  lustie  knight 
That  had  a  goodly  ladie  by  his  side. 
To  whom  he  made  great  dalliance  and  delight ; 
It  was  to  weet  the  bold  Sir  Ferraugh  hight. 
He  that  from  Brag^adochio  whilome  reft 
The  snowy  Floriraell,  whose  beautie  bright 
INIade  him  seeme  happie  for  so  glorious  theft  ; 
Yet  was  it  in  due  triall  but  a  wandring  weft. 


Which  whenas  Blandamour,  whose  fancie  light 

Was  alwaies  flitting  as  the  wavering  wind 

After  each  beautie  that  appeard  in  sight, 

Beheld  ;  eftsoones  it  prickt  his  wanton  mind 

^Vitll  sting  of  lust  that  reasons  eye  did  blind, 

That  to  Sir  Paridell  these  words  he  sent ; 

"  Sir  knight,  why  ride  ye  dumpish  thus  behind, 

Since  so  good  fortune  doth  to  you  present 

So  fayre  a  spoyle,  to  make  you  ioyous  meriment  V 


But  Paridell,  that  had  too  late  a  tryall 
Of  tlie  bad  issue  of  his  counsell  vaine. 
List  not  to  hearke,  but  made  this  faire  denyall  ; 
"  Last  turne  was  mine,  well  proved  to  my  paine  ; 
Tliis  now  be  yours  ;  God  send  you  better  gaine  !" 
Whose  scoffed  words  he  taking  halfe  in  scorne. 
Fiercely  forth  prickt  his  steed  as  in  disdaine 
Against  that  knight,  ere  he  him  well  could  torne  ; 
By  meanes  whereof  he  hath  him  lightly  overborne. 


Who,  with  the  sudden  stroke  astonisht  sore, 

Upon  the  ground  awhile  in  slomber  lay ; 

The  whiles  liis  love  away  the  other  bore. 

And,  shewing  her,  did  Paridell  upbray ; 

"  Lo  !  sluggish  knight,  the  victors  happie  pray! 

So  fortune  friends  the  bold."     Whom  Paridell 

Seeing  so  faire  indeede,  as  he  did  say. 

His  hart  with  secret  envic  gan  to  swell. 

And  inlv  grudge  at  him  that  he  had  sped  so  well. 


Nathlesse  proud  man  himselfe  the  other  deemed, 

Having  so  peerlesse  paragon  ygot : 

For  sure  the  fayrest  Florimell  him  seemed 

To  him  WPS  fallen  for  his  ha})pie  lot, 

\Vhose  like  alive  on  eartli  he  weened  not: 

Therefore  he  her  did  court,  did  serve,  did  wooe, 

With  humblest  suit  that  he  imagine  mot. 

And  all  things  did  devise,  and  all  things  dooe. 

That  might  jier  love  prepare,  and  liking  win  thereloo. 


She,  in  regard  thereof,  him  recompenst 
With  golden  words  and  goodly  countenance. 
And  such  fond  favours  sparingly  dispenst : 
Sometimes  liim  blessing  with  a  light  eye-glance, 
And  coy  lookes  tempring  with  loose  dalliance  ; 
Sometimes  estranging  him  in  sterner  wise  ; 
That,  having  cast  him  in  a  foolish  trance. 
He  seemed  brought  to  bed  in  Paradise, 
And  prov'd  himself  most  foole  in  what  he  seem'd 
most  wise. 


So  great  a  mistresse  of  her  art  she  was, 

And  perfectly  practiz'd  in  womans  craft, 

That  though  therein  himselfe  he  thought  to  pas. 

And  by  this  false  allurements  wylie  draft 

Had  thousand  women  of  their  love  beraft. 

Yet  now  he  was  surpriz'd  :  for  that  false  spright, 

Which  that  same  witch  had  in  this  forme  engraft, 

Was  so  expert  in  every  subtile  slight. 

That  it  could  overreach  the  wisest  earthly  wight. 


Yet  he  to  her  did  dayly  service  more. 

And  dayly  more  deceived  was  tliereby  ; 

Yet  Paridell  him  envied  tlierefore. 

As  seeming  plast  in  sole  felicity  : 

So  blind  is  lust  fidse  colours  to  descry. 

But  Ate  soone  discovering  his  desire. 

And  finding  now  fit  opportunity 

To  stirre  up  strife  twixt  love  and  spight  and  ire, 

Did  privily  put  coles  unto  his  secret  fire. 


By  sundry  meanes  thereto  she  prickt  him  forth  ; 
Now  with  remembrance  of  those  spightfuU  speaches, 
Now  with  opinion  of  his  owne  more  worth. 
Now  with  recounting  of  like  former  breaches 
Made  in  their  friendship,  as  that  hag  him  teaches: 
And  ever,  when  his  passion  is  allayd. 
She  it  revives,  and  new  occasion  reaches  : 
That,  on  a  time  as  they  together  way'd, 
He  made  him  open  chalenge,  and  thus  boldly  sayd  ; 


"  Too  boastfull  Blandamour  !  too  long  I  heare 
The  open  wrongs  thou  doest  me  day  by  day  : 
Well  know'st  thou, when  we  friendship  first  did  swear 
The  covenant  was,  that  every  spoyle  or  pray 
Should  equally  be  shard  betwixt  us  tway  : 
Where  is  my  part  then  of  this  ladie  bright. 
Whom  to  thyselfe  thou  takest  quite  away? 
Render  therefore  therein  to  me  my  right. 
Or  answere  for  thy  wrong  as  shall  fall  out  in  fight." 


Exceeding  wroth  thereat  was  Blandamour, 
And  gan  this  bitter  answore  to  him  make  ; 
"  Too  foolish  Paridell !   that  fayrest  floure 
Wouldst  gather  faine,  and  yet  nopaineswouldsttake 
But  not  so  easie  will  I  her  forsake ; 
This  hand  her  wonne,  that  hand  shall  her  defend." 
With  that  they  gan  their  shivering  speares  to  shake 
And  deadly  points  at  cithers  breast  to  bend, 
ForgetfuU  each  to  have  bene  ever  others  frend. 


Canto  II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


193 


Their  firie  steedes  with  so  untamed  forse 
Did  beare  them  both  to  fell  avenges  end, 
That  both  their  speares  witli  pitilesse  remorse 
Through  sliiekl  and  mavle  and  haberieon  did  wend, 
And  in  their  flesh  a  g-riesly  passage  rend, 
That  with  the  furie  of  their  owne  aft'ret 
Each  other  horse  and  man  to  ground  did  send  ; 
Where,  Iving-  still  awhile,  both  did  foi'get 
The  perilous  present  stownd  in  which  their  lives 
were  set. 


As  when  two  warlike  brigandines  at  sea. 

With  murdrous  weapons  arm'd  to  cruell  fight. 

Do  meete  together  on  the  watry  lea, 

They  stemme  ech  other  with  so  fell  despiglit, 

That  with  the  shocke  of  tlieir  owne  heedlesse  might 

Their  wooden  ribs  are  shaken  nigh  asonder  ; 

They  which  from  shore  behold  the  dreadfull  sight 

Of  flashing  fire,  and  heare  the  ordeiiance  thonder, 

Do  greatly  stand  amaz'd  at  such  unwonted  wonder. 


At  length  they  both  upstarted  in  amaze, 
As  men  awaked  rashly  out  of  dreme, 
And  round  about  themselves  a  wliile  did  gaze  ; 
Till  seeing  her,  that  Florimell  did  seme, 
In  doubt  to  whom  she  victorie  should  deeme. 
Therewith  their  dulled  sprights  thev  edgd  anew, 
And,  drawing  both  their  swords  with  rage  extreme, 
Like  two  mad  mastiffes  each  on  other  flew. 
And    shields  did  share,  and  mailes  did  rash,  and 
helmes  did  hew. 


So  furiously  each  other  did  assayle. 

As  if  their  soules  they  would  attonce  have  rent 

Out  of  their  brests,  that  streames  of  bloud  did  rayle 

Adowne,  as  if  their  springs  of  life  were  spent ; 

That  all  the  ground  with  purple  bloud  was  sprent, 

And  all  their  armours  staynd  with  bloudie  gore  ; 

Yet  scarcely  once  to  breath  would  they  relent, 

So  mortall  was  their  malice  and  so  sore 

Become,  of  fayned  friendship  which  they  vow'd  afore. 


And  that  which  is  for  ladies  most  befiiting. 
To  stint  all  strife,  and  foster  friendly  peace, 
Was  from  those  dames  so  farre  and  so  unfitting. 
As  that,  instead  of  praying  them  surcease. 
They  did  much  more  their  cruelty  encrease  ; 
Bidding  them  fight  for  honour  of  their  love. 
And  rather  die  then  ladies  cause  reiease  :         [move. 
With   which  vaine  termes  so  mucli   they  did  them 
That  both  resolv'd  the  last  extremities  to  prove. 


There  they,  I  weene,  would  fight  untill  this  day. 
Had  not  a  squire,  even  he  the  sc)uire  of  dames. 
By  great  adventure  travelled  that  way  ; 
Who  seeing  both  bent  to  so  bloudy  g'ames. 
And  both  of  old  well  knowing  by  their  names, 
Diew  nigh,  to  weete  the  cause  of  their  debate  : 
And  first  laide  on  those  ladies  thousand  blames, 
That  did  not  seeke  t' appease  their  deadly  hate, ' 
Hut  gazed  on  their  hannes  not  pittying  their  estate 


And  then  those  knights  he  humbly  did  beseech 
To  stay  their  hands,  till  he  awhile  had  spoken: 
Who  lookt  a  little  up  at  that  bis  speech, 
^'et  would  not  let  their  battell  so  be  broken, 
]5oth  greedie  fiers  on  other  to  be  wroken. 
^  et  he  to  them  so  earnestly  did  call. 
And  them  coniur'd  by  some  well  knowen  token, 
Tliat  they  at  last  their  wrothfuU  hands  let  full, 
Content  to  heare  him  speake,  and  glad  to  rest  withaU 


First  he  desir'd  their  cause  of  strife  to  see  : 

They  said,  it  was  for  love  of  Florimell.  [bee, 

"Ah!  gentle  knights,"  quoth  he,   "  liow  may  that 

And  she  so  farre  astray,  as  none  can  tell  !" 

"  Fond  stjuire,"  full  angry  then  sayd  Paridell, 

"  Seest  not  the  ladie  there  before  thy  face  I" 

He  looked  backe,  and,  her  avising  well, 

Weend,  as  he  said,  by  that  her  outward  grace 

That  fayrest  Florimell  was  present  there  m  place. 


Glad  man  was  he  to  see  that  ioyous  sight, 
For  none  alive  but  ioy'd  in  Florimell, 
And  lowly  to  her  lowting  thus  behight; 
"  Fayrest  of  faire,  that  fairenesse  doest  excell. 
This  happie  day  I  have  to  greete  you  well. 
In  which  you  safe  I  see,  whom  thousand  lato 
INIisdoubted  lost  through  mischiefe  that  befell ; 
Long  may  you  live  in  health  and  happie  state  !" 
She  litle  answer'd  him,  but  liglitly  did  aggrate. 


Then,  turning  to  those  knights,  he  gan  anew  ; 
"  And  you.  Sir  Blandamour,  and  Paridell, 
That  for  this  ladie  present  in  your  vew 
Have  rays'd  this  cruell  warre  and  outrage  fell, 
Certes,  me  seemes,  bene  not  advised  well  ; 
But  rather  ought  in  friendship  for  her  sake 
To  ioyne  your  force,  their  forces  to  repell 
That  seeke  perforce  her  from  you  both  to  take, 
And  of  your  gotten   spoyle  their  owne  triumph  to 
make." 


Thereat  Sir  Blandamour,  with  countenance  sterna 

All  full  of  wrath,  thus  fiercely  him  bespake  ; 

"  Aread,  thou  squire,  that  [  the  man  may  learne, 

That  dare  fro  me  thinke  Florimell  to  take  ! " 

"  jN  ot  one,"  quoth  lie,  "  but  many  doe  jiartake 

Herein  ;  as  thus  :  it  lately  so  beiell. 

That  Satyran  a  girdle  did  uptake 

Well  knowne  to  appertaiue  to  FhTimell, 

Which  for  her  sake  he  wore,  as  him  beseemed  well 


"  But,  whenas  she  herselfe  was  lo^t  nnd  gone, 
Full  many  knights,  that  loved  hf^r  like  d("are, 
Thereat  did  greatly  grudge,  tliat  he  ai me 
That  lost  faire  ladies  ornament  should  weave. 
And  gan  therefore  clos;^  spiglit  to  him  to  beare  ; 
\\  hu-h  he  to  shun,  and  slop  vile  envies  stills'. 
Ihith  la:ely  caus'd  to  be  proclaim'd  each  wtie-f» 
A  soler.iiie  feast,  wi'h  publike  turneying. 
To  which  all   knights  with  them  thiir  ladies  are  tO 
brinu'  o 


J9i 


rilK  FAERIE  Ql.'EKNE. 


[Book  IV 


"  And  oftliPin  all  slie,  that  is  fayrest  found, 
SIr.il!  btive  tliat  golden  ijirdle  for  reward  ; 
Ant!  of  thor^e  knis;lits,  who  is  most  stout  on  ground, 
Shall  to  that  fairest  hulie  he  yirefard. 
Since  therefore  she  herselfe  is  nov/  your  ward. 
To  vou  that  ornament  of  hers  pertaines, 
Against  all  those  that  chalenge  it,  fo  gard, 
And  save  her  honour  with  your  ventrous  paines  ; 
That  shall  vou  win  more  glory  than  ye   here  find 
gaines." 

xxviir. 

When  tliey  the  reason  of  his  words  had  hard. 
They  gan  abate  the  rancour  of  their  rage, 
And  with  their  honours  and  their  loves  regard 
The  furious  flames  of  malice  to  ass  wage. 
Tho  each  to  other  did  his  faith  engage. 
Like  faithful!  friends  thenceforth  to  ioyne  in  one 
With  all  their  force,  and  battell  strong  to  wage 
Gainst  all  those  knights,  as  their  professed  fone. 
That  chaleng'd  ought  in  Florimell,  save  they  alone. 


So,  well  accorded,  forth  they  rode  together 

In  friendly  sort,  that  lasted  but  a  while  ; 

And  of  all  old  dislikes  they  made  faire  weather  : 

Yet  all  was  forg'd  and  spred  with  golden  foyle, 

That  under  it  hidde  hate  and  hollow  guyle. 

Ne  certes  can  that  friendship  long  endure, 

However  gay  and  goodly  he  the  style. 

That  doth  ill  cause  or  evill  end  enure: 

Forvertue  is  the  band  that  bindeth  harts  most  sure. 


Tlius  as  they  marched  all  in  close  disguise 

Of  fayned  love,  they  chaunst  to  overtake 

'J'wo  knights  that  lincked  rode  in  lovely  wise, 

As  if  tliey  secret  counsels  did  partake  ; 

And  each  not  farre  behinde  him  had  his  make, 

To  weete,  two  ladies  of  most  goodly  hew. 

That  twixt  themselves  did  gentle  jmrpose  make, 

UnnundfuU  both  of  that  discordfull  crew. 

The  which  with  speedie  pace  did  after  them  pursew: 


Wlio,  as  they  now  approched  nigh  at  hand, 

JJeeming  them  doughtie  as  they  did  appeare. 

They  sent  that  s(|uire  afore,  to  understand 

What  mote  they  be  :  who,  viewing  them  moreneare, 

Returned  readie  newes,  that  those  same  weare 

Two  of  the  prowest  knights  in  Faery  Lond  ; 

And  these  two  ladies  their  two  lovers  deare  ; 

Couragious  Cambell,  and  stout  Triamond, 

With  Canacee  and  Cambine  linckt  in  lovely  bond. 


Wliylome,  as  antique  stories  tellen  us, 
'I'hose  two  were  foes  the  fellonest  on  ground, 
And  battell  made  the  dreddest  daungerous 
That  ever  shrilling  trumpet  did  resound  ; 
Though  now  their  acts  be  no  where  to  be  found, 
As  that  renownied  poet  them  compyled 
With  w  arlike  numbers  and  heroicke  sound, 
Uan  Cliaucer,  well  of  English  undcfyled, 
On  fames  etertall  beadroll  worthie  to  be  fyled. 


But  wicked  time  that  all  good  thoughts  doth  waste; 
And  workes  of  noblest  wits  to  nought  outweare, 
Tiiat  famous  moniment  hath  cjuite  defaste. 
And  robd  the  world  of  threasure  endlssse  deare. 
The  which  mote  have  enriched  all  us  heare. 
O  cursed  eld,  the  canker-worme  of  writs  ! 
How  may  these  rimes,  so  rude  as  doth  appeare, 
Hope  to  endure,  sith  workes  of  heavenly  wits 
Are  quite  devourd,  and  brought  to  nought  by  hfl3 
bits! 


Then  pardon,  O  most  sacred  happie  spirit, 

That  I  thy  labours  lost  may  thus  revive. 

And  steale  from  thee  the  meede  of  thy  due  merit, 

That  none  durst  ever  whitest  thou  wast  alive. 

And,  being  dead,  in  vaine  yet  many  strive: 

Ne  dare  I  like  ;  but,  through  infusion  sweete 

Of  thine  owne  spirit  which  doth  in  me  survive, 

I  follow  here  the  footing  of  thy  feete. 

That  with  thy  meaning  so  I  may  the  rather  meete. 


Camhelloes  sister  was  fayre  Canacee, 
That  was  the  learnedst  ladie  in  her  dayes. 
Well  seene  in  everie  science  that  mote  bee. 
And  every  secret  worke  of  nature's  wayes  ; 
In  wittie  riddles  ;  and  in  wise  soothsaves  ; 
In  power  of  herbes  ;  and  tunes  of  beasts  and  burds ; 
And,  that  augmented  all  her  other  prayse. 
She  modest  was  in  all  her  deedes  and  words. 
And  wondrous  chast  of  life,  yet  lov'd  of  knights  and 
lords. 


Full  many  lords  and  many  knights  her  loved. 

Yet  she  t9  none  of  them  her  liking  lent, 

Ne  ever  was  with  fond  affection  moved, 

But  rul'd  her  thoughts  with  goodly  governement, 

For  dread  of  blame  and  honours  blemishment ; 

And  eke  unto  lier  lookes  a  law  she  made. 

That  none  of  them  once  out  of  order  went, 

But,  like  to  warie  centonels  well  stayd. 

Still  watcht  on  every  side,  of  secret  foes  afrayd, 

XXXVII. 

So  much  the  more  as  she  refusd  to  love. 
So  much  the  more  she  loved  was  and  sought. 
That  oftentimes  unquiet  strife  did  move 
Amongst  her  lovers,  and  grea'  quarrels  wrought ; 
That  oft  for  her  in  bloudie  amies  they  fought. 
Which  wheniis  Cambell,  that  was  stout  and  wise, 
Pcrceiv'd    would    breede    groat    mischiefe,    he    be- 
How  to  prevent  the  pcrill  that  mote  rise,       [thought 
And  turne  both  him  and  her  to  honour  in  this  wise. 


One  day,  when  all  that  troupe  of  warlike  wooers 
Assembled  were,  to  weet  whose  she  sliould  bee. 
All  mightie  men  and  dreadful!  derring  dooers, 
(The  harder  it  to  make  them  well  agree,) 
Amongst  them  all  this  end  lie  did  decree  ; 
That,  of  them  all  which  love  to  her  did  make. 
They  by  consent  should  chose  tho  stoutest  three 
That  Willi  himselfe  should  combat  for  her  sake. 
And  of  them  all  the  victour  should  his  sister  take. 


^'an'to  II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE 


19f 


Bold  was  the  chalenge,  as  himselfe  was  bold, 
And  courage  full  of  haughtie  hardiment, 
Apjiroved  oft  in  perils  manifold, 
Which  he  atchiev'd  to  his  great  ornament : 
But  j'et  his  sisters  skill  unto  liim  lent 
]Most  confidence  and  hope  of  happie  speed, 
Conceived  by  a  ring-  which  she  him  sent, 
That,  mongst  the  manie  vertues  which  we  reed, 
Had  power  to  staunch  al  wounds  that  mortally  did 
bleed. 


Well  was  that  rings  great  vertue  knowen  to  all ; 
That  dread  thereof,  and  his  redoubted  might, 
Did  all  that  youthly  rout  so  much  appall. 
That  none  of  them  durst  undertake  the  fight: 
!More  wise  they  weend  to  make  of  love  delight 
Then  life  to  hazard  for  faire  ladies  looke  ; 
And  vet  uncertaine  by  such  outward  siglit. 
Though  for  her  sake  they  all  that  perill  tooke, 
VVliether  she   would   them  love,   or   in  her   likinc 
brooke. 


Amongst  those  knights  there  were  three  brethren 
Three  bolder  brethren  never  were  yborne,         [bold. 
Borne  of  one  mother  in  one  happie  mold, 
Borne  at  one  burden  in  one  happie  morne  ; 
Thrise  happie  motlier,  and  thrise  happie  morne. 
That  bore  three  such,  three  such  not  to  be  fond  ! 
Her  name  was  Agape,  whose  children  werne 
All  three  as  one  ;  the  first  hight  Priamond, 
The  second  Dyamond,  the  youngest  Triamond. 


Stout  Priamond,  but  not  so  strong  to  strike ; 

Strong  Diamond,  but  not  so  stout  a  knight; 

But  Triamond  was  stout  and  strong  alike  : 

On  horsebaoke  used  Triamond  to  fight, 

And  PriamQ;id  on  foote  had  more  delight  ; 

But  horse  and  foote  knew  Diamond  to  wield : 

With  curtaxe  used  Diamond  to  smite, 

And  Triamond  to  handle  speare  and  shield. 

But  speare  and  curtaxe  both  usd  Priamond  in  field. 


These  three  did  love  each  other  dearely  well, 
And  with  so  firme  affection  were  allyde, 
As  if  but  one  soule  in  them  all  did  dwell, 
Which  did  her  powre  into  three  parts  divyde  ; 
Like  three  faire  branches  budding  farre  and  wide. 
That  from  one  roote  deriv'd  their  vitall  sap  : 
And,  like  that  roote  that  doth  her  life  divide, 
Tlieir  motlier  was  ;  and  had  full  blessed  hap 
These  three  so  noble  babes  to  bring  forth  at  one  clap. 


Their  mother  was  a  fay,  and  liad  the  skill 
Of  secret  things,  and  all  the  powres  of  nature, 
Which  she  by  art  could  use  unto  her  will, 
And  to  her  service  bind  each  living  creature, 
'I  hrough  secret  understanding  of  their  feature. 
Thereto  she  was  right  faire,  whenso  her  face 
She  list  discover,  and  of  goodly  stature  ; 
But  she,  as  fayes  are  wont,  in  privie  place 
Did  spend  her  dayes,  and  lov'd  in  forests  wjld  to 
space. 


There  on  a  day  a  noble  youthly  knight. 
Seeking  adventures  in  the  salvage  wood. 
Did  by  great  fortune  get  of  her  the  sight. 
As  she  sate  carelesse  by  a  cristall  flood. 
Combing  her  golden  lockes,  as  seemd  her  good ; 
And  unawares  upon  her  laying  hold. 
That  strove  in  vaine  him  long  to  have  withstood, 
Oppressed  her,  and  there  (as  it  is  told) 
Got  these  three  lovely  babes, that  prov'd  three  chani« 
pions  bold  :  ^ 

XLVI. 

Which  she  with  her  long  fostred  in  that  wood, 
Till  that  to  ripenesse  of  mans  state  they  grew  : 
Then,  shewing  forth  signes  of  their  fathers  blood. 
They  loved  amies,  and  knighthood  did  ensew. 
Seeking  adventures  where  they  anie  knew. 
Which  when  their  mother  saw,  she  gan  to  dout 
Their  safetie  ;  least  by  searching  daungers  new 
And  rash  provoking  perils  all  about, 
Their  days  mote  be  abridged   through  their  corago 
stout. 


Therefore  desirous  th'  end  of  all  their  dayes 
To  know,  and  them  t'  enlarge  with  long  extent. 
By  wondrous  skill  and  many  hidden  wayes 
To  the  three  fatall  sisters  house  she  went ; 
Farre  under  ground  from  tract  of  living  went, 
Downe  in  the  bottome  of  the  deepe  abysse. 
Where  Demogorgon  in  dull  darknesse  pent 
Farre  from  the  view  of  gods  and  heavens  bliss 
The  hideous  chaos  keepes,  their  dreadfull  dwelling 


There  she  them  found  all  sitting  round  about 
The  direfuU  distaffe  standing  in  the  mid. 
And  with  unwearied  fingers  drawing  out 
The  lines  of  life,  from  living  knowledge  hid. 
Sad  Clotho  held  the  rocke,  the  whiles  the  thrid 
By  griesly  Lachesis  was  spun  with  paine, 
Tliat  cruell  Atropos  eftsoones  undid, 
\Vith  cursed  knife  cutting  the  twist  in  twaine  : 
Most  wretched  men,  whose  dayes  depend  on  thrida 
so  vaine  ! 


She,  them  saluting  there,  by  them  sate  still 

Beholding  how  the  thrids  of  life  they  span  : 

j\nd  when  at  last  she  had  beheld  her  fill. 

Trembling  in  heart,  and  looking  pale  and  wan. 

Her  cause  of  comming  she  to  tell  began. 

To  whom  fierce  Atropos  ;  "  Bold  fay,  that  durst 

Come  see  the  secret  of  the  life  of  man, 

\Vell  wortliie  thou  to  be  of  love  accurst. 

And  eke  thy  childrens  thrids  to  be  asunder  burst 


Whereat  she  sore  affrayd  vet  her  besought 
To  graunt  her  boone,  and  rigour  to  abate. 
That  she  might  see  her  childrens  thrids  forth  brough 
And  know  the  measure  of  their  utmost  date 
To  them  ordained  by  eternall  fate  : 
\^  hich  (Totho  grauuting  shewed  her  the  same. 
That  when  she  saw,  it  did  her  much  amate 
'i'o  see  their  thrids  so  thin,  as  spiders  frame. 
And  eke  so  short,  that  seemd  their  ends  out  shortly 
came.  0  2 


f96 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IV 


She  then  began  them  humbly  to  intreute 
'Jo  draw  them  longer  out,  and  better  twine, 
'That  so  their  lives  might  be  prolonged  late : 
Hut  Lacliesis  thereat  gan  to  repine, 
And  sayd  ;    "  Fond  dame  !    that  deem'st  of  things 
As  of  humane,  that  they  may  altred  bee,  [divine 

And  chaung'd  at  pleasure  for  those  impes  of  thine  : 
Not  so  ;  for  what  the  fates  do  once  decree. 
Not  all  the  gods  can  chaunge,  nor  love  himself  can 
free !" 


"  Then  since,"  quoth  she,  "  the  terme  of  each  mans 
For  nought  may  lessened  nor  enlarged  bee  ;        [life 
(Jraunt  this  ;  that  when  ve  shred  with  fatall  knife 
His  line,  wliich  is  the  eldest  of  the  three, 
Which  is  of  them  the  shortest,  as  I  see, 
Eftsoones  his  life  may  passe  into  the  next ; 
And,  when  the  next  shall  likewise  ended  bee, 
That  both  their  lives  may  likewise  be  annext 
Unto  th    third,  that  his  may  be  so  trebly  wext." 


They  graunted  it ;  and  then  that  carefull  Fay 
Departed  thence  with  full  contented  mynd  , 
And,  comming  home,  in  warlike  fresh  arav 
Them  found  all  three  according  to  their  kynd  ; 
But  unto  tliem  what  destinie  was  assynd. 
Or  how  their  lives  were  eekt,  she  did  not  tell  ; 
But  evermore,  when  she  fit  time  could  fvnd, 
She  warned  them  to  tend  their  safeties  well. 
And  love  each  other  deare,  whatever  them' befell. 


So  did  they  surely  during  all  their  dayes, 
And  never  discord  did  amongst  them  fall  ; 
Which  much  augmented  all  their  other  praise  : 
And  now,  t'  increase  affection  naturall. 
In  love  of  Canacee  they  ioyned  all  : 
Upon  which  ground  this  same  great  battell  grew 
(Great  matter  growing  of  beginning  small,) 
The  which,  for  length,  I  will  not  here  pursew. 
But  rather  will  reserve  it  for  a  canto  new. 


CANTO  III, 

The  Battell  twixt  three  brethren  with 

Cambell  for  Canacee  : 
Cambina  with  true  friendships  bond 

Doth  their  long  strife  agree. 


0  !  WHY  doe  wretched  men  so  much  desire 
To  draw  their  dayes  unto  the  utmost  date. 
And  doe  not  rather  wish  them  soone  expire; 
Knowing  the  miserie  of  their  estate. 
And  thousand  perills  which  them  still  awate. 
Tossing  them  like  a  boate  amid  the  mayne. 
That  every  houre  they  knocke  at  Deathes  gate  ! 
And  he  that  happie  seemes  and  least  in  payne, 
Yet  is  as  nigh  his  end  as  he  that  most  doth  playne. 


Therefore  this  fay  I  hold  but  fond  and  vaine, 
Tlie  which,  in  seeking  for  her  children  three 
Eong  life,  thereby  did  more  prolong  their  paine  : 
Yet  whilest  they  lived  none  did  ever  see 
j\lore  happie  creatures  then  they  seem'd  to  bee  ; 
I'.'rr  more  ennobled  for  their  courtesie, 
'I  liar,  made  them  dearelv  lov'd  of  each  degree; 
IS'(>  more  n'nownied  for  their  chevalrie, 
'I  hat  made  them  dreaded  much  of  all  men  farre  and 
nie. 


These  three  that  bardie  chalenge  tooke  in  band, 
For  Canacee  with  Cambell  for  to  fight : 
The  day  was  set,  that  all  might  understand, 
And  pledges  pawnd  the  same  to  keepe  aright: 
That  day,  (the  dreddest  day  that  living  wight 
Did  ever  see  upon  this  world  to  shine,) 
So  soone  as  heavens  window  showed  light, 
1'bese  warlike  champions,  all  in  armour  shine, 
Assembled  were  in  field  the  chalenge  to  define. 


The  field  with  listes  was  all  about  enclos'd, 
To  barre  the  prease  of  people  farre  away  ; 
And  at  th'  one  side  sixe  iudges  were  dispos'd, 
7"o  view  and  deeme  the  deedes  of  armes  that  dayj 
And  on  the  other  side  in  fresh  aray 
Fayre  Canacee  upon  a  stately  stage 
Was  set,  to  see  the  fortune  of  that  fray 
And  to  be  seene,  as  his  most  worthy  wage 
That  could  her  jjurchase  with  his  five's  advent ur'd 
gage. 

V. 

Then  entred  Cambell  first  into  the  list, 
With  stately  steps  and  fearelesse  countenance. 
As  if  the  conquest  his  he  surely  wist. 
Soone  after  did  the  brethren  three  advance 
In  brave  aray  and  goodly  amenance, 
W'itii  suctchins  gilt  and  banners. broad  displayd; 
And,  marciiing  thrise  in  warlike  ordinance, 
Thtisc  lowted  lowly  to  the  noble  IMayd  ; 
The  whiles  shril  trompets  and  loud  clarions  sweetly 
playd. 

VI 

Which  doen,  the  doughty  chalenger  came  forth. 

All  arm'd  to  point,  his  chalenge  to  abet : 

Gainst  whom  Sir  I'riamond,  with  equidl  worth 

And  ecjuall  amies,  himselfe  did  forward  set. 

A  trompet  blew  ;  they  both  together  met 

With  dreadfuU  force  and  furious  intent, 

Carelesse  of  perill  in  their  fiers  atl'rot, 

As  if  that  life  to  losse  they  had  forolent, 

And  cared  not  to  spare  that  should  be  shortly  spent. 


Canto  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE 


197 


Right  practicke  was  Sir  Priamond  in  figlit, 
And  throughly  skild  in  use  of  shield  and  speare  ; 
Ne  lesse  ppproved  was  Cambelloes  might, 
Ne  lesse  his  skill  in  weapons  did  appeare  ; 
That  hard  it  was  to  weone  which  harder  were. 
Full  many  mightie  strokes  on  either  side 
Were  sent,  that  seemed  death  in  them  to  beare  ; 
]5at  thev  were  both  so  watchfuU  and  well  eyde, 
That  they  avoyded  were,  and  vainely  by  did  slyde. 


Yet  one,  of  manv,  was  so  strongly  bent 
]\\'  Priamond.  that  with  nnluckie  glaunce 
Tlirough  Cambels  shoulder  it  unwarely  went, 
That  forced  him  his  shield  to  disadvaunce  : 
Much  was  he  grieved  with  that  gracelesse  chaunce  ; 
^'et  from  the  wound  no  drop  of  bloud  there  fell, 
ISiit  wondrous  paine  that  did  the  more  enhaunce 
Hi-i  huughtie  courai;e  to  aveni;ement  fell  : 
Smart  daunts  not  mighty  harts,  but   makes  them 
more  to  swell. 


^V'ith  that,  his  poynant  speare  he  fierce  aventred 
With  doubled  force  close  underneath  his  shield, 
That  tlirough  the  mayles  into  his  thigh  it  entred. 
And,  there  arrestinrr,  readie  way  did  yield 
For  bloud  to  gush  forth  on  the  grassie  field  ; 
That  he  for  ])aine  himselfe  n'ot  right  upreai-e, 
13ut  to  and  fro  in  great  amazement  reel'd  ; 
Like  an  old  oke,  whose  pith  and  sap  is  seare, 
At  puffe  of  every  storme  doth  stagger  here  and  theare. 


Whom  so  dismayd  when  Cambell  had  espide, 
Againe  he  drove  at  him  with  double  migjit, 
That  nought  mote  stay  the  Steele,  till  in  his  side 
The  mortall  point  most  cruelly  empiglit  ; 
Where  fast  infixed,  whilest  he  sought  by  slight 
It  forth  to  wrest,  the  staffe  asunder  brake. 
And  left  the  iiead  behinde  :   with  which  despight 
Ife  all  enrag'd  his  shivering  speare  did  shake. 
And  charging  him  afresh  thus  felly  him  bespake  : 


"  Lo  !  faitour,  there  thy  meede  unto  tliee  take, 
The  meede  of  thy  mischalenge  and  abet : 
Not  for  tliine  owne,  but  for  thy  sisters  sake, 
Have  I  thus  long  thy  life  unto  iliee  let  : 
But  to  forheare  doth  not  forgive  the  det." 
The  wicked  weapon  heard  his  wrathfuU  vow  ; 
And,  passing  forth  with  furious  aft'ret, 
Pierst  through  his  bever  quite  into  his  brow. 
That  with  the  force  it  backward  forced  him  to  bow. 


Therewith  asunder  in  the  midst  it  brast. 

And  in  his  hand  nought  but  the  troncheon  left ; 

The  other  lialfe  behind  yet  sticking  fast 

Out  of  his  head-peec;-  Cambeli  fii-rcely  reft. 

And  with  such  furie  baeke  at  him  it  ht-ft, 

That,  making  way  unto  his  dearest  life. 

His  weasand-pipe  it  through  his  gorget  cleft : 

Thence  streames  of  puqile  bloud  is.'-uing  rife 

Let  forth  his  wearie  ghost,  and  made  an  end  of  strife 


His  wearie  ghost  assoyld  from  fleshly  band 

Did  not,  as  others  wont,  directly  fly 

llnto  her  rest  in  Plutoes  griesly  land  ; 

Ne  into  ayre  did  vanish  presently  ; 

Ne  chaunged  was  into  a  starre  in  sky  , 

15ut  through  traduction  was  eftsoones  derived. 

Like  as  his  mother  prayed  the  Destinie, 

Into  his  other  brethren  that  survived. 

In  whom  he  liv'd  anew,  of  former  life  deprived. 


Whom  when  on  ground  his  brother  next  beheld. 
Though  sad  and  sorrie  for  so  heavy  sight. 
Yet  leave  unto  his  sorrow  did  not  yeeld  ; 
But  rather  stir'd  to  vengeance  and  despight, 
Tlirough  secret  feeling  of  his  generous  spright, 
Ruslit  fiercely  forth,  the  battell  to  renew. 
As  in  reversion  of  his  brothers  right  ; 
And  chalenging  the  virgin  as  his  dew. 
His  foe  was  soone  addrest :    the   trompets   freshly 
blew. 


With  that  they  both  together  fiercely  met. 

As  if  that  each  ment  other  to  devoure  ; 

And  with  their  axes  both  so  sorely  bet. 

That  nether  plate  nor  mayle,  whereas  their  powre 

They  t'elt,  could  once  sustaine  the  hideous  stowre. 

But  rived  were,  like  rotten  wood,  asunder;  [sliowre, 

\Vliilest  through  their  rifts   the    ruddie  bloud  did 

And  fire  did  flash,  like  lightning  after  thunder, 

1  iiatiild  the  lookers  on  attonce  with  ruth  and  wonder. 


As  when  two  tygers  prickt  with  hungers  rage 
Have  by  good  fortune  found  some  beasts  fresh  spovle,. 
On  which  they  weine  their  famine  to  asswnge. 
And  gaine  a  feastfull  guerdon  of  their  toyle  ; 
Both  falling  out  doe  siirre  up  strifefull  broyle. 
And  cruell  battell  twixt  themselves  doe  make. 
Whiles  neither  lets  the  other  touch  the  soyle. 
But  either  sdeigns  with  other  to  partake  : 
So  cruelly  those  knights  strove  for  that  ladies  sake. 


Full  many  strokes,  that  mortally  were  ment. 
The  whiles  were  interchaunged  twixt  them  two  , 
Yet  thev  were  all  ■with  so  good  wariment 
Or  warded,  or  avovded  and  let  goe. 
That  still  the  life  stood  fearelesse  of  her  foe; 
Till  Diamond,  disdeigning  long  delay 
Ot  douljtfuU  cortune  wavering  to  and  fro, 
Resolv'd  to  end  it  one  or  other  way  ; 
And  heav'd  his  murdrous  axe  at  him  with  mighty 
sway. 


The  dreadfull  stroke,  in  case  it  liad  arrived 
Where  it  was  ment,  (so  deadlv  it  was  ment,) 
The  soule  had  sure  out  of  his  body  nved, 
And  stinted  all  the  strife  incontinent  ; 
But  Cambels  fate  that  fortune  did  prevent  : 
Fo" ,  seeing  it  at  hand,  he  swarv'd  asyde, 
And  so  gave  wav  unto  his  fell  intent ; 
Who,  missing  of  the  marke  which  he  had  e^-de, 
Was  with  the  force  nigh  feld  whilst  his  right  f:ot 
did  sb'de. 


]98 


THE  FAERIE  QL'EENE. 


[Book  IV 


As  when  a  vulture  greedie  of  liis  pray, 
'J  lii-oui>-li  lum.o-er  long  that  liart  to  liim  dotli  lend, 
Strikes  ;it  an  heron  with  all  his  bodies  sway, 
That  from  his  force  seemes  nought  may  it  defend  ; 
'1  he  warie  fowie,  that  spies  him  toward  bend 
lli:i  (Ireadfull  souse,  avoydes  it,  shunning  light. 
And  niaketh  him  his  wing  in  vaine  to  spend  ; 
Tiiat  with  the  weight  of  his  owne  weeldlesse  might 
He  falleth  ni^b  to  ground,  and  scarse  recoveretb 
flight. 


Wliich  faire  adventure  when  Cambello  spide. 
Full  liglitly,  ere  hiraselfe  he  could  recower 
From  drtungers  dread  to  ward  his  naked  side. 
He  can  let  drive  at  him  with  all  his  power. 
And  with  his  axe  him  smote  in  evill  hower, 
That  Irom  his  shoulders  quite  his  head  be  reft : 
The  headlesse  tronke,  a;  lieedlesse  of  that  stov/er. 
Stood  still  awhile,  and  his  fast  fooling-  kept ; 
Till,  feeling  life  to  fayle,  it  fell,  and  deadly  slept. 


Tliey,  which  that  piteous  spectacle  beheld. 

Were  much  amaz'd  the  headlesse  tronke  to  see 

Stand  up  so  long  and  weapon  vaine  to  weld, 

Unweeting  of  the  Fates  divine  decree 

For  lifes  succession  in  tiiose  brethren  three. 

For  notwithstanding  that  one  soule  was  reft. 

Yet  liad  tlie  bodie  not  dismembred  bee. 

It  would  have  lived,  and  revived  eft ; 

But,  finding  no  fit  seat,  the  lifelesse  corse  it  left. 


Yet  nought  thereof  was  'I'riamond  adredde, 

Ne  des])erate  of  glorious  victorie  ; 

]3ut  sharpely  him  assayld,  and  sore  bestedde 

With  heapes  of  strolies,  which  be  at  him  let  flie' 

As  thicke  a-j  liayle  forth  poured  from  the  skie: 

He  stroke,  he  soust,  he  foynd,  he  hewd,  he  lasht. 

And  did  his  yron  brond  so  fast  applie. 

That  from  the  same  the  fierie  sparkles  flasht, 

As  fast  as  water-sprinkles  gainst  a  rocke  are  das; 


IMuch  was  Cambello  daunted  with  Ins  blowcs 
So  thicke  they  fell,  and  forcibly  were  sent. 
That  he  was  forst  from  daunger  of  the  throwes 
Backe  to  retire,  and  somewhat  to  relent. 
Till  th'  heat  of  his  fierce  furie  he  had  sjjcnt  : 
Which  when  for  want  of  breath  gan  to  abate. 
Fie  tht^n  afresh  with  new  encouragement 
Did  him  assayle,  and  mightily  amate. 
As  fast,  as  forward  erst,  now  backward  to  retrate 


Like  as  the  tide,  that  comes  fro  th'  ocean  mayne, 
Flowes  up  the  Shenan  with  contrarie  forse. 
And,  over-ruling  him  in  his  owne  rayne, 
Drives  backe  the  current  of  liis  kindly  course. 
And  makes  it  seeme  to  have  some  otlier  sourse  ; 
lint  wlien  the  flond  is  spent,  then  backe  againe 
His  borrowed  waters  forst  to  re-disbonrse. 
He  sends  the  sea  his  owiie  with  double  !;aine. 
And  tribute  eke  withall,  as  to  his  soveraine. 


It  left  ;  but  that  same  soule  which  therein  dwelt, 

Streight  entring  into  Triamond  him  fild 

\\  ith  double  life  and  griefe  ;  which  when  ne  felt. 

As  one  whose  inner  parts  had  bene  ytln-ild 

^Vith  point  of  Steele  that  close  his  hartbloud  spild. 

He  lightly  lept  out  of  his  place  of  rest. 

And,  rushing  forth  into  tlie  em])tie  field, 

Against  Cambello  fiercely  him  addrest  ; 

Who,  him  aft'ronting  soone,  to  fight  was  I'eadie  prest. 


Well  mote  ye  wonder  how  tliat  noble  knight. 
After  he  had  so  often  wounded  beene, 
(]oidd  stand  on  foot  now  to  renew  the  fight : 
But  had  ye  then  him  forth  advauncing  seeno. 
Some  newborne  wight  ye  would  him  surely  weene  ; 
So  fresh  he  seemed  and  so  fierce  in  sight  ; 
Like  as  a  snake,  whom  wearie  winters  teene 
Hath  worne  to  nought,  now  feeling  sommers  might 
Casts  off  bis  ragged  skin  and  freshly  doth  him  dight. 


All  was,  through  vertue  of  the  ring  he  wore  ; 
The  wliich  not  onely  did  not  from  liim  let 
One  dro])  of  bloud  to  fall,  but  did  restore 
His  weakned  powers,  and  dulled  spirits  wliet, 
Throunh  working  of  the  stone  tlierein  yset. 
Else  how  could  one  of  e(|uall  might  with  most, 
Against  so  many  no  lesse  mightie  met. 
Once  thinke  to  match  tliree  such  on  ecjuall  cost. 
Three  such  as  able  were  to  match  i  puissant  host  'l 


xxvm. 

T'jus  <lid  the  battell  varie  to  and  fro. 

With  diverse  fortune  doubtfull  to  be  deemed  : 

Now  this  the  better  had,  now  bad  bis  fo  ; 

Then  be  halfe  vancpiisbt,  then  the  other  seemed  ; 

Yet  victors  both  tliemselves  alwayes  esteemed  : 

And  all  the  while  the  disenlrayled  blood 

Adowne  their  sides  like  litle  rivers  stremed. 

That  witJi  the  wasting  of  his  vital!  flood 

Sir  Triamond  at  last  full  faint  and  feeble  stood. 


But  Cambell  still  more  strong  and  greater  grew, 
Ne  felt  his  blood  to  wast,  ne  powres  emperisht, 
Through  that  rings  vertue,  that  with  vigour  nevr^ 
Still  whenas  lie  enfeebled  was,  him  cherisht. 
And  all  bis  wounds  and  all  his  bruses  guarisht : 
Like  as  a  withered  tree,  through  husbands  toyle^ 
Is  oiten  seene  full  freshly  to  have  florisbt. 
And  frnitfuU  ajiples  to  have  borne  awhile. 
As  fresh  as  when  it  first  was  planted  in  the  soyl** 


Through  which  advantage,  in  his  strength  he  rose 

And  smote  the  other  with  so  wondrous  might, 

That  through  the  seame  which  did  bis  hauberk  close 

Into  his  throate  and  life  it  pierced  cjuight. 

That  downe  he  fell  as  dead  in  all  mens  sight: 

Vet  devid  he  \\as  not  ;  yet  lie  sure  dill  die. 

As  all  men  do  that  lose  the  living  sjinglit: 

So  did  oiif  soule  out  of  his  bodie  iiie 

Unto  her  native  home  fiom  mortall  miserie. 


Can-to  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


199 


But  nathelesse  whilst  all  the  lookers-on 

Him  dead  behight,  as  he  to  all  appeard, 

\11  unawares  he  started  up  anon, 

As  one  that  had  out  of  a  dreme  bene  reard, 

And  fresh  assayld  his  foe  ;  who  halfe  affeard 

Of  th'  uncouth  sight,  as  he  some  ghost  had  seene, 

Stood  still  amaz'd,  holding  his  idle  sweard ; 

Till,  having  often  by  him  stricken  beene, 

He  forced  was  to  strike  and  save  himselfe  from  teene. 


Yet  from  thenceforth  more  waril}''  he  fought, 
As  one  in  feare  the  Stygian  gods  t'  offend, 
Ke  foUowd  on  so  fast,  but  rather  sought 
Himselfe  to  save,  and  daunger  to  defend. 
Then  life  and  labour  botli  m  vaine  to  spend. 
Which  Triamond  perceiving,  weened  sure 
He  gan  to  faint  toward  the  battels  end, 
And  that  he  should  not  long  on  foote  endure ; 
A  signe  which  did  to  him  the  victorie  assure. 


XXXIII. 

Whereof  full  With  eftsoones  his  mightie  hand 
He  heav'd  on  high,  in  mind  with  that  same  blow 
To  make  an  end  of  all  tliat  did  withstand  : 
Which  Cambell  seeing  come  was  nothing  slow 
Himselfe  to  save  from  that  so  deadlv  throw; 
And  at  that  instant  reaching  forth  his  sweard 
Close  underneath  his  shield,  that  scarce  did  show, 
Stroke  bim,  as  he  his  hand  to  strike  upreard. 
In   th'  arm-pit  full,   that    through   both   sides   the 
wound  appeard. 

XXXIV. 

Yet  still  that  direfull  stroke  kept  on  his  way. 
And,  falling  heavie  on  Cambelloes  crest, 
Strooke  him  so  hugely  that  in  swowne  he  lay, 
And  in  his  head' an  liideous  wound  imprest: 
And  sure,  had  it  not  happily  found  rest 
Upon  the  brim  of  his  hrode-plateJ  shield. 
It  would  have  cleft  his  braine  downe  to  his  brest  : 
So  both  at  once  fell  dead  upon  the  field. 
And  each  to  other  seemd  the  victorie  to  yield. 


Which  whenas  all  the  lookers-on  beheld, 
They  weened  sure  tjie  warre  was  at  an  end  ; 
And  iudgf  s  rose  ;  and  marslials  of  the  firld 
Broke  up  the  listes,  their  amies  away  to  rend  ; 
And  Canacee  gan  wa\  le  her  dearest  frend. 
All  suddenly  they  both  upstarted  light, 
1  he  one  out  of  the  swownd  which  him  did  blend, 
The  other  breathing  now  another  spriglit  : 
And  fiercely  each  assayling  gan  afresh  to  fight. 


Long  while  they  then  continued  in  that  wize, 

As  if  hut  then  the  battell  had  begonne  :       [despise  , 

Strokes,    wounds,    wards,   weapons,  all   they   did 

Ne  either  car'd  to  ward,  or  perill  shonne, 

Desirous  both  to  have  the  battell  donne  ; 

Ne  either  cured  life  to  save  or  spill, 

Ne  wliich  of  them  did  winne,  ne  which  were  wonne  • 

So  wearie  both  of  fighting  had  their  fill, 

That  life  itselfe  s-'emd  loathsome,  and  long  safetie  ill. 


Whilst  thus  the  case  in  doubtfull  ballance  hong. 
Unsure  to  whether  side  it  would  incline. 
And  all  mens  eyes  and  hearts,  which  there  among 
Stood  gazing,  filled  were  with  ruful  line 
And  secret  feare,  to  see  their  fatall  fine  ; 
All  suddenly  they  heard  a  troublous  noyes, 
That  seemd  some  perilous  tumult  to  desine, 
Confus'd  with  womens  cries  and  shouts  of  boyes, 
Such  as  the  troubled  theatres  ofttimes  annoyes. 

XXXVIII. 

Thereat  the  champions  botli  stood  still  a  space. 

To  weeten  what  that  sudden  clamour  merit  : 

Lo  !  where  they  spyde  with  sjieedie  wliirling  pace 

One  in  a  charet  of  straunge  furniment 

Towards  them  driving  like  a  storme  out  sent. 

Tlie  charet  decked  was  in  wondrous  wize 

AVith  gold  and  many  a  gorgeous  ornament, 

After  the  Persian  monarks  antique  guize. 

Such  as  the  maker  selfe  could  best  by  art  devize. 


And  drawne  it  was  (that  wonder  is  to  fell) 
Of  two  grim  lyons,  taken  from  the  wood 
In  which  their  powre  all  others  did  e.xcell. 
Now  made  forget  their  former  cruell  mood, 
T'  obey  their  riders  best,  as  seemed  good  : 
And  therein  sate  a  lady  passing  faire 
And  bright,  that  seemed  borne  of  angels  brood  ; 
And,  with  her  beautie,  bountie  did  comjiure, 
Whether  of  them   in  her  should  have   the   greater 
share. 


Thereto  she  learned  was  in  magicke  leare. 
And  all  the  artes  that  sublill  wits  discover, 
Having  therein  bene  trained  many  a  yeare, 
And  well  instructed  by  the  fay  her  motiier, 
That  in  the  same  she  farre  exceld  all  other : 
Who,  understanding  by  her  mightie  art 
Of  th'  evill  plight  in  which  her  dearest  brother 
Now  stood,  came  forth  in  hast,  to  take  his  part. 
And  pacifie  the  strife  which  causd  so  deadly  smart. 


And,  as  she  passed  through  th'  unruly  preace 
Of  people  thronging  thicke  her  to  behold. 
Her  angrie  teame  breaking  their  bonds  of  peace 
Great  heapes  of  them,  like  sheepe  in  narrow  fold. 
For  hast  did  over-runne  in  dust  enrould  ; 
That,  thorough  rude  confusion  of  the  rout. 
Some  fearing  shriekt,  some  being  harmed  hould. 
Some  laught  for  sport,  some  did  for  wonder  shout. 
And  some,   that  would   seeme   wise,   their  wonder 
turnd  to  dout. 


In  her  right  hand  a  rod  of  peace  shee  bore, 

Ahout  tlie  which  two  serpents  weren  wound, 

Entrayled  mutually  in  lovely  lore. 

And  by  the  tailes  together  lirmely  bound, 

And  both  were  with  one  olive  garland  crownd  ; 

(Like  to  the  rod  which  Maias  Sonne  doth  wield, 

\Vherewith  the  hellisli  fiends  he  doth  confound  ;) 

And  in  her  othe-r  hand  a  cup  she  hild, 

The  which  was  with  Ne])entlie  to  the  brim  upfild. 


?00 


THE  FAERIE  QUP:ENE. 


[Boos  IV. 


Nepenthe  is  a  driiick  of  soverayne  grace, 
Devized  by  the  gods  for  to  nsswage 
Harts  grief,  and  bitter  gall  .iway  to  chace 
Which  stirs  up  anguish  and  contentious  rage  : 
Instead  thereof  sweet  peace  and  quietage 
It  doth  establish  in  the  troubled  mynd. 
Few  men,  but  such  as  sober  are  and  sage, 
Are  by  the  gods  to  drinck  thereof  assynd  ; 
But  siach  as  drinck,  eternall  happinesse  do  fynd. 


Such  famous  men,  such  worthies  of  the  earth, 
As  love  will  have  advaunced  to  the  skie, 
And  there  made  gods,  though  borne  of  mortull  berth. 
For  their  high  merits  and  great  dignitie. 
Are  wont,  before  they  may  to  heaven  flie. 
To  drincke  hereof ;  whereby  all  cares  forepast 
Are  washt  away  quite  from  their  memorie  : 
So  did  those  olde  herol's  hereof  taste, 
Before   that  they  in  blisse  amongst  the  gods  were 
plaste. 

XLV.  ^ 

Much  more  of  price  and  of  more  gratious  powre 

Is  this,  then  that  same  water  of  Ardenne, 

The  which  Rinaldo  drunck  in  happie  liowre. 

Described  by  that  fam.ous  Tuscane  penne  : 

For  that  had  might  to  change  the  hearts  of  men 

Fro  love  to  hate,  a  change  of  evdl  choise  : 

But  tliis  doth  hatred  make  in  love  to  brenne, 

4nd  heavy  heart  with  comfort  doth  rejoyce. 

Who  would  not  to  this  vertue  rather  yeeld  his  voice  ! 


^t  last  arriving  by  the  listes  side 
.Sliee  with  lier  rod  did  softly  smite  the  raile, 
Which  straight  flew  ope  and  gave  her  way  to  ride. 
Eftsoones  out  of  her  coch  slie  gan  availe. 
And  pacing  fairely  forth  did  bid  all  haile 
First  to  her  brother  whom  she  loved  deare, 
That  so  to  see  him  made  her  heart  to  (|uaile  ; 
And  next  to  Cambell,  whose  sad  ruefuU  clieare 
Made  her  to  change  her  hew,  and  hidden  love  t'  ap- 
peare. 

XLVII. 

rhey  lightly  her  reqiiit,  (for  small  delight 

Fhev  had  as  then  her  long  to  entertaine,) 

\nd'  eft  them  turned  both  againe  to  fight : 

Which  when  she  saw,  downe  on  the  bloudy  plaine 

Herselfe  she  threw,  and  teares  gan  shed  amaine  ; 

■Vmongst  her  teares  immixing  prayers  nieeke, 

\m\  with  her  prayers  reasons,  to  restraine 

From  blouddy  strife;  and,  blessed  peace  to  seeks, 

I3y  all  that  unto  them  was  deare  did  them  beseeke. 


But  whenas  all  might  nought  with  them  prevaile, 
She  smote  them  lightly  with  her  jiowretull  wand  : 
Then  suddenly,  as  if  their  hearts  did  ftile, 
Their  wratlifull  blades  downe  fell  out  of  their  hand. 
And  thev,  like  men  astonisht,  still  did  stand. 
Thus  whilest  their  minds  were  doubtfully  distraught, 
And  mighty  spirites  bound  with  mightier  band, 
lier  golden  cup  to  them  for  drinke  she  raught. 
Whereof,   full  glad  for  thirst,  ech   drunk  an  harty 
draught : 


Of  which  so  soone  as  they  once  tasted  had, 
A\'onder  it  is  that  sudden  change  to  see  : 
Instead  of  strikes,  each  otiier  kissed  glad. 
And  lovely  haulst,  from  feare  of  treason  free, 
And  plighted  hands,  for  ever  friends  to  be. 
When  all  men  saw  this  sudden  change  of  things, 
So  mortall  foes  so  friendly  to  agree, 
For  passing  icy,  which  so  great  niarvaile  brings. 
They  all  gan  sliout  aloud,  that  all  the  heaven  rings. 


All  which  when  gentle  Canacee  beheld. 
In  hast  she  from  her  lofty  chaire  descended. 
To  weet  what  sudden  tidings  was  befeld  : 
Where  wlien  she  saw  that  cruell  war  so  ended. 
And  deadly  foes  so  faithfully  atfrended. 
In  lovely  wise  she  gan  that  lady  greet, 
Which  had  so  great  dismay  so  well  amended  ; 
And,  entertaining  her  with  curt'sies  meet, 
Profest  to  her  true  friendship  and  affection  sweet. 


Thus  when  they  all  accorded  goodly  were, 
I  he  trumpets  sounded,  and  they  all  arose. 
Thence  to  depart  with  glee  and  gladsome  chere. 
Those  warlike  chamjiions  both  together  chose 
Homeward  to  march,  themselves  there  to  repose  : 
And  wise  Cambina.  taking  by  her  side 
Faire  Canacee  as  fresh  as  morning  rose. 
Unto  her  coch  remounting,  home  did  ridp, 
Admir'd  of  all  the  people  and  much  glorifide. 


Where  making  ioyous  feast  their  daies  tliey  spent 
In  perfect  love,  devoide  of  hatefull  strife, 
ATlide  with  hands  of  inulindl  couplement  ; 
For  Triamond  had  Canacee  to  wife. 
With  whom  he  ledd  a  long  and  happie  life  ; 
And  Cainbel  tooke  Cambina  to  his  fere, 
Tiie  which  as  life  were  each  to  other  liefe. 
So  all  alike  did  love,  and  loved  were. 
That  since  their  days  such  lovers  were  not  fouad 
elswere. 


Casto  IV.l 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


201 


CANTO  IV. 


Satyrane  makes  a  turneyment 

For  love  of  Fiorimell  : 
Britoman  winnes  the  prize  from  all. 

And  Artegall  dotli  quell. 


It  often  fals,  (as  here  it  earst  befell,) 
That  mortall  foes  doe  turne  lo  fuitbfull  frends, 
And  friends  profest  are  chaungd  to  foenien  fell  : 
The  cause  of  both  of  both  their  minds  depends  ; 
And  th' end  of  both  likewise  of  both  their  ends: 
For  enmitie,  that  of  no  ill  proceeds 
Hut  of  occasion,  with  th' occasion  ends  ; 
And  friendship,  which  a  faint  aflection  breeds 
\Vitliout  regard  of  good,  dyes  like  ill-grounded  seeds. 


That  well  (me  seemes)  appeares  by  that  of  late 

Twixt  Cambell  and  Sir  '1  riamond  befell  ; 

As  als  by  this  ;  that  now  a  new  debate 

8tird  up  twixt  jjlandaniour  and  Paridell, 

'I  he  which  by  course  befals  me  here  to  tell  : 

Who,  having  those  two  other  knights  espide 

JMarching'  afore,  as  ye  remember  well, 

Sent  forth  their  squire  to  have  them  both  descride, 

And  eke  those  masked  ladies  riding  them  beside. 


Who  backe  returning  told,  as  he  had  seene. 
That  tliev  were  douglitie  knights  of  dreaded  name; 
And  those  two  ladies  ti.eir  ti\o  loves  unseene  ; 
And  therefore  wisht  them  without  blot  oi-  blame 
To  let  them  passe  at  will,  fur  dread  of  shame. 
But  Blandamour  full  of  vain-glorious  spright, 
And  rather  stird  by  his  discordfull  dame. 
Upon  them  gladly  would  have  prov'd  his  might, 
But  that  he  yet  was  sore  of  his  late  lucklesse  tight. 


Yet  nigh  apprcching  he  them  fowle  bespake, 
Disgracmg  them,  himselfe  thereby  to  grace 
As  was  his  wont  ;   so  weening  way  to  make 
To  ladies  love,  whereso  he  came  in  place, 
And  with  lewd  termes  their  lovers  to  'leface. 
Whose  sharjje  provokement  them  incenst  so  sore. 
That  both  were  bent  t'  avenge  his  usage  base. 
And  gan  their  shields  addresse  themselves  afore  : 
For  evill  deedes  may  better  then  bad  words  be  bore. 


But  faire  Cambina  with  perswasions  myld 
Did  mitigate  the  fiercenesse  of  their  mode. 
That  for  the  present  they  were  reconcyl'd, 
And  gan  to  treate  of  deeds  of  amies  abrode, 
And  strange  adventures,  all  the  wav  they  rode: 
Amongst  the  which  they  told,  as  then  befell, 
Of  that  great  turney  which  was  blazed  brode, 
For  that  rich  girdle  of  faire  Florimeil, 
The  prize  of  her  which  did  in  beautie  most  excell. 


To  which  folke-mote  they  all  with  one  consent, 

Sitli  each  of  them  his  ladie  had  him  by, 

Whose  beautie  each  of  them  thought  excellent. 

Agreed  to  tiavell,  and  their  fortunes  try. 

So  as  they  passed  forth,  they  did  espy 

One  in  bright  armes  with  ready  speare  in  rest. 

That  toward  them  his  course  seem'd  to  apply  ; 

Gainst  whom  Sir  Parid.ell  himselfe  addrest, 

Him  weening,  ere  he  uigh  approcht,  to  have  represt. 


vn. 

\Vhich  th' other  seeing  gan  his  course  relent, 
And  vaunted  si)eare  eftsoones  to  disadvaunce, 
As  if  he  naught  but  peace  and  pleasure  menl, 
Now  falne  into  their  fellowship  by  chance  ; 
Whereat  they  shewed  curteous  countenaunce. 
So  as  he  rode  witli  them  accompanide, 
His  roving  eie  did  on  the  lady  glaunce 
Which  Blandamour  had  riding  by  his  side  : 
Whom  sure  he  weend  that  he  somewhere  tofore  had 
eide. 


It  was  to  weete  that  snowy  Fiorimell, 
Which  Ferraii  late  from  Braggadochio  wonne  ; 
Whom  he  now  seeing,  her  remembred  well. 
How  having  relt  her  from  the  witches  sonne. 
He  soone  her  lost :  wherefore  he  now  begunne 
To  challenge  her  anew,  as  his  owne  prize, 
Whom  formerly  he  had  in  battell  wonne, 
And  profler  made  by  force  her  to  reprize  : 
Which  scurneiuU  offer  Blandamour  gan  soone  des- 
pize  ; 

IX. 

And  said  ;  "  Sir  Knight,  sith  ye  this  lady  clame. 

Whom  he  that  hath  were  loth  to  lose  so  light, 

(  For  so  to  lose  a  lady  were  great  shauie,) 

Yee  shall  her  winiie,  as  I  have  done,  in  tight : 

And  lo  !  shee  shall  be  placed  here  in  sight 

Together  with  this  hag  beside  her  set, 

Thcu  whoso  winnes  her  may  her  have  by  right ; 

But  he  shall  have  the  hag  that  is'ybet, 

And  with  her  alwaies  ride,  till  he  anotlier  get." 


lliat  offer  pleased  all  the  comjiany . 

So  Florimeil  wi'.b  Ate  forth  was  brought, 

At  whicli  they  all  gan  laugh  full  merrily: 

But  Braggadochio  said,  he  never  thought 

For  such  an  hag,  that  seemed  worst  then  nought, 

His  person  to  emi)erill  so  in  fight : 

But  if  to  match  that  lady  they  had  sought 

Another  like,  that  were  like  faire  and  bright, 

His  life  he  then  would  spend  to  iustifie  his  right. 


102 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boor  IV 


At  which  his  vaine  excuse  they  all  gan  smile. 

As  scorning  his  uniuanly  cowardize  : 

And  Florimell  him  lowly  gaa  revile, 

That  for  lier  sake  ret'us'd  to  enterprize 

The  battell,  offred  in  so  knightly  wize  ; 

And  Ate  eke  provokt  him  privily 

With  love  of  bar,  and  shame  of  much  mesprize. 

Hut  naught  he  car'd  for  friend  or  enemy  ; 

For  ill  base  mind  nor  friendshij)  dwels  nor  enmity. 


l>ut  Camhell  thus  did  shut  up  all  in  iest ; 

'•  15rave  knights  and  ladies,  certes  ye  do  wrong 

To  stirre  up  strife,  when  most  us  needeth  rest, 

'i'hat  we  may  us  reserve  both  fresh  and  strong 

Against  die  turneiment  which  is  not  long, 

When  whoso  list  to  fight  may  fight  his  fill : 

Till  then  your  challenges  ye  may  prolong  ; 

And  then  it  shall  be  tried,  if  ye  will, 

Whether  shall  have  the  hag,  or  hold  the  lady  still." 


They  all  agreed  ;  so,  turning  all  to  game 
And  pleasaunt  bord,  they  past  forth  on  their  way ; 
And  all  that  while,  whereso  they  rode  or  came  ; 
■  'J'hat  Tuasked  mock-knight  was  their  sport  and  play. 
Till  that  at  length  upon  th'  appointed  day 
Unto  the  place  of  turneyment  they  came  ; 
^\'here  they  before  them  found  in  fresh  aray 
iNIanie  a  brave  knight  and  manie  a  daintie  dame 
'assembled  for  to  get  the  honour  of  that  game. 


There  this  faire  crew  arriving  did  divide 
Themselves  asunder:  Blandamour  with  those 
Of  iiis  on  th'  one,  the  rest  on  th'  other  side, 
iiut  boastful  Braggadochio  rather  chose. 
For  glorie  vaine,  their  fellowship  to  lose, 
That  men  on  him  the  more  might  gaze  alone. 
The  rest  themselves  in  troupes  did  else  dispose, 
Like  as  it  seemed  best  to  every  one  ; 
The  kuights  in  couples  marcht  with  ladies  linckt 
attoue. 


Then  first  of  all  forth  came  Sir  Satyrane, 

Jiearing  that  jirecious  relicke  in  an  arke 

Of  gold,  that  bad  eyes  might  it  not  prophane  ; 

Which  drawing  softly  forth  out  of  tlie  darke, 

lie  open  shewd,  that  all  men  it  mote  marke  ; 

A  gorgeous  girdle,  curiously  embost  [marke  ; 

With    pearle   and    precious    stone,    worth    many    a 

Yet  did  the  worki'nanship  farre  passe  the  cost : 

It  was  the  same  which  lately  Florimell  had  lost. 


The  same  alofte  he  hung  in  open  vew, 
'J"o  be  the  prize  of  beautie  ind  of  might ; 
The  which,  eftsoones  discovered,  to  it  drew 
The  eyes  of  all,  allur'd  witli  close  delight, 
And  hearts  quite  robbed  with  so  glorious  sight, 
I'hat  all  men  threw  out  vowes  and  wishes  vaine. 
'J'hrise  liappie  ladie,  and  thrise  happie  knight. 
Them  seemd  that  could  so  goodly  riches  gaine. 
So  worthie  of  the  perill,  worthy  of  the  paine. 


Then  tooke  the  bold  Sir  Satyrane  in  hand 

An  huge  great  s|ieare,  such  as  he  wont  to  wield, 

And,  vauncing  forth  from  all  the  other  band 

Of  knights,  addrest  his  maiden-headed  shield. 

Shewing  himselfe  all  ready  for  the  field  : 

Gainst  whom  there  singled  from  the  other  side 

A  Painim  knight  that  well  in  armes  was  skil'd. 

And  had  in  many  a  battell  oft  bene  tride, 

Hight  Bruncheval  the  bold,  who  fiersly  forth  did  ride 


So  furiously  they  both  together  met. 

That  neither  could  the  others  force  sustaine  : 

As  two  fierce  buls,  that  strive  the  rule  to  get 

Of  all  the  heard,  ineete  with  so  hideous  maine. 

That  both  rebutted  tumble  on  the  plaine  ; 

So  these  two  champions  to  the  ground  were  feld  ; 

Where  in  a  maze  they  both  did  long  remaine. 

And  in  their  hands  their  idle  troncheons  held, 

\Vhich  neither  able  were  to  wag,  or  once  to  weld. 


Wliich  when  the  noble  Ferramont  espide. 
He  pricked  forth  in  avd  of  Salyran  ; 
And  him  against  Sir  Blandamour  did  ride 
With  all  the  strength  and  slifnesse  that  he  can  : 
]5ut  the  more  strong  and  stiflTely  that  he  ran, 
So  much  more  sorely  to  the  ground  he  fell, 
That  on  an  heape  were  tumbled  horse  and  man  . 
Unto  whose  rescue  forth  rode  Paridell ; 
But  him  likewise  with  that  same  speare  he  eke  did 
quell. 

XX. 

Which  Braggadochio  seeing  had  no  will 

To  hasten  greatly  t'j  his  parties  ayd, 

Albee  his  turne  were  next ,  but  stood  there  still, 

As  one  that  seemed  doubtfuU  or  dismayd  : 

But  Triamond,  halfe  wroth  to  see  him  staid. 

Sternly  stept  forth  and  raught  away  his  speare, 

^^'ith  which  so  sore  he  Ferramont  assaid, 

'i'hat  horse  and  man  to  ground  he  quite  did  beare, 

That  neither  could  in  hast  themselves  again  upreure 


Which  to  avenge  Sir  Devon  him  did  dight, 

Iiut  with  no  better  fortune  than  the  rest  ; 

For  him  likewise  he  (juickly  downe  did  smight : 

And  after  him  Sir  l^ouglas  him  addrest ; 

And  after  him  Sir  Paliniord  forth  jirest  ; 

Jiut  none  oi  them  against  his  strokes  could  stand  ; 

Pnit,  all  the  more,  the  more  his  praise  increst : 

For  either  they  were  lel't  upon  the  land, 

Or  went  away  sore  wounded  of  his  haplesse  hand. 


And  now  by  this  Sir  Satyrane  ahraid 

Out  of  the  swo'.vne,  in  which  too  long  he  lay  ; 

And  looking  round  about,  like  one  dismaid, 

\\  henas  he  saw  the  mercilesse  affray 

\Viiich  doughty  Triamond  had  wrought  that  day 

Unto  the  noble  knights  of  Maidenhead, 

I  lis  mighty  heart  did  almost  rend  in  twuy 

For  very  gall,  that  rather  wholly  dead 

Himselfe  he  vvisht  have  beene  then  iu  so  bad  a  stead. 


Canto  IV.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUKEXE. 


203 


Eftsoones  he  gan  to  p^atlier  u-p  around 

His  weajions  which  lav  scattered  all  abrode, 

Atul,  as  it  fell,  his  steed  he  readv  found  : 

On  whom  remounting  fiercely  forth  he  rode, 

Like  sparke  of  fire  tliat  from  the  andvile  glode, 

Tliere  where  he  saw  the  valiant  Triamond 

Chasing,  and  laying-  on  them  heavy  lode, 

That  none  liis  force  were  able  to  withstond  ; 

So  dreadful!  were  Lis  strokes,  so  deadly  was  his  bond. 


With  that,  at  him  his  boamlike  speare  he  aimed, 
And  thereto  all  his  power  and  miL;lit  applide  : 
The  wicked  Steele  tor  miscliiefe  first  ordained 
And  liaving  now  misfortune  got  for  guide, 
Staid  not  till  it  arrived  in  his  side, 
And  therein  made  a  ver}'  griesly  wound, 
That  streames  of  blood  his  armour  all  bedide. 
Much  was  he  daunted  with  that  direfull  stownd, 
TJjat  scarse  he  him  ujjheld  from  fulling  in  a  sound. 


Yet,  as  he  might,  himselfe  he  soft  withdrew 
Out  of  the  field,  that  none  perceiv'd  it  plaine  ■ 
Then  gan  the  ])art  of  chalengers  anew 
To  range  the  field,  and  viclorlike  to  raine, 
Ihat  none  against  them  battell  durst  maintaine. 
Bv  that  the  gloorav  evening  on  them  fell, 
Tiiat  forced  them  from  fighting  to  refraine. 
And  trumpets  sound  to  cease  did  them  compell  : 
So  Satyrane  that  day  was  iudg'd  to  beare  the  bell. 


The  morrow  next  the  tuniey  gan  anew  ; 
And  with  tlie  first  the  hardy  Satvrane 
Appear'd  in  place,  with  all  his  noble  crew  : 
On  th'  other  side  full  many  a  warlike  swaine 
Assembled  were,  that  glorious  ])rize  to  gaine. 
But  mongst  them  all  was  not  Sir  Triamond  ; 
Unable  he  new  battell  to  darraine. 
Through  grievaunce  of  his  late  received  wound, 
That  doubly  did  him.  grieve   when  so  himselfe  he 
found. 


Which  Cambell  seeing,  though  he  could  not  salve, 
Ne  done  undoe,  yet,  for  to  salvo  his  name 
And  purchase  honour  in  his  friends  behalve, 
Tkis  goodly  counterfesaunce  he  did  frame  : 
The  shield  and  amies,  well  knowne  to  be  the  same 
Which  Triamond  had  worne,  unawares  to  wight 
And  to  his  friend  unwist,  for  doubt  of  blame 
If  he  misdid,  he  on  himselfe  did  digbt, 
That  none  could  him  discerne ;  and  so  went  forth  to 
fight. 


There  Satyrane  lord  of  the  field  he  found, 

Triumphing  in  great  ioy  and  iolity  ; 

Gainst  whom  none  able  was  to  stand  on  ground ; 

That  much  he  gan  his  glorie  to  envv. 

And  cast  t'avenge  his  friends  indignity  : 

A  mightie  speare  eftsoones  at  him  he  bent ; 

Wlij,  seeing  him  come  on  so  furiously, 

iNIet  him  mid-way  with  eijuall  hardiment. 

That  forcibly  to  ground  they  both  together  went. 


They  u])  againe  themselves  can  lightlv  reare, 
And  to  their  trved  swords  themselves  betake  ; 
With  which  tiiey  wrought  such  wondrous  marvels 
That  all  the  rest  it  did  amazed  make,  [there, 

Ne  any  dar'd  their  perill  to  partnke  ; 
Now  cuffing  close,  now  chasing  to  and  fro 
Now  hurtling  round  advantage  for  to  take  : 
As  two  wild  boares  together  grapling  go, 
Chaufino-  and  foming-  choler  each  against  his  fo. 


So  as  they  courst,  and  turneyd  here  and  theare. 
It  chaunst  Sir  Satyrane  his  steed  at  last. 
Whether  through  foundring  or  through  sodein  feare 
To  stumble,  that  his  rider  nigh  he  cast ; 
AVhich  vauntage  Cambell  did  pursue  so  fast. 
That,  ere  himselfe  he  had  recovered  well, 
So  sore  he  sowst  him  on  the  compast  creast, 
That  forced  him  to  leave  his  lofty  sell. 
And  nidely  tumbling  downe   under   his  horse-feete 
fell. 


Lightly  Cambello  leapt  downe  from  his  steed 
For  to  have  rent  his  shield  and  amies  away. 
That  whylome  wont  to  be  the  victors  meed ; 
When  all  unwares  he  felt  an  hideous  sway 
Of  many  swords  that  lode  on  him  did  lay  : 
An  hundred  knights  had  him  enclosed  round. 
To  rescue  Sat\rane  out  of  his  ]irav  ; 
All  which  at  once  huge  strokes  on  him  did  pound, 
In  hope  to  take  him   prisoner,  where  he  stood  on 
ground. 

xxxir. 

He  with  their  multitude  was  nought  disniayd 
But  with  stout  courage  turnd  upon  them  all. 
And  with  his  brond-iron  round  about  him  layd  ; 
Of  which  he  dealt  large  almes,  as  did  befall  : 
Like  as  a  lion,  that  by  chaunce  doth  fall 
Into  the  hunters  toile,  doth  rage  and  rore. 
In  royali  heart  disdaining  to  be  thrall : 
]5ut  all  111  vaine  :  for  what  might  one  do  more  ? 
They  have  him  taken  captive,  though  it  grieve  him 
sore. 

XXXIII. 

Whereof  when  newes  to  Triamond  was  brought 
Thereas  he  lav,  his  wound  he  soone  forgot. 
And  starting  up  streight  for  his  armour  sought  . 
In  vaine  he  sought ;  for  there  he  found  it  not  ; 
Cambello  it  away  before  had  got  : 
Cambelloes  arnies  therefore  he  on  him  threw. 
And  lightly  issewd  forth  to  take  his  lot. 
There  he  in  troupe  found  all  that  war:ike  crew 
Leading  his  friend  away,  full  sorie  to  his  vew. 


Into  the  thickest  of  that  knightlv  preasse 
He  thrust,  and  smote  downe  all  that  was  betweene 
Caried  with  fervent  zeale  ;  ne  did  he  ceasse. 
Till  that  he  came  where  he  had  Cambell  seene 
Like  captive  thral  two  other  knights  atweene : 
There  he  amongst  them  cruell  havocke  makes, 
That  they,  which  lead  him,  soone  enforced  beene 
To  let  him  loose  to  save  their  proper  stakes  ; 
Who,  being  freed,  from  one  a  weapon  fiercely  takes 


THE   KAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Rook  IV 


With  that  he  drives  at  tliem  with  dneadfull  might, 
5>otli  in  remembrance  of  his  friends  hife  harme. 
And  in  revengement  of  Ins  owne  despight : 
So  both  together  give  a  new  allarme, 
As  if  but  now  the  battell  wexed  warme. 
As  nlien  two  greedy  wolves  doe  breaks  by  force 
Into  an  heard,  farre  from  the  Imshand  farme, 
T!iev  spnile  and  ravine  without  all  remorse  : 
So  did  these  two  through    all  the  field  their  foes 
enforce. 


Fievcelv  they  followd  on  their  bolde  emprize, 
'I  ill  trumj)ets  sound  did  warne  them  all  to  rest : 
Then  all  with  one  consent  did  veeld  the  prize 
To  Triamond  and  Cambell  as  the  best : 
But  Triamond  to  Cambell  it  relest, 
And  Cambell  it  to  Triamond  transferd  ; 
Each  labouring  t' advance  the  others  gest, 
And  make  his  praise  before  his  ovvne  preferd  : 
So  that  the  doome  was  to  another  day  difterd. 


The  last  day  came  ;  when  all  those  knightes  againe 

Assembled  were  their  deedes  of  armes  to  shew. 

Full  manv  deedes  that  day  were  shewed  plaine  : 

But  Satyrane,  bove  all  the  other  crew, 

His  wondrous  worth  declard  in  all  mens  view  ; 

For  from  the  first  he  to  the  last  endured  : 

And  though  some  while  Fortune  from  him  withdrew, 

Yet  evermore  his  honour  he  recured. 

And  with  unwearied  powre  his  party  still  assured. 


Ne  was  there  knight  that  ever  thought  of  armes. 
But  that  his  utmost  prowesse  there  made  knowen  : 
That,  by  their  many  v.-ounds  and  carelesse  liarmes, 
Bv  shivered  speares  and  swords  all  under  strowen, 
)K'  scattered  shields,  was  easie  to  be  showen. 
There  might  ye  see  loose  steeds  at  randon  ronne, 
Whose  lucklesse  riders  late  were  overthrowen  ; 
And  squiers  make  hast  to  helpe  their  lords  fordonne  : 
But  still  the  knights  of  iMaidenhead  the  better  wonne. 


XXXIX. 

'I'ill  that  there  entred  on  the  other  side 

A  straungi  r  knight,  from  whence  no  man  could  reed, 

In  quvent  disguise,  full  h:ird  to  be  descride  : 

For  all  his  armour  was  like  salvage  weed 

With  woodv  mnsse  bedight,  and  all  his  steed 

With  oaken  leaves  attrapt,  that  seemed  fit 

For  salvage  wight,  and  thereto  well  agreed 

Ilis  word,  which  on  his  ragged  shield  was  writ, 

Halviigi'sse  sausjinesse,  shewing  secret  wit. 


lie,  at  his  first  incomming,  diarg'd  his  spere 
At  him  that  first  appeared  in  his  sight  ; 
'I'haf  was  to  weet  the  stout  Sir  Saiigliere, 
Who  well  was  knowen  to  be  a  valiant  knight, 
Approved  oft  in  many  a  perlous  fight  : 
Ilim  at  the  first  encounter  downe  he  smote, 
And  over-bore  beyond  his  crouper  quight  ; 
And  after  him  another  knight,  that  bote 
Sir  Brianor,  so  sore,  tJiat  none  him  life  behote. 


Then,  ere  his  hand  he  reard,  he  overthrew 

Seven  knights  one  after  other  as  they  came  : 

And,  when  his  speare  was  brust,  his  sword  he  drew 

The  instrument  of  wrath,  and  with  the  same 

Far'd  like  a  lyon  in  hi*'  bloodie  game. 

Hewing  and  slashing  shields  and  helmets  bright, 

And  beating  downe  whatever  nigh  him  came, 

That  every  one  gan  shun  his  dreadfull  sight 

No  lesse  then  death  itselfe,  in  daungerous  affiigh' 


IMuch  wondred  all  men  what  or  whence  he  cam'-: 
That  did  amongst  the  trou[ies  so  tyrannize  ; 
And  each  of  other  gan  in(|uire  his  name  : 
But,  when  they  could  not  learne  it  by  no  wize, 
Most  answerable  to  his  wyld  disguize 
It  seemed,  him  to  terme  the  salvage  knight : 
But  certes  his  right  name  was  otherwize, 
'Jhough  knowne  to  lew  that  Arthegall  he  hight, 
The  doughtiest  knight  that  liv'd  that  day,  and  v^Ci'i 
of  mioht. 


Thus  was  Sir  Satyrane  with  all  his  band 

By  his  sole  manhood  and  atchievement  stout 

Dismay 'd,  that  none  of  thc-m  in  field  durst  stand. 

But  beaten  were  and  chased  all  about. 

So  he  continued  all  that  dav  throughout. 

Till  evening  that  the  sunne  gan  downward  bend  ; 

Then  rushed  forth  out  of  the  thickest  rout 

A  straunger  knight,  that  did  his  glorie  shend  : 

So  nought  may  be  esteemed  liappie  till  the  end  ! 


lie  at  his  entrance  charg'd  his  powrefull  speare 

At  Arthegall,  in  middest  of  his  pryde, 

And  therewith  smote  him  on  his  unibriere 

So  sore,  that  tumbling  backe  he  downe  did  slyde 

Over  his  horses  taile  above  a  stryde  ; 

\Vhence  litle  lust  he  had  to  rise  againe. 

Which  Cambell  seeing,  much  the  same  envyde. 

And  ran  at  him  with  all  his  might  and  maine  ; 

But  shortly  was  likewise  scene  lying  on  the  plaine. 


Whereat  full  inly  wroth  was  Triamond, 
And  cast  t'a\enge  the  shame  doen  to  his  freend  : 
JUit  by  Ilis  friend  hiniselfe  eke  soone  he  fond 
In  no  lesse  mede  of  heljie  then  him  he  weend. 
All  which  when  Blandamour  from  end  to  end 
Beheld,  he  woxe  therewith  displeasi-d  sore. 
And  thought  in  mind  it  shortly  to  amend  : 
Ilis  s]ieaie  he  feutred.  and  at  him  it  bore  ; 
But  with  no  better  fortune  then  the  rest  afore. 


Full  manv  others  at  him  likewise  ran  ; 

I5ut  all  of  them  likewise  dismounted  were: 

Ne  ceitcs  wonder  ;   for  no  jK)wre  of  man 

Could  bide  th(»  force  of  that  enchauiited  speare, 

The  which  this  famous  |}ritomart  did  beare  ; 

\A'ith  which  she  wondrous  deeds  of  arms  atchievtd 

And  overthrew  whatever  came  her  neare, 

'I'hat  all  those  stranger  knights  full  sore  agneved, 

And  that  late  weaker  band  of  chalenaers  relieved. 


Canto  V.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


.05 


Like  as  in  sommers  dav  wlien  rag-ing  heat 
Doth  hiirne  the  earth  and  boyled  rivers  drie, 
Tljat  all  brute  beasts  forst  to  refraine  fro  meat 
Doe  hunt  for  shade  where  shrowded  they  may  lie^ 
And,  missing  it,  faine  from  themselves  to  flie; 
All  travellers  tormented  are  with  paine  : 
A  watry  cloud  doth  overcast  the  skie. 
And  poureth  forth  a  sudden  shoure  of  raine, 
That  all  the  wretched  world  recomforteth  againe : 


XLvrri. 

So  did  the  warlike  Britomart  restore 

The  prize  to  knights  of  Alavtlenhenl  tint  t\w, 

Which  else  was  like  to  have  lii-nc  lost,  h.kI  bore 

Tlie  pravse  of  prowesse  from  ti)eiii  :ill  nw.iv. 

Then  shrilling  trompets  lou'Jlv  u'iiii  to  \>r,^v. 

And  bad  them  leave  their  labours  ami  long  tovie 

To  ioyous  feast  and  otiier  genile  pla\ 

Where  beauties  prize  sliould  win  that  prelious  sjiovie 

Where  I  with  sound  of  trompe  will  also  rest  awf.yle 


CANTO  Y. 

Tlie  ladies  for  the  girdle  strive 

Of  famous  Florimell  : 
Scudamour,  comming  to  Caresl  house 

Doth  sleepe  from  him  expel. 


It  hath  l)eno  through  all  ages  ever  seene, 

That  with  the  praise  of  amies  and  chevalrie 

The  prize  of  beautie  still  hath  ioyned  beene  ; 

And  that  for  reasons  speciall  privitee  ; 

For  either  doth  on  other  much  relie : 

For  he  me  seemes  most  fit  the  faire  to  serve, 

That  can  her  best  defend  from  villenie  ; 

And  she  most  tit  his  service  doth  deserve, 

That  fairest  is,  and  from  her  faith  will  never  swerve. 


So  fitly  now  here  commeth  next  in  place. 

After  the  proofe  of  prowesse  ended  well, 

The  controverse  of  beauties  soveraine  grace  ; 

In  which,  to  her  that  doth  the'most  excell, 

Shall  fall  the  girdle  of  faire  Florimell : 

That  many  wish  to  win  for  glorie  vaine, 

And  not  for  vertuous  use,  which  some  doe  tell 

That  glorious  belt  did  in  itselfe  containe, 

\\  hich  ladies  ought  to  love,  and  seeke  for  to  obtaine. 


That  girdle  gave  the  vertue  of  chast  love 
And  wivehood  true  to  all  that  did  it  beare  ; 
But  whosoever  contrarie  doth  prove, 
Alight  not  the  same  about  her  middle  weare 
But  it  would  loose,  or  else  asunder  teare. 
\\  hilom.e  it  was  (as  Faeries  wont  report) 
Dame  \'enus  girdle,  by  her  'steemed  deare 
\\'hat  time  she  usd  to  live  in  wively  sort, 
But  layd  aside  vvhenso  she  usd  her  looser  sport. 


Her  husband  Vulcan  whylome  for  her  sake, 
When  fust  he  loved  her  with  heart  entire, 
This  pretious  ornament,  they  say,  did  make. 
And  wrought  in  Lemnos  with  unquenched  fire  • 
And  afterwards  did  for  her  loves  first  hire 
tjive  it  to  her,  for  ever  to  remaine, 
'i'lierewith  to  bind  lascivious  desire, 
And  loose  affections  streightly  to  restraine  ; 
U  hich  vertue  it  for  ever  after  did  retaine 


The  same  one  day,  when  she  hcrselfp  d'sj.osd 
To  visite  her  beloved  paramouie. 
The  god  of  warre.  she  fiom  ht^r  middle  loosd, 
And  left  behind  her  ;n  her  secret  bowre 
On  Acidalian  mount,  where  maiiv  an  liowre 
She  with  the  pleasant  graces  wont  to  jd-iv. 
There  Florimell  in  her  first  ages  tiowre 
Was  fostered  by  those  graces,  (as  thev  s-.iv,  > 
And  brought  with  her  from  thence  that  guoiiu 
away. 


belt 


That  goodly  belt  was  cestus  bight  by  name, 
And  as  her  life  by  her  esteemed  deare  : 
No  wonder  then,  if  that  to  winne  the  same 
So  many  ladies  sought,  as  shall  appeart^ ; 
For  pearelesse  she  was  thought  that  it  did  beare. 
And  now  by  this  their  feast  all  being  ended. 
The  iudges,  which  thereto  selected  were. 
Into  the  JMartian  field  adovvne  descendeil 
To  deeme   this  doubtfuU  case,   for  which  they  all 
contended. 


But  first  was  question  made,  which  of  those  Icnighta 

'i'hat  lately  turneyd  had  the  wager  wonne  : 

There  was  it  iudged,  by  those  worthie  wights. 

That  Satyrane  the  first  day  best  had  donne  : 

For  he  last  ended,  having  first  begonne. 

The  s.  cond  was  to  Triamond  behight, 

lor  that  he  sav'd  the  victour  from  fordonne  : 

For  Canibell  victour  was,  in  all  mens  sight. 

Till  by  mishap  he  in  his  foemens  hand  did  light. 


The  third  daj'es  prize  unto  that  straunger  knight, 
\Vhom  all  men  term'd  knight  of  the  hebene  speare. 
To  Britomart  was  given  by  good  right ; 
For  that  with  puissant  stroke  she  downe  did  beare 
The  salvage  knight  that  victour  was  whileare. 
And  all  the  rest  which  had  the  best  afore. 
And,  to  the  last,  unconquer'd  did  appeare ; 
For  last  is  deemed  best :  to  her  therei'ore 
The  fayrest  ladie  was  aiudged  for  parainore. 


206 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


UOOK     IV 


But  thereat  g-reatly  grudged  Arthegall, 

And  much  repynd,  tliat  both  of  victors  meede 

And  eke  of  honour  she  did  him  forestall : 

Yet  mote  he  not  withstand  what  was  decreede  ; 

15ut  inly  thought  of  that  despightfuU  deede 

Fit  time  t'awaite  avenged  for  to  bee. 

This  bemg  ended  thus,  and  all  agreed 

Then  next  ensew'd  the  paragon  to  see 

Of  beauties  praise,  and  yeeld  the  fayrest  her  due  fee. 


Then  first  Cambello  brought  into  their  view 
His  faire  Cambina  covered  with  a  veale  ; 
Wliich  being  once  withdrawne,  most  perfect  hew 
And  passing  beautie  did  eftsoones  reveale, 
rhat  able  was  weake  harts  away  to  steale. 
Next  did  Sir  Triamond  unto  their  sight 
Tlie  face  of  his  deare  Canacee  unheale  ; 
Whose  beauties  beame  eftsoones  did  shine  so  bright, 
That  daz'd  the  eyes  of  all,  as  with  exceeding  light. 


And  after  her  did  Paridell  produce 

His  false  Duessa,  that  she  might  be  seene  ; 

Who  with  her  forged  beautie  did  seduce 

The  hearts  of  some  that  fairest  her  did  weene  ; 

As  diverse  wits  affected  divers  beene. 

Then  did  Sir  Ferramont  unto  them  shew 

His  Lucida,  that  was  full  faire  and  sheene ; 

And  after  these  an  hundred  ladies  moe 

Appear'd  in  place,  the  which  each  other  did  outgoe. 


All  which  whoso  dare  thinke  for  to  enchace, 

Him  needeth  sure  a  golden  pen  I  weene 

To  tell  the  feature  of  each  goodly  face. 

For,  since  the  day  that  they  created  beene, 

So  many  heavenly  faces  were  not  seene 

Assembled  in  one  place :  ne  he  that  thought 

For  Cliian  folke  to  pourtraict  beauties  (jueene, 

Bv  view  of  all  the  fairest  to  him  brought, 

So  many  faire  did  see,  as  here  he  might  have  sought. 


At  last,  the  most  redoubted  Britonesse 

Her  lovely  Amoret  did  open  shew  ; 

Whose  face,  discovered,  plainely  did  expresse 

'I"he  heavenly  pourtraict  of  bright  angels  hew. 

W^ll  weened  all,  which  her  that  time  did  vew, 

That  she  should  surely  beare  the  bell  away  ; 

Till  I'hindamour,  who  thouglit  he  had  the  trevv 

Aid  very  Florimell,  did  her  display  : 

The  sight  of  whom  once  seene  did  all  the  rest  dismay. 


For  all  afore  that  seemed  fayre  and  bright, 
Now  base  and  conteiiii)tible  did  a]ipeare, 
Comj)ar'd  to  her  that  shone  as  Pliebes  light 
Amongst  the  lesser  starres  in  evening  cleare. 
All  that  her  saw  with  wonder  ravisht  weare, 
And  weend  no  mortall  creature  she  should  bee, 
Brit  some  celestiall  sliape  that  flesh  did  beare  • 
Yet  all  were  glad  there  Floiimell  to  see  ; 
Yet  tliouirht  tnat  Florimell  was  not  so  faire  as  shee. 


As  guilefuU  goldsmith  that  by  secret  skill 
With  golden  foyle  doth  finely  over-spred 
Some  baser  metall,  which  commend  h§  will 
Unto  the  vulgar  for  good  gold  insted,' 
He  much  more  goodly  glosse  thereon  doth  shed 
To  hide  his  falshood,  then  if  it  were  trew  : 
So  hard  this  idole  was  to  be  ared. 
That  Florimell  herselfe  in  all  mens  vew 
She  seem'd  to  passe  •     So  forged  things  do  fairest; 
shew. 


Then  was  that  golden  belt  by  doome  of  all 
Graunted  to  her,  as  to  the  fayrest  dame, 
Which  being  brought,  about  her  middle  small 
They  thought  to  gird,  as  best  it  her  became ; 
But  by  no  meanes  they  could  it  thereto  frame  : 
For,  ever  as  they  fastned  it,  it  loos'd 
And  fell  away,  as  feeling  secret  blame. 
Full  oft  about  her  wast  she  it  enclos'd  ; 
And  it  as  oft  was  from  about  her  wast  disclos'd ; 


That  all  men  wondred  at  the  uncouth  sight, 
And  each  one  thought,  as  to  their  fancies  came  : 
But  she  herselfe  did  thinke  it  doen  for  spight. 
And  touched  was  with  secret  wrath  and  shame 
Therewith,  as  thing  deviz'd  her  to  defame. 
Then  many  other  ladies  likewise  tride 
About  their  tender  loynes  to  knit  the  same ; 
But  it  would  not  on  none  of  them  abide. 
But  when  they  thought  it  fast,  eftsoones  it  was  un- 
tide. 


WHiich  when  that  scornefull  squire  of  dames  did  vev 

He  lowdlv  gan  to  laugh,  and  thus  to  iest; 

"  Alas  for  pittie  that  so  faire  a  crew. 

As  like  cannot  be  seene  from  east  to  west, 

Cannot  find  one  this  girdle  to  invest  I 

Fie  on  the  man  that  did  it  first  invent, 

To  shame  us  all  with  this,  luigirt  uublestf 

Let  never  ladie  to  his  love  assent. 

That  hath  this  day  so  many  so  unmanly  shent" 


Thereat  all  knights  gan  laugh,  and  ladies  lowre  , 

Till  that  at  last  the  gentle  Amoret 

Likewise  assayd  to  ])rove  that  girdles  powre  ; 

And,  having  it  about  her  middle  set. 

Did  find  it  fit  withouten  breach  or  let  ; 

Whereat  the  rest  gan  greatly  to  envie : 

But  Florimell  exceed'nglv  did  fret, 

And,  snatcliing  from  her  hand  halfe  angrily 

The  belt  againe,  about  her  bodie  gan  it  tie  : 


Yet  nathemore  would  it  her  bodie  fit ; 
Yet  nathi'lesse  to  her,  as  her  dew  right, 
]t  vielded  was  by  them  that  iudged  it ; 
And  she  herselfe  adiudged  to  the  knight 
That  bore  the  hebene  speare,  as  wonne  m  fight- 
But  i'ritomart  would  not  thereto  assent, 
Ne  her  owne  Amoret  forgoe  so  light 
For  that  strange  dame,  whose  beauties  wonderment 
She  lesse  esteem'd  then  th'  others  vertuous  govern- 
ment. 


Canto  X.'] 


THE  FAKUIK  QUEENt. 


207 


\Vl)om  when  the  rest  did  see  her  to  refuse, 
Thev  were  full  glad,  in  liope  themselves  to  get  lier 
Yet  at  her  choice  thev  all  did  greatly  muse. 
But.  after  that,  the  iudges  did  arret  her 
Unto  the  second  best  that  lov'd  her  better  ; 
That  was  the  salvage  knight :  but  he  was  gone 
In  great  displeasure,  that  he  could  not  get  her. 
Then  was  she  iudged  Triamond  his  one  ; 
But  Triamond  lov'd  Canacee  and  other  none. 


The  unto  Satvran  she  was  ndiudged, 
Wlio  was  rigiit  glad  to  gaine  so  goodly  meed  : 
But  Bhuidamour  thereat  full  greatly  grudged, 
And  litle  pravs'd  his  labours  evill  speed, 
ll'hat  for  to  winne  the  saddle  lost  the  steed.) 
Ne  lesse  tliereat  did  Paridell  complaine, 
And  thought  t'appeale,  from  that  which  was  decreed, 
I'o  single  combat  with  Sir  Satyrane  : 
Thereto  him  Ate  stird,  new  discord  to  maintaine. 


And  eke,  with  these,  full  many  other  knights 
She  through  her  wicked  working  did  incense 
Her  to  demaund  and  clialenge  as  their  rights, 
Deserved  for  their  ]ierils  recompense. 
Amongst  the  rest,  with  boastfull  vaine  pretense 
Stept  Braggadochio  forth,  and  as  his  tlirall 
Her  clayni'd,  bv  him  in  battell  wonne  long  sens  : 
Wliereto  herselfe  he  did  to  witnesse  call  ; 
Wlio,  beuig  askt,  accordingly  confessed  all. 


Thereat  exceeding  wroth  was  Satyran ;    . 
And  wroth  with  Satyran  was  Blandamour  ; 
And  wroth  with  Blandamour  was  Erivan  ; 
Aiid  at  tliem  both  Sir  Paridell  did  loure. 
So  all  togetlier  srird  up  strifull  stoure, 
And  readie  were  new  battell  to  darraine  : 
Each  one  profest  to  be  her  paramoure. 
And  vow'd  with  speare  and  shield  it  to  maintaine; 
Ne  iudges  powre,  ne  reasons  rule,  mote  them  res- 
traine. 


Which  troublous  stirre  when  Satyrane  aviz'd 
He  gan  to  cast  how  to  appease  the  same, 
And,  to  accord  them  all,  tliis  meanes  deviz'd  : 
First  in  the  midst  to  set  that  fayrest  dame. 
To  whom  each  one  his  clialenge  should  disclame, 
And  he  himselfe  his  right  would  eke  releasse  : 
Then,  looke  to  whom  she  voluntarie  came. 
He  should  without  disturbance  her  possesse : 
Stveete  is  the  love  that  comes  atone  with  willinsnesse. 


Tliey  all  agreed  ;  and  then  that  snowy  mayd 

\\  as  in  the  middest  plast  among  them  all  : 

All  on  lier  gazing  wisht,  and  vowd,  and  prayd, 

And  to  the  (jueene  of  beautie  close  did  call, 

TJiat  she  unto  their  portion  might  befall. 

1  hen  when  she  long  had  lookt  upon  each  one. 

As  thou  ill  she  wished  to  have  pleasd  them  all. 

At  last  to  Braggadochio  selfe  alone 

She  came  of  her  accord,  in  spight  of  all  his  fone. 


Which  when  they  all  beheld,  they  chaft,  and  rag'd. 

And  woxe  nigh  mad  for  very  harts  despight. 

That  from  revenue  their  willes  they  scarse  asswag'd  . 

Some  thought  from  him  her  to  have  reft  by  might ; 

Some  proft'er  made  with  him  for  her  to  fight  : 

But  he  nought  car'd  for  all  that  they  could  say  ; 

For  he  their  words  as  wind  esteemed  light  : 

Yet  not  fit  place  he  thought  it  there  to  stay. 

But  secretly  from  thence  that  night  her  bore  away. 


They  which  remaynd,  so  soone  as  they  perceiv'd 
That  she  was  gone,  departed  thence  with  sj)eed. 
And  follow'd  them,  in  mind  her  to  have  reav'd 
From  wight  unworthie  of  so  noble  meed. 
In  Avhich  poursuit  how  each  one  did  succeede, 
Sliall  else  be  told  in  order,  as  it  fell. 
But  now  of  Britomart  it  here  doth  neede 
Tl-.e  hard  adventures  and  strange  haps  to  tell  ; 
Since  with  the  rest  she  went  not  after  Florimell. 


For  soone  as  she  them  saw  to  discord  set. 
Her  list  no  longer  in  that  place  abide  ; 
But,  taking  with  her  lovely  Amoret, 
Upon  lier  first  adventure  forth  did  ride. 
To  seeke  her  lov'd,  making  blind  love  her  guide. 
Unluckie  mayd,  to  seeke  her  enemie  ! 
Unluckie  mayd,  to  seeke  him  farre  and  wide. 
Whom,  when  he  was  unto  herselfe  most  nie, 
She  through  his  late  disguizement  could   liim  not 
descrie  ! 


So  much  the  more  her  griefe,  the  more  her  toyle : 
Yet  neither  toyle  nor  griefe  she  once  did  spare. 
In  seeking  liini  that  should  her  paine  assoyle  ; 
Whereto  great  comfort  in  her  sad  misfare 
Was  Amoret,  companion  of  her  caie  : 
Who  likewise  sought  her  lover  long  miswent. 
The  gentle  Scudamour,  whose  heart  whileare 
That  stryfull  hag  with  gealous  discontent 
Had  fild,  that  he  to  fell  reveng  was  fully  bent ; 

XXXI. 

Bent  to  revenge  on  blamelesse  Britomart 

The  crime  which  cursed  Ate  kindled  earst, 

The  which  like  thornes  did  pricke  his  gealous  hart, 

And  tlirough  his  soule  like  ]ioysned  arrow  perst. 

That  by  no  reason  it  might  be  reverst, 

For  ought  that  Glance  could  or  doe  or  say : 

For,  aye  the  more  that  she  the  same  reherst. 

The  more  it  gauld  and  griev'd  him  night  and  day. 

That  nought  but  dire  revenge  his  anger  mote  de  ray 


So  as  thev  travelled,  the  drouping  night 
Covered  with  cloudie  storme  and  bitter  showre. 
That  dreadlull  seem'd  to  every  living  wight. 
Upon  them  fell,  before  her  timely  howre  ; 
That  forced  them  to  seeke  some  covert  bowre, 
Where  they  might  hide  their  heads  in  quiet  rest. 
And  shrowd  their  persons  from  that  stormie  stowre. 
N  ot  farre  away,  not  meete  for  an.y  guest , 
They  spide  a   little  cottage,  like  some  pooie  uious 
nest ; 


208 


THE  FA i:  11  IK  QLKKNE. 


[Book  IV 


Under  a  Rtee])e  Inlles  side  it  placed  was, 
There  where  the  mouldred  earth  had  cav'd  tlie  hanke  ; 
And  fast  beside  a  little  brooke  did  pas 
Of  muddie  water,  that  like  puddle  stanke, 
P)V  wliich  few  crooked  sallowes  grew  in  ranke  : 
Whereto  approaching  nigl),  they  heard  the  sound 
Of  tiiany  yron  liammers  beating  ranke, 
And  answering-  their  wearie  lurries  around, 
That  seemed   some  blacksmith  dwelt  in  that  desert 
ground. 


There  entring  in,  they  found  tlie  goodmun  selfe 

Full  busily  unto  his  worke  ybent ; 

Who  was  to  weet  a  wretched  wearish  elfe, 

With  hollow  eyes  and  rawbone  cheekes  forspent, 

As  if  he  had  in  prison  long  bene  pent : 

Full  blacke  and  griesly  did  liis  face  appeare, 

Besmeard  with  smoke  that  nigh  his  eve-sight  blent ; 

With  rugged  beard,  and  hoarie  shagged  heare, 

I  he  which  he  never  wont  to  combe,  or  comely  shears. 


Rude  was  bis  garment,  and  to  rags  all  rent, 

Ne  better  had  he,  ne  for  better  cared  : 

With  blistrcd  hands  emougst  the  cinders  brent, 

And  fingers  filthie  with  long  nayles  unpared, 

llight  fit  to  rend  the  food  on  which  he  fared. 

liis  name  was  Care  ;  a  blacksmith  by  his  trade, 

'i  hat  iieilher  dav  nor  niglit  from  working  spared, 

iWit  to  small  purpose  yron  wedges  made  ; 

Those  be  unquiet  thoughts  that  carefull  minds  invade. 

XXXVI. 

'  1  which  his  worke  he  had  sixe  servants  prest, 
About  the  andvile  standing  evermore 
With  huge  great  hammers,  that  did  never  rest 
I'roni  heaping  stroakes  wliich  thereon  soused  sore: 
Ail  sixe  strong-  groomes,  but  one  then  other  more  ; 
J'or  by  degrees  they  all  were  disagreed  ; 
So  likewise  did  the  hammers  which  tliev  bore 
Like  belles  in  greatnesse  orderl)-  succeed, 
That   he,    which   was  the  last,   the  first  did  farre 
exceede. 

xxxvir. 

He  like  a  monstrous  gyant  seem'd  in  sight, 
Farre  passing  JJronteus  or  Pyracmon  great. 
The  which  in  Lipari  doe  day  and  night 
Frame  thunderbolts  for  loves  avengeful!  threate. 
So  dreadfully  he  did  the  andvile  beat. 
That  seem'd  to  dust  he  shortly  would  it  drive  : 
So  huge  his  liammer,  and  so  fierce  his  heat, 
That  seem'd  a  rocke  of  diamond  it  could  rive 
And  rend  asunder  quite,  if  lie  thereto  list  strive. 

xxxvm. 

Sir  Scudainour  there  entring  much  admired 
i  lie  manner  of  their  worke  and  wearie  jwine  : 
And,  having  long  beheld,  at  last  encjuired 
The  cause  and  end  thereof;  but  all  in  vaine  ; 
I'or  they  for  nought  viould  from  their  worke  refraine. 
No  let  his  speeches  come  unto  their  eare. 
And  elie  the  breathfull  bell  iws  blev.'  amaine, 
)  ikp  to  the  norihren  winde,  that  none  could  heare  ; 
Those  rjensiTi-nesse  dii!   more  ;  and  sighes  the  bel- 
lows weare. 


xxxix. 

Which  when  that  warriour  saw,  he  said  no  more, 
]')Ut  in  his  armour  layd  him  downe  to  rest : 
To  rest  he  hiyd  him  downe  upon  the  flora, 
(U'hylome  for  ventrous  knights  the  bedding  best,) 
And  thought  his  wearie  limbs  to  have  redrest. 
And  that  old  aged  dame,  his  faith  full  S(iuii-e. 
Her  feeble  ioynts  layd  eke  adowne  to  rest ; 
That  needed  much  lier  weake  age  to  desire, 
After  so  long  a  travell  which  them  both  did  tire. 


There  lay  Sir  Scudamour  long  while  expecting 
When  gentle  sleepe  his  heavie  eves  would  close ; 
Oft  chaunging  sides,  and  oft  nevs-  place  electing. 
Where  better  seem'd  he  mote  liimselfe  repose; 
And  oft  in  wrath  he  thence  againe  uprose  ; 
And  oft  in  wrath  he  layd  him  downe  againe. 
But,  wheresoere  he  did  liimselfe  dispose, 
He  by  no  rneaiies  could  wislied  ease  obtaine : 
So  every  place  seem'd  painefull,  and  ech  changiu§ 
vaine. 


And  evermore,  when  he  to  sleepe  did  thinke, 
The  hammers  sound  his  senses  did  molest  ; 
And  evermore,  when  he  began  to  winke, 
The  bellowes  noyse  disturb"d  his  quiet  rest, 
Ne  suft'refl  sleepe  to  settle  in  his  brest. 
And  all  fl.c  night  the  dogs  did  barke  and  howle 
About  the  house,  at  sent  of  stranger  guest: 
And  now  the  crowing  cocke,  and  now  the  owle 
Lowde  shriking,  him  afflicted  to  the  very  sowle. 


And,  if  by  fortune  any  litle  nap 

Upon  his  heavie  eye-lids  cliaunst  to  fall, 

Eftsoones  one  of  those  villeins  him  did  ra;i 

Upon  his  head-peece  with  his  yron  mall ; 

'That  lie  was  soone  awaked  therewiihtill, 

And  lightly  started  up  as  one  affrayd. 

Or  as  if  one  him  suddenly  did  call  : 

So  oftentimes  he  out  of  sleejie  ahravd, 

And  then  lav  musing  long  on  that  liiin  ill  apayd 


So  long  he  muzed,  and  so  long  he  lay, 
That  at  the  last  his  wearie  sprite  ojijirest 
With  fleshly  weaknesse,  which  no  creature  may 
Long  time  resist,  gave  place  to  kindly  rest. 
'J'liat  all  his  senses  did  full  soone  arrest  : 
Yet,  in  his  soundest  sleepe,  his  dayly  feare 
His  ydle  braine  gan  busily  molest. 
And  made  him  dreame  those  two  disloyall  were: 
The  things,  that  day  most  minds,  at  night  doe  mos 
appeare. 

XLIV. 

W' ith  that  the  wicked  carle,  the  maister  smith 
A  paire  of  red-whot  yron  tongs  did  take 
Out  of  the  burning  cinders,  and  therewith 
I'lider  his  side  liim  nipt;  that,  forst  to  wake. 
He  felt  his  hart  for  very  paine  to  quake. 
And  started  up  avenged  for  to  be 
On  him  the  which  his  (juiet  slomber  brake  : 
\  et,  l()(jking  round  about  him,  none  could  see  : 
^  et  did  the  smart  remaine,  though  he  himselie  oiu 
flee. 


Canto  VI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


209 


In  such  disquiet  and  hart-fretting  payne 

He  all  that  niglit,  that  too  long  night,  did  passe. 

And  now  the  day  out  of  the  ocean  mayne 

Beo-an  to  peepe  above  this  earthly  masse, 

With  pearly  dew  sprinkling  the  morning  grasse  : 

Then  up  he  rose  like  heavie  lumpe  of  lead. 

That  in  his  face,  as  in  a  looking  glasse. 

The  signes  of  anguish  one  mote  plainely  read, 

And  ghesse  the  man  to  be  dismayd  with  gealous  dread. 


Unto  his  lofty  steede  he  clombe  anone. 
And  forth  upon  his  former  voiage  fared. 
And  with  him  eke  that  aged  squire  attone  ; 
Who,  whatsoever  perill  was  prepared, 
Both  equall  paines  and  equall  perill  shared : 
The  end  whereof  and  daungerous  event 
Sliall  for  another  canticle  be  spared  : 
But  here  my  wearie  teeme,  nigh  over-spent, 
Shall  breath  itselfe  awhile  after  so  long  a  went. 


CANTO  VI. 

Both  ScudamourtQfid  Arthegall 
Doe  figlit  with  Britomart : 

He  sees  her  face  ;  doth  fall  in  love, 
And  soone  from  her  depart. 


What  equall  torment  to  the  gnefe  of  mind 

And  pyning  anguish  hid  in  gentle  Iwrt, 

That  inly  feeds  itselfe  with  thoughts  unkmd, 

And  nourisheth  her  owne  consuming  smart ! 

What  medicine  can  any  leaches  art 

Yeeld  such  a  sore,  that  doth  her  grievance  hide, 

And  will  to  none  her  maladie  impart ! 

Such  was  the  wound  that  Scudamour  did  gride ; 

For  which  Dan  Phebus  selfe  cannot  a  salve  provide. 


Who  having  left  that  restlesse  house  of  Care, 
Tlie  next  day,  as  he  on  his  way  did  ride, 
Full  of  melancholie  and  sad  misfare 
Through  misconceipt,  all  unawares  espide 
An  armed  knight  under  a  forrest  side 
Sitting  in  shade  beside  his  grazing  steede ; 
Who,  soone  as  them  approaching  he  descride, 
Gan  towards  them  to  pricke  with  eger  speede, 
That  seem'd  he  was  full  bent  to  some  mischievous 
deede. 


Which  Scudamour  perceiving  forth  issewed 
To  have  rencountred  him  in  equall  race ; 
But,  soone  as  th'  ether  nigh  approaching  vewed 
The  arraes  he  bore,  his  speare  he  gan  abase 
And  voide  his  course  ;  at  which  so  suddain  case 
He  wondred  much  :  but  th'  other  thus  can  say ; 
'  Ah  !  gentle  Scudamour,  unto  your  grace 
I  me  submit,  and  you  of  pardon  pray, 
That  almost  had  against  you  trespassed  this  day." 


Whereto  thus  Scudamour ;  "  Small  liarme  it  were 
For  any  knight  upon  a  ventrous  knight 
Without  displeasance  for  to  prove  his  spere. 
But  reade  you,  sir,  sith  ye  my  name  have  hight, 
What  is  your  owne,  that  1  mote  you  requite." 
"  Certes,"  sayd  he,  "  ye  mote  as  now  excuse 
Me  from  discovering  you  mv  name  aright: 
For  time  yet  serves  that  I  the  same  refuse  ; 
But  call  ye  me  the  salvage  knight,  as  others  use." 


"  Then  this,  sir  salvage  knight,"  quoth  he,  "areede; 
Or  doe  you  here  within  this  forrest  wonne. 
That  seemeth  well  to  ansvvere  to  your  weede. 
Or  have  ye  it  for  some  occasion  donne? 
That  ratlier  seemes,  sith  knowen  amies  ye  shonne." 
"  This  other  day,"  sayd  he,  "  a  stranger  knight 
Shame  and  dishonour  hath  unto  me  donne ; 
Qn  whom  I  waite  to  wreake  that  foule  despight. 
Whenever  be  this  way  shall  passe  by  day  or  night." 


"  Shame  be  his  meede,"  quoth  he,  "  that  meanef  b 
But  what  is  he  by  whom  ye  shamed  were  ?"    [shame  '. 
"  A  stranger  knight,"  sayd  he,  "  unknowne  by  name. 
But  knowne  by  fame,  and  by  an  hebene  S])eare 
With  which  lie  all  tliat  met  him  downe  did  beare. 
He,  in  an  open  turney  lately  held. 
Fro  me  the  honour  of  that  game  did  reare; 
And  having  me,  all  wearie  earst,  downe  feld. 
The  fayrest  ladie  reft,  and  ever  since  withheld." 


When  Scudamour  heard  mention  of  that  speare, 
He  wist  right  well  that  it  was  Britomart, 
The  wliich  from  him  his  fairest  love  did  beare. 
Tho  gan  he  swell  in  every  inner  part 
For  fell  despiglit,  and  gnaw  his  gealous  hart. 
That  thus  he  sharply  sayd  ;  "  Now  bv  my  head. 
Yet  is  not  this  the  first  unknigbtly  part, 
V^'hich  that  same  knight,  whom  by  his  launce  I  read 
Hath  doen  to  noble  knights,  that  many  makes  him 
dread : 


"  For  lately  he  my  love  hath  fro  me  reft. 

And  eke  defiled  with  foule  villanie 

The  sacred  pledge  which  in  his  faith  was  left. 

In  shame  of  knighthood  and  fidelitie  ; 

The  which  ere  long  full  deare  he  shall  abie  ; 

And  if  to  that  avenge  by  you  decreed 

This  hand  may  helpe,  or  succour  ought  supplw. 

It  shall  not  fayle  whenso  ye  shall  it  need." 

So  both  to  wreake  their  wrathes  on  Britomart  agree  ^ 


210 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


[Book  IV 


Whiles  thus  they  communed,  lo  !  farre  away 
A  kni'o-ht  soft  ryding  towards  them  they  spyde, 
Attvr'd  in  forralne  armes  and  straunge  aray  : 
Wliom  when   they  nigh   approcht,  they  plaine   des- 
To  he  the  same  for  whom  they  did  abyde.        [cryde 
Sayd  then  Sir  Scudamour,  "  Sir  Salvage  Knight, 
Let  me  tliis  crave,  sith  first  I  was  defydje, 
That  first  I  may  that  wrong  to  liim  requite  : 
And,  if  I  hap  to  fayle,  you  shall  recure  my  right." 


Which  being  yeelded,  he  his  threatfull  speare 

Gan  fewter,  and  against  lier  fiercely  ran, 

Who  soone  as  she  him  saw  approching  neare 

Witli  so  fell  rage,  herselfe  she  lightly  gan 

To  dight,  to  welcome  him  well  as  she  can  ; 

But  entertaind  him  in  so  rude  a  wise, 

That  to  the  ground  she  smote  both  horse  and  man  ; 

Whence  neither  greatly  hasted  to  arise, 

But  on  their  common  harmes  together  did  devise. 


But  Artegall,  beholding  his  mischaunce, 

New  matter  added  to  his  former  fire  ; 

And,  eft  aventring  his  steele-headed  launce, 

Against  her  rode,  full  of  despiteous  ire. 

That  nought  but  spoyle  and  vengeance  did  require  : 

But  to  himselfe  his  felonous  intent 

Returning  disappointed  his  desire, 

Whiles  unawares  his  saddle  he  forwent, 

And  found  himselfe  on  ground  in  great  amazement 


Lightly  he  started  up  out  of  that  stound. 
And  snatching  forth  his  direfull  deadly  blade 
Did  leape  to  her,  as  doth  an  eger  hound 
Thrust  to  an  hynd  witiiin  some  covert  glade, 
Whom  without  perill  he  cannot  invade: 
With  such  fell  greedines  he  her  assayled, 
That  though  she  mounted  were,  yet  he  her  made 
To  give  him  ground,  (so  much  his  force  prevayled,) 
And    shun   his   mightie   strokes,    gainst  which   no 
armes  avayled. 

XIII. 

So,  as  they  coursed  here  and  there,  it  chaunst 
That,  in  her  wheeling  round,  behind  her  crest 
So  sorely  he  her  strooke,  that  thence  it  glaunst 
Adowne  her  backe,  the  which  it  fairely  blest 
From  foule  mischance  ;  ne  did  it  ever  i-est, 
Till  on  her  horses  hinder  j)arts  it  fell  ; 
Where  byting  deepe  so  deadly  it  imprest. 
That  (juite  it  chynd  his  backe  behind  the  sell. 
And  to  alight  on  foote  her  algates  did  compell  : 


Like  as  the  lightning-brond  from  riven  skie, 
riirowne  out  by  angrv  love  in  his  vengeance. 
With  dreadfull  force  falles  on  some  steeple  hie  ; 
Which  battring  downe,  it  on  the  church  doth  glance, 
And  teares  it  all  with  terrible  mischance. 
Yet  she  no  whit  dismayd  her  steed  forsooke  ; 
And,  casting  fiom  her  that  onchaunted  lance, 
L'nto  her  sword  and  sb.ield  her  soone  betooke  ; 
Ana  therewithal!  at  him  right  furiously  she  strooke. 


So  furiously  she  strooke  in  her  first  heat, 
Whiles  with  long  fight  on  foot  he  breathlesse  was. 
That  she  him  forced  backward  to  retreat, 
And  yeeld  unto  her  weapon  way  to  pas  : 
Whose  raging  rigour  neither  Steele  nor  bras 
Could  stay,  but  to  the  tender  flesh  it  went. 
And  pour'd  the  purple  bloud  forth  on  the  gras ; 
That  all  his  mayle  yriv'd,  and  plates  yrent, 
Shew'd  all  his  bodie  bare  unto  the  cruell  dent. 


I  XVI. 

At  length,  whenas  he  saw  her  hastie  heat 
Abate,  and  panting  breath  began  to  fayle. 
He  through  long  sufferance  growing  now  more  grea 
Rose  in  his  strength,  and  gan  lier  fresh  assayle, 
Heaping  huge  strokes  as  tliicke  as  showre  of  havle, 
And  lashing  dreadfully  at  every  part, 
•  As  if  he  thought  her  soule  to  disentrayle. 
Ah  !  cruell  hand,  and  thrise  more  cruell  hart, 
That  workst  such   wrecks   on   her  to   whom  thou 
dearest  art  ! 


What  yron  courage  ever  could  endure 
To  works  such  outrage  on  so  fairs  a  creature  . 
And  in  his  madnesse  thinke  with  hands  irapuie 
To  spovle  so  goodly  workmanship  of  nature, 
The  INIaker  selfe  resembling  in  her  feature  ! 
Certes  some  hellish  furie  or  some  feend 
This  mischiefe  framd,  for  their  first  loves  defeature. 
To  bath  their  hands  in  bloud  of  dearest  freend, 
Thereby  to  make   their  loves  beginning   their  lives 
end. 


Thus  long  they  trac'd  and  traverst  to  and  fro. 

Sometimes  pursewine:,  and  sometimes  pursewed. 

Still  as  advantage  they  espyde  thereto  : 

But  toward  th'  end  Sir  Arthegall  renewed 

His  strength  still  more,  but  she  still  more  decrewed. 

At  last  his  lueklesse  hand  he  heav'd  on  hie. 

Having  his  forces  all  in  one  accrewed. 

And  therewith  stroke  at  her  so  hideouslie. 

That  seemed  nought  but  death  mote  be  her  (lestirJ- 


The  wicked  stroke  upon  her  helmet  chaunst. 
And  with  the  force,  which  in  itselfe  it  bore. 
Her  ventayle  shard  avav,  and  thence  forth  glaunst 
Adowne  in  vaine,  ne  harm'd  her  any  more. 
With  that,  her  angels  face,  unseene  afore. 
Like  to  t\w.  ruddie  morne  apjieard  in  sight, 
Deawed  with  silver  drojis  tiirough  sweating  sore  ; 
J5ut  somewhat  redder  then  heseem'd  aright, 
Through  toylesome  heate  and  labour  of  her  weary 
fight: 

XX. 

And  round  about  the  same  her  yellow  heare, 
Having  through  stirring  loosd  their  wonted  band, 
Like  to  a  goblen  border  did  appeare. 
Framed  in  goldsmithes  iorge  with  cunning  hand  : 
Yet  goldsmithes  cunning  could  not  understand 
To  frame  sucli  subtile  wire,  so  ^hinie  cleare  ; 
For  it  did  glister  like  the  golden  sand, 
'I'he  which  Factolus  with  his  waters  shere 
Throwes   forth  upon    the  rivage   round  about    lum 
nere. 


Casto  VI.] 


THE  FAERIR  QUEENE. 


211 


And  as  his  hand  he  up  againe  did  reare, 
Thinking  to  worke  on  her  his  utmost  wracke, 
His  powrelesse  arme  benumbd  with  secret  feare 
From  his  revengefull  purpose  shronke  abacke, 
And  cruell  sword  out  of  his  fingers  slacke 
Fell  downe  to  ground,  as  if  the  Steele  had  sence 
And  felt  some  ruth,  or  sence  his  hand  did  lacke, 
Or  both  of  them  did  thinke  obedience 
To  doe  to  so  divine  a  beauties  excellence. 


And  he  himselfe,  long  gazing  thereupon. 
At  last  fell  humbly  downe  upon  his  knee, 
And  of  his  wonder  made  religion, 
Weening  some  heavenly  goddesse  he  md  see. 
Or  else  unweeting  what  it  else  might  bee  ; 
And  pardon  her  besought  his  errour  frayle, 
That  had  done  outrage  in  so  high  degree  : 
Whilest  trembling  horrour  did  his  sense  assayle, 
And  made  ech  member  quake,  and  manly  hart  to 
quayle. 

XXIII. 

Xathelesse  she,  full  of  wrath  for  that  late  stroke. 
All  that  long  while  upheld  her  wrathful!  hand, 
With  fell  intent  on  him  to  bene  ywroke  ; 
And,  looking  sterne,  still  over  hini  did  stand, 
Threatning  to  strike  unlesse  he  would  withstand  ; 
And  bad  him  rise,  or  surely  he  should  die. 
But,  die  or  live,  for  nought  he  would  upstand  ; 
But  her  of  pardon  prayd  more  earnestlie, 
Or  wreake  on  him  her  will  for  so  e;reat  iniurie. 


Which  whenas  Scudamour,  who  now  abrayd, 
Beheld,  whereas  he  stood  not  farre  aside, 
He  was  therewith  right  wondrously  dismayd; 
And  drawing  nigh,  whenas  he  plaine  descride 
That  peerelesse  paterne  of  dame  natures  pride 
And  heavenly  image  of  perfection. 
He  blest  himselfe  as  one  sore  terrifide  ; 
And,  turning  feare  to  faint  devotion. 
Did  worship  her  as  some  celestiall  vision. 


But  Glauce,  seeing  all  that  chaunced  there. 
Well  weeling  how  their  errour  to  assoyle. 
Full  glad  of  so  good  end,  to  them  drew  nere. 
And  her  salewd  with  seemely  bel-accoyle. 
Joyous  to  see  her  safe  after  long  tovle  : 
Then  her  besought,  as  she  to  her  was  deare, 
To  graunt  unto  those  warriours  truce  awhvle  ; 
Wliich  yeelded,  they  their  bevers  up  did  reare. 
And  shew'd  themselves  to  her  such  as  indeed  they 
were. 


\\  hen  Britomart  with  sharp  avizefull  eye 
Beheld  the  lovely  face  of  Artegall 
Tempred  with  sternesse  and  stout  maiestie, 
She  gan  eftsoones  it  to  her  mind  to  call 
To  be  the  same  which,  in  her  fathers  hall, 
l-ong  since  in  that  enchaunted  glasse  she  saw  : 
Therewith  her  wrathful!  courage  gan  apjiall. 
And  haughtie  spirits  meekely  to  adaw. 
That  her  enhaunced  hand  she  downe  can  soft  with- 
draw 


Yet  she  it  forst  to  have  againe  upheld. 
As  favning  choler  which  was  turn'd  to  cold  : 
But  ever,  when  his  visage  she  beheld. 
Her  hand  fell  downe,  and  would  no  longer  liold 
The  wrathfull  wea])on  gainst  his  countnance  bold  : 
But,  when  in  vaine  to  fight  she  oft  assayd. 
She  arm'd  her  tongue,  and  thought  at  him  to  scold  : 
Nathlesse  her  tongue  not  to  her  will  obayd. 
But  brought  forth  speeches  myld  when  she  would 
have  missayd. 


But  Scudamour  now  woxen  inly  glad 
That  all  his  gealous  feare  ho  false  had  found. 
And  how  that  hag  his  love  abused  had 
With  breach  of  faith  and  lovaltie  unsound, 
The  which  long  time  his  grieved  hart  did  wound, 
He  thus  bespake  ;  "  Certes,  Sir  Artegall, 
1  iov  to  see  you  lout  so  low  on  ground, 
And  now  become  to  live  a  ladies  thrall, 
That  whylome  in  your  minde  wont  to  despise  them 
all. 


Soone  as  she  heard  the  name  of  Artegall, 

Her  hart  did  leape,  and  all  her  heart-strings  tremble, 

For  sudden  ioy  and  secret  feare  withall  ; 

And  all  her  vitall  powres,  with  motion  nimble 

To  succour  it,  themselves  gan  there  assemble  ; 

That  by  the  swift  recourse  of  flushing  blood 

Right  plaine  appeard,  though  she  it  would  dissemble. 

And  faj-ned  still  her  former  angry  mood, 

Thinking  to  hide  the  depth  by  troubling  of  the  flood. 


When  Glauce  thus  gan  wisely  all  upknit; 
"  Ye  gentle  knights,  whom  fortune  here  hath  brought 
To  be  spectators  of  this  uncouth  fit. 
Which  secret  fate  hath  in  this  ladie  wrought 
Against  the  course  of  kind,  lie  mervaile  nought; 
Ne  thenceforth  feare  the  thing  that  hethertoo 
Hath  troubled  both  your  mindes  with  idle  thought, 
Fearing  least  she  your  loves  away  should  woo  ; 
F^eared  in  vaine,  sith  meanes  ye  see  there   \\ants 
tlieretoo. 


"And  you,  Sir  Artegall,  the  salvage  knight. 

Henceforth  ma}"^  not  disdaine  that  womans  hand 

Hhih  >.onquered  you  anew  in  second  fight  : 

For  whylome  they  have  conquered  sea,  and  land, 

And  heaven  itselfe,  that  nought  may  them  withstand* 

Ne  henceforth  be  rebellious  unto  love, 

That  is  the  crowne  of  knighthood  and  the  band 

Of  noble  minds  derived  from  above. 

Which,  being  knit  with  vertue,  never  will  remove. 


"  And  you,  faire  ladie  knight,  my  dearest  dame 
Relent  the  rigour  of  j'our  wrathtuU  will, 
Whose  fire  were  better  turn'd  to  other  flame  ; 
And,  wiping  out  remembrance  of  all  ill, 
Graunt  him  your  grace  ;  but  so  that  he  fulfill 
The  penance  which  ye  shall  to  him  enipart : 
For  lovers  heaven  must  passe  by  sorrowes  hell" 
Thereat  full  inly  blushed  Britomart  ; 
1    Rut  Artegall  dose-smyling  ioy'd  in  secret  hart. 

p2 


12 


THE  FAERIE  Q'JEEXE. 


[Book  IV. 


Yet  durst  he  not  make  love  so  suddenly, 
Ne  thinke  tli'  affection  of  her  hart  to  draw 
From  one  to  other  so  quite  contrary  : 
Besides  her  modest  countenance  he  saw 
So  g'oodly  grave,  and  full  of  princely  aw, 
Tliat  it  his  rangins^  fancie  did  refraine. 
And  looser  thoughts  to  lawfull  bounds  withdraw  ; 
AVhereby  the  passion  grew  more  fierce  and  faine. 
Like  to  a  stubborne  steede  whom  strong  hand  would 
restraine. 


13ut  Scudamour,  whose  hart  twixt  doubtful!  feare 
And  feeble  hope  hung  all  this  while  suspence, 
Desiring  of  his  Amoret  to  heare 
Some  gladfuU  newes  and  sure  intelligence, 
Her  thus  bespake  ;  "  But,  sir,  without  offence 
]Mote  I  request  you  tydings  of  m>  love, 
Mv  Amoret,  sith  you  her  freed  fro  thence 
\Vhere  she,  captived  long,  great  woes  did  prove  ; 
That  where  ye  left  I  may  her  seeke,  as  doth  behove." 


To  whom  thus  Britomart ;  "  Certes,  sir  knight. 

What  is  of  her  become,  or  whether  reft, 

I  cannot  unto  you  aread  aright. 

For  from  that  time  I  from  enchaunters  theft 

Her  freed,  in  which  ye  her  all  hopelesse  left, 

I  her  preserv'd  from  perill  and  from  feare. 

And  evermore  from  villenie  her  kept : 

Ne  ever  was  there  wight  to  me  more  deare 

Then  she,  ne  unto  whom  I  more  true  love  did  heare  : 


"  Till  on  a  day,  as  through  a  desert  wyld 
We  travelled,  both  wearie  of  the  wav 
We  did  alight,  and  sate  in  shadow  myld  ;^ 
Where  fearelesse  I  to  sleepe  me  downe  did  lay : 
But,  whenas  1  did  out  of  sleepe  abray, 

found  her  not  where  I  her  left  wliyleare. 
But  thought  she  wandred  was,  or  gone  astray  : 
I  cal'd  her  loud,  1  sought  her  farre  and  neare  ; 
But  no  where   could  her  find,  nor  tydings  of  her 
heare." 


When  Scudamour  those  heavie  tydings  heard, 
His  hart  was  thrild  with  point  of  deadly  feare, 
Ne  in  his  face  or  bloud  or  life  appeard  ; 
But  seiiselesse  stood,  like  to  a  mazed  steare 
'J  hat  yet  of  mortall  stroke  the  stound  doth  heare  : 
Till  Glauce  thus  ;  "  Faire  sir,  be  nouglit  dismayd 
\Vith  needlesso  dread,  till  certaintie  ye  heare; 
For  yet  she  may  be  safe  though  somewhat  strayd  : 
Its  best  to  hope  the  best,  though  of  the  worst  afl'rayd." 


Nathelesse  he  hardly  of  her  chearefull  speech 
Did  comfort  take,  or  in  his  troubled  sight 
Shew'd  change  of  better  cheare  ;  so  sore  a  breach 
Tl'.at  sudden  newes  had  made  into  his  S])right ; 
Till  liritomart  him  fairely  thus  behight  ; 
"  Great  cause  of  sorrow  certes,  sir,  ye  have  ; 
But  comfort  take  ;  for,  by  this  heavens  light, 
I  vow  you  dead  or  living  not  to  leave, 
Til  I  her  find  and  wreake  on  him  that  did  her  reave." 


Therewith  he  rested,  and  well  pleased  was. 
So,  peace  being  confirm'd  amongst  them  all, 
They  tooke  their  steeds,  and  forward  thence  did 
Unto  some  resting  place,  which  mote  befall  ; 
All  being  guided  by  Sir  Artegall  : 
Where  goodly  solace  was  unto  them  made. 
And  dayly  feasting  both  in  bowre  and  hall, 
Untill  that  they  their  wounds  well  healed  had, 
And  wearie  limmes  recur'd  after  late  usasre  bad. 


In  all  which  time  Sir  Artegall  made  way 

Unto  the  love  of  noble  Britomart, 

And  with  meeke  service  and  much  suit  did  lay 

Continuall  siege  unto  her  gentle  hart  ; 

Which,  being  whylome  launcht  with  lovely  dart, 

]\Iore  eath  was  new  impression  to  receive  : 

However  she  her  paynd  with  womanish  art 

To  hide  her  wound,  that  none  might  it  perceive  : 

Vaine  is  the  art  that  seekes  itselfe  for  to  deceive. 


So  well  he  woo'd  her,  and  so  well  he  wrought  her, 

With  faire  entreatie  and  sweet  blandishment, 

That  at  the  length  unto  a  bay  he  brought  lier, 

So  as  she  to  his  speeches  was  content 

To  lend  an  eare,  and  softly  to  relent. 

At  last,  through  many  vowes  which  forth  he  pour'd 

And  many  othes,  she  yeeldcd  her  consent 

To  be  his  love,  and  take  him  for  her  lord. 

Till  they  with  marriage  meet  might  finish  that  accord. 


Tho,  when  they  had  long  time  there  taken  rest. 
Sir  Artegall,  who  all  this  while  was  bound 
Upon  an  hard  adventure  yet  in  quest, 
Fit  time  for  him  tlience  to  depart  it  found, 
To  follow  that  which  he  did  long  propound  ; 
And  unto  her  his  congee  came  to  take  : 
]5ut  her  therewith  full  sore  displeasd  he  found, 
And  loth  to  leave  her  late  betrothed  make  ; 
Her  dearest  love  full  loth  so  shortly  to  forsake. 


Yet  he  with  strong  perswasions  her  asswaged, 

And  wonne  her  will  to  suffer  Jiim  depart ; 

For  which  his  faith  with  her  he  fast  engaged. 

And  thousand  vowes  from  bottome  of  his  hart, 

'J'liat,  all  so  soone  as  he  by  wit  or  art 

Could  that  atchieve  whereto  he  did  aspire, 

He  unto  her  would  speedily  revert : 

No  longer  space  thereto  he  did  desire. 

But  till  the  horned  moone  three  courses  did  expire. 


With  which  she  for  the  present  was  appeased, 

And  veelded  leave,  however  malcontent 

She  inly  were  and  in  her  mind  displeased. 

So,  early  on  the  morrow  next,  he  went 

Forth  on  his  way  to  which  he  was  ybent ; 

Ne  wight  him  to  attend,  or  way  to  guide. 

As  whylome  was  the  custome  ancient 

Mongst  knights  when  on  adventures  they  did  ride 

Save  that  she  algates  him  a  while  accompanide. 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


S13 


And  by  the  way  she  sundry  purpose  found 
Of  this  or  that,  the  time  for  to  delay, 
And  of  the  perils  whereto  he  was  bound, 
The  feare  whereof  seem'd  much  her  to  affray  ; 
But  all  she  did  was  but  to  weare  out  day. 
Full  oftentimes  she  leave  of  him  did  take  ; 
And  eft  againe  deviz'd  somewhat  to  say, 
Which  she  forgot,  whereby  excuse  to  make  : 
So  loth  she  was  his  companie  for  to  forsake. 


At  last  when  all  her  speeches  she  had  spent, 

And  new  occasion  fayld  her  more  to  find 

She  left  him  to  his  fortunes  government, 

And  backe  returned  with  right  heavie  mind  ; 

To  Scudaraour,  whom  she  had  left  behind  ; 

With  whom  she  went  to  seeke  foire  Araoret, 

Her  second  care,  though  in  another  kind  : 

For  vertues  onely  sake,  which  doth  beget 

True  love  and  faithful!  friendship,  slie  by  her  did  st 


Backe  to  tliat  desert  forrest  they  retyred. 
Where  sorie  Britomart  had  lost  her  late  : 
There  they  her  sought,  and  every  where  inquired 
Where  they  might  tydings  get  of  her  estate  ; 
Yet  found  they  none.     But,  by  what  haplesse  fate 
Or  hard  misfortune  she  was  rhence  convayd. 
And  stolne  away  from  her  beloved  mate. 
Were  long  to  tell ;  therefore  1  here  will  stay 
Untill  another  tyde,  that  I  it  finish  may. 


CANTO  VII. 


Amoret  rapt  by  gieedie  lust 

Belphebe  saves  from  dread  : 
The  squire  her  loves;  and,  being  blam'd, 

His  daies  in  dole  doth  lead. 


Great  god  of  love,  that  with  thy  cruell  darts 

Doest  conquer  greatest  conquerors  on  ground. 

And  setst  thy  kmydome  in  the  captive  harts 

Of  kings  and  keasars  to  thy  service  bound  ; 

What  giorie  or  what  guerdon  hast  thou  found 

In  feeble  ladies  tyranning  so  sore. 

And  aildin^  anguish  to  the  bitter  wpund 

With  which  their  lives  thou  lanchedst  long  afore, 

By  heaping  stormes  of  trouble  on  them  daily  more  ! 


So  v.'hylome  didst  thou  to  faire  Florimell ; 

And  so  and  so  to  noble  Britomart : 

So  doest  thou  now  to  her  of  whom  I  tell, 

Tlie  lovely  Amoret,  whose  gentle  hart 

Thou  martyrest  with  sorrow  and  with  smart, 

In  salvage  forrests  and  in  deserts  wide 

V\  ith  bt'ares  and  tygers  taking  heavie  part, 

Withouten  comfort  and  withouten  guide  ; 

That  pittie  is  to  heare  the  perils  which  she  tride. 


So  soone  as  she  with  that  brave  Britonesse 

Had  left  that  turneyment  for  beauties  prise. 

They  travel'd  long  ;  that  now  for  wearinesse. 

Both  of  the  way  and  warlike  exercise. 

Both  through  a  forest  rydiiig  did  devise 

T'  alight,  and  rest  their  wearie  limbs  a  while. 

There  heavie  sleepe  the  eye-lids  did  surprise 

Of  Britomart  after  long  tedious  toyle. 

That  did.  her  passed  paines  in  quiet  rest  assoyle. 


That  wliiles  fair  Amoret,  of  nought  affeard, 
Walkt  through  the  wood,  for  pleasure  or  for  need, 
When  suddenly  behind  her  backe  she  heard 
One  rushing  forth  out  of  the  thickest  weed, 
That,  ere  she  backe  could  turne  to  taken  heed, 
Had  unawares  her  snatched  up  from  ground: 
Feebly  she  shriekt,  but  so  feebly  indeed 
That  i3ritomart  heard  not  the  shrilling  sound. 
There  where  through  weary  travel  she  lay  sleeping 
sound. 


It  was  to  weet  a  wilde  and  salvage  man  ; 

Yet  was  no  man,  but  onely  like  in  shape, 

And  eke  in  stature  higher  by  a  span  ; 

All  overgrowne  with  haire,  that  could  awhape 

An  hardy  hart ;  and  his  wide  mouth  did  gape 

With  hui;e  great  teeth,  like  to  a  tusked  bore  : 

For  he  liv'd  all  on  ravin  and  on  rape 

Of  men  and  beasts;  and  fed  on  fleshlv  gore. 

The  signe  whereof  yet  staia'd  his  bloudy  lips  afore. 


His  neatlier  lip  was  not  like  man  nor  beast, 

But  like  a  wide  deepe  poke  downe  hatiging  low. 

In  which  he  wont  the  relickes  of  his  feast 

And  cruell  sjioyle,  which  he  had  spard,  to  stow: 

And  over  it  his  huge  great  nose  did  grow. 

Full  dreadfully  empurpled  all  with  bloud  ; 

And  downe  both  sides  two  wide  long  eares  did  glow. 

And  raught  downe  to  his  waste  when  up  he  stood, 

IMore  great  then  th'  eares  of  elephants  by  Indus  flood. 


21+ 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Rook  IV 


FTis  wast  was  with  a  wreath  of  yvie  g-reene 

Engnt  about   ne  other  garment  wore  ; 

For  vill  his  hrtire  was  like  a  garment  seene  ; 

And  in  his  hand  a  tall  young  oake  he  bore. 

Whose  knottie  snags  were  sliarpned  all  at'ore, 

And  beath'd  in  fire  for  Steele  to  be  in  sted. 

]5ut  whence  he  was,  or  of  what  wombe  ybore, 

Of  beasts,  or  of  the  earth,  I  have  not  red  ; 

hut  certes  was  with  milke  of  wolves  and  tygres  fed. 


This  ngly  creature  in  his  amies  her  snatcht. 
And  through  the  forrest  boie  her  quire  away 
.Vith  briers  and  bushes  all  to  rent  and  scratcht ; 
jVe  care  he  had,  ne  pittie  of  the  pray, 
Which  many  a  knight  had  sought  so  many  a  day  : 
He  stayed  not,  but  in  his  amies  her  bearing 
Ran,  till  he  came  to  th'  end  of  all  his  way. 
Unto  liis  cave  farre  from  all  peoples  hearing, 
And  there  he  threw  her  in,  nought  feeling,  ne  nought 
fearing. 


For  she  (deare  ladie)  all  the  way  was  dead, 

Whilest  lie  in  amies  her  bore  ;  but,  when  she  felt 

Herselfe  downe  soust,  she  waked  out  of  dread 

Streight  into  griefe,  that  her  deare  hart  nigh  swelt, 

And  eft  gan  into  tender  teares  to  melt. 

Then  when  she  iookt  about,  and  nothing  found 

But  darknesse  and  dread  horrour  where  she  dwelt, 

Slie  almost  fell  againe  into  a  swound  ; 

Ne  wist  whether  above  she  were  or  under  ground. 


AVith  that  she  heai'fl  some  one  CiOse  by  her  side 
Sighing  and  sobbing  sore,  as  if  'lie  jianie 
Her  tender  heart  in  pieces  would  divide  : 
Which  she  so  long  listning,  softly  askt  againe 
What  mister  wight  it  was  that  so  did  plaine  ? 
To  whom  thus  aunswer'd  was,  "  Ah !  wretched  wight. 
That  seekes  to  know  anothers  griefe  in  vaine, 
Unweeting  of  thine  owne  like  liaplesse  plight : 
Selfe  to  forget  to  mind  another  is  ore-si"ht!" 


''Aye  me  !"  said  she,  "where  am  I,  or  with  whom? 
Eniong  the  living,  or  emong  the  dead  ? 
What  shall  of  me  unhap])y  maid  become  ? 
Shall  death  be  th'end,  or  ought  else  worse,  aread?" 
■'  Unhappy  inayd,"  then  answerVl  she,  "  wliose  dread 
Untride  is  lesse  tlien  when  thou  shalt  it  try  : 
Death  is  to  him,  tliat  wreicliud  life  doth  lead, 
Both  grace  and  gaine  ;  but  he  in  liell  doth  lie. 
That  lives  a  loathed  life,  and  wishing  cannot  die. 


"  This  dismal]  day  hath  thee  a  caytive  made. 
And  vassall  to  the  vilest  wretcli  alive  ; 
Whose  cursed  usage  and  ungodly  trade 
The  heavens  abhon-e,  and  into  darknesse  drive  : 
For  on  the  spoile  of  women  he  doth  live. 
Whose  bodies  chast,  whenever  in  his  jiowre 
He  may  them  caich  unalile  to  gainestrive, 
He  with  his  shainefuU  lust  doth  first  deflowre, 
rind  afterwards  themselves  doth  cruelly  devoure. 


"  Now  twenty  dales,  bv  which  the  sonnes  of  men 
Divide  their  works,  have  past  through  heveii  sheene, 
Since  1  was  brought  into  this  doleful!  den  ; 
During  which  space  these  sory  eies  have  seen 
Seaven  women  by  him  slaine  and  eaten  clene  ; 
And  now  no  more  for  him  but  I  alone, 
And  this  old  woman,  here  remaining  beene. 
Till  thou  cam'st  liither  to  augment  our  inoiie  ; 
And  of  us  three  to  morrow  he  will  sure  eat  one."' 


"  Ah  dreadfull  tidings  which  thou  doest  declare," 

Quoth  she,  "  of  all  that  ever  liatli  beene  knowen  ! 

Full  many  great  calamities  and  rare 

This  feeble  brest  endured  hath,  but  none 

Equall  to  this,  whereever  I  have  gone. 

But  what  are  you,  whom  like  unlucky  lot 

Hath  linckt  with  me  in  the  same  chanie  attone-?" 

"  To  tell,"  quoth  she,  "  that  which  ye  see,  needs  not  ; 

A  wofull  wretched  maid,  of  God  and  man  forgot ' 


"  But  what  I  was,  it  irkes  me  to  reherse  ; 
Daughter  unto  a  lord  of  high  degree  ; 
That  ioyd  in  happy  peace,  till  fates  perverse 
With  guilefull  love  did  secretly  agree 
To  overthrow  my  state  and  dignitie. 
It  was  my  lot  to  love  a  gentle  swaine. 
Yet  was  he  but  a  scjuire  of  iow  degree  ; 
Yet  was  he  meet,  unless  mine  eye  did  faine. 
By  any  ladies  side  for  leiuan  to  have  laine. 


"  Ijut,  for  his  meannesse  and  disparagement. 
My  sire,  wlio  me  too  dearely  well  did  love. 
Unto  my  choise  by  no  nieanes  would  assent, 
But  often  did  my  folly  fowle  reprove  : 
Yet  nothing  could  ray  fixed  mind  remove, 
]3ut,  whether  wiU'd  or  nilled  friend  or  foe, 
I  me  resolv'd  the  utmost  end  to  prove ; 
And,  rather  then  my  love  abandon  so, 
Both  sire  and  friends  and  all  for  ever  to  forgo. 


"  Thenceforth  I  sought  by  .secret  raennes  to  worke 

Time  to  my  will,  and  from  his  wratlifull  sight 

'I'o  hide  th'  intent  wliidi  in  my  heart  dia  iurke. 

Till  I  thereto  had  all  things  ready  dight. 

So  on  a  day,  unweeting  unto  wight, 

1  with  that  scpiire  agreede  away  to  flit, 

And  in  a  jirivy  place,  betwixt  us  liigiit, 

Within  a  grove  apjiointed  him  to  nieete  ; 

To  which  1  boldly  came  upon  my  feeble  feeto. 


"  But  ah  !  unhappy  houre  me  tliither  brought : 
For  in  ihat  place  where  1  him  thought  to  find, 
'I'liere  was  1  found,  contrary  to  my  thought. 
Of  this  accursed  carle  of  helliih  kind, 
Tlie  shaiue  of  men,  and  plague  of  womankind  ; 
Who  trussing  me,  as  eagle  dotli  his  ]>ray, 
iMe  hr'ther  brought  with  liim  as  switt  as  wind. 
Where  yet  untouchwl  till  tiiis  jiresent  day, 
I  rest  his  wretched  thrall   the  sud  yEmylia." 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


216 


*  Ah  !  sad  j^lmylia,"  then  sayd  Amoret, 

'  Thy  rueful!  plight  I  pitty  as  mme  owne  ! 

But  read  to  me,  bv  what  devise  or  wit 

Hast  thou  in  all  this  time  from  him  unknowne 

Thine  honour sav'd,  though  intothraldome  throvsTie?" 

"  Through  helpe,"  quoth   she,  "  of  this   old  woman 

I  have  so  done,  as  she  to  me  hath  showne  :       [here 

For,  ever  when  he  burnt  in  lustfull  fire, 

She  in  my  stead  supplide  his  bestiall  desire." 


Thus  of  their  evils  as  they  did  discourse, 
And  each  did  other  much  bewaile  and  mone ; 
Loe  !  where  the  villaine  selfe,  their  sorrowes  sourse, 
Came  to  the  cave  ;  and  rolling  thence  the  stone, 
Which  wont  to  stop  the  mouth  thereof  that  none 
Might  issue  forth,  came  rudely  rushing  iu. 
And,  spredding  over  all  the  flore  alone, 
Gan  dight  himselfe  unto  his  wonted  sinne  ; 
Which  ended,  then  his  bloudy  banket  should  beginne« 


Which  whenas  fearefull  Amorett  perceived, 
She  staid  not  th'  utmost  end  thereof  to  try, 
But,  like  a  ghastly  gelt  whose  wits  are  reaved, 
Ran  forth  in  hast  with  hideous  outcry, 
For  hoirour  of  his  shamefull  villany  : 
But  after  her  full  lightly  he  uprose. 
And  her  pursu'd  as  fast  as  she  did  flie  : 
Full  fast  she  flies,  and  farre  afore  him  goes, 
Ne  feeles  the  thorns  and  thickets  pricke   her  tender 
toes. 


Nor  hedge,  nor  ditch,  nor  hill,  nor  dale  she  staies. 
But  over-leapes  them  all,  like  robucke  light. 
And  through  the  thickest  makes  her  nighest  waies; 
And  evermore,  when  with  regardful!  sight 
She  looking  backe  espies  tlie  griesly  wight 
Approching  nigh,  she  gins  to  mend  her  pace. 
And  makes  h*  r  feare  a  spur  to  hast  her  fliglit ; 
More  swift  than  JMyrrh'  or  Daphne  in  her  race. 
Or  any  of  the  Thracian  Nimphes  in  salvage  chace. 


Long  so  she  fled,  and  so  he  follow'd  long  ; 

Ne  living  aide  for  her  on  earth  appeares, 

But  if  the  heavens  helpe  to  redresse  her  wrong, 

Moved  with  pity  and  her  plenteous  teares. 

It  fortuned  Belphebe  with  lier  peares 

The  woody  Nimphs,  and  with  that  lovely  boy, 

Was  hunting  then  the  libbards  and  the  beares 

In  these  wild  woods,  as  was  her  wonted  ioy. 

To  banish  sloth  that  ott  doth  noble  mindes  annoy. 


It  so  befell,  as  oft  it  falls  in  chace, 

Tliat  each  of  them  from  other  sundred  were  ; 

And  that  same  gentle  squire  arriv'd  in  place 

Where  this  same  cursed  caytive  did  appeare 

Pursuing  that  faire  lady  ftiU  of  feare  : 

And  now  he  her  quite  overtaken  had  ; 

And  now  he  her  away  with  him  did  beare 

Under  his  arme,  as  seeming  wondrous  "lad. 

That  by  his  grenning  laughter  mote  farre  otf  be  rad. 


Which  drery  sight  the  gentle  squire  esp3-ing 
Doth  haste  to  crosse  him  by  the  nearest  way. 
Led  with  that  wofull  ladies  piteous  crying, 
And  him  assailes  with  all  the  might  he  may  ; 
Yet  will  not  he  the  lovely  spoile  down  lay. 
But  with  his  craggy  club  in  his  right  hand 
Defends  himselfe,  and  saves  his  gotten  pray  : 
Yet  had  it  bene  right  hard  him  to  withstand, 
But  that  he  was  full  light  and  nimble  on  the  land. 


Thereto  the  villaine  used  crafte  in  fight : 

For,  ever  when  the  squire  his  iavelia  shooke. 

He  held  the  lady  forth  before  him  right. 

And  with  her  body,  as  a  buckler,  broke 

The  puissance  of  his  intended  stroke  : 

And  if  it  chaunst,  (as  needs  it  must  in  fight,) 

Whilest  he  on  him  was  greedy  to  be  wroke, 

That  any  little  blow  on  her  did  light. 

Then  would  he  laugh'aloud,  and  gather  great  delight, 


Which  subtill  sleight  did  him  encumber  much. 
And  made  him  oft,  when  he  would  strike,  forbeare  ; 
For  hardly  could  he  come  the  carle  to  touch. 
But  that  he  her  must  hurt,  or  hazard  ueare  : 
Yet  he  his  hand  so  carefully  did  beare. 
That  at  the  last  he  did  himselfe  atlaine. 
And  therein  left  the  pike-head  of  his  speare  : 
A  streame  of  coalblacke  bloud  thence  gusht  amaine, 
That  all  her  silken  garments  did  with  bloud  bestame. 


With  that  he  threw  her  rudely  on  the  flore. 
And,  laving  both  his  hands  ujion  his  glave. 
With  dreadful!  strokes  let  drive  ar  him  so  sore, 
That  forst  him  flie  abacke,  liimsell'e  to  save  : 
Yet  he  therewith  so  felly  still  did  rave, 
That  scarse  the  squire  his  hand  could  once  upreare, 
But,  for  advantage,  ground  unto  him  gave. 
Tracing  and  traversing,  now  liere,  now  there  ; 
For  bootlesse  thing  it  was  to  think   such  blowes  to 
beare. 


Whilest  thus  in  battel!  they  embusied  were, 

Belphebe,  raunging  in  her  forrest  wide, 

The  liideous  noise  of  their  Imge  strokes  did  lieare. 

And  drew  thereto,  making  her  eare  her  guide  : 

Whom  when  that  theefe  approching  nigh  espide 

With  bow  in  hand  and  arrowes  ready  bent. 

He  by  liis  former  combate  would  not  bide. 

But  fled  away  with  ghastly  dreriment, 

Wei!  knowing  her  to  be  his  deaths  sole  instrument. 


Whom  seeing  flie,  slie  speedily  poursewed 
With  winged  feete,  as  nimble  as  the  winde, 
And  ever  in  her  bow  slie  ready  shewed 
The  arrow  to  his  deadly  marke  desynde  . 
As  when  Latonaes  daughter,  cruell  kynde. 
In  vengement  of  her  mothers  great  disgrace, 
With  fell  despight  her  cruell  arrowes  tynde 
Gainst  wofull  Niobes  unhappy  race. 
That  all  the  gods  did  mone  her  miserable  case. 


21. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[''OOR  ]V 


So  well  she  sped  her  nncl  so  far  slie  ventred, 
Tliat,  ere  unto  his  hellish  deii  he  raiight, 
Even  as  he  readv  was  there  to  have  entred, 
She  sent  an  arrow  forth  with  mighty  draught, 
That  in  the  very  dore  him  overcaught, 
And,  in  his  nape  arriving,  throUi;h  it  thrild, 
His  greedy  throte  therewith  in  two  distraught, 
Tliat  all  his  vitall  spirites  thereby  spild. 
And  all  his  hairy  brest  with  gory  bloud  was  fild. 


Whom  wlien  on  ground  she  groveling  saw  to  rowle, 
She  ran  in  liast  his  life  to  have  bereft ; 
But,  ere  she  could  him  reach,  the  sinfull  sowle 
Having  his  carrion  corse  cpiite  sencelesse  left 
Was  fled  to  hell,  surcharg'd  with  spoile  and  theft  : 
Yet  over  him  she  there  long  gazin^i  stood, 
And  oft  admir'd  his  monstrous  shape,  and  oft 
His  mighty  limbs,  whilest  all  with  filthy  bloud 
The  place  there  over-flowne  seemd  like  a  sodaiue 
flood. 


Thenceforth  she  past  into  his  dreadfull  den, 
Where  nought  but  darkesome  drerinesse  she  found, 
Ne  creature  saw,  but  hearkned  now  and  then 
Some  litle  whispering,  and  soft-groning  sound. 
With  that  she  askt,  what  ghosts  there  under  ground 
Lay  hid  in  horrour  of  eternall  night  ; 
And  bad  them,  if  so  be  they  were  not  bound. 
To  come  and  shew  themselves  before  the  light. 
Now  freed   from  feare  and  danger  of  that  dismall 
■wioht. 


Then  fortli  the  sad  ^^mylia  issewed, 

Yet  trembling  every  iovnt  through  former  feare  ; 

And  at'ter  her  the  hag,  there  with  her  mewed, 

A  foiile  and  lothsome  creature,  did  apjieare  ; 

A  leman  fit  for  such  a  lover  deare  : 

That  mov'd  Belpliebe  her  no  lesse  to  hate, 

Then  for  to  rue  the  others  heavy  cheare  ; 

Of  whom  she  gan  enquire  of  her  estate  ; 

Who  all  to  her  at  large,  as  hapned,  did  relate. 


Thence   she  them  brouglit  toward  the  place  where 
She  left  the  gentle  scjuire  witli  Amoret :  [late 

Tliere  she  him  found  by  that  new  lovelv  mate. 
Who  lay  the  whiles  in  swoune,  full  sadly  set, 
From  her  faire  eves  wiping  the  deawy  wet 
AVhich  softly  sti)d,  and  kissing  them  atweene, 
And  handling  s'.ft  the  hurts  which  slie  did  get : 
For  of  that  cane  she  sorely  bruz'd  had  beene, 
Als  of  his  owne  rash  hand  one  wound  was  to  be  seene. 

XXXVI. 

Wliich  when  she  saw  with  sodaine  glauncing  eye. 

Her  noble  heart,  with  siglit  thereof,  was  fild 

With  deepe  disdaine  and  great  indignity, 

That  in  her  wrath  slie  thouglit  them  both  have  thrild 

With  that  selfe  arrow  vhicli  the  carle  had  kild  : 

Yet  held  her  wrathful!  liand  from  vengeance  sore  : 

But  drawing  nigh,  ere  he  her  well  beheld, 

'•  Is  this  the  faith  ? "  she  said — and  said  no  more, 

But  turnd  her  face,  and  fled  away  for  evermore. 


He,  seeing  her  depart,  arose  up  light. 

Right  sore  agrieved  at  her  sharpe  reproofe, 

And  follow'd  fast:  but,  when  he  came  in  sight, 

He  durst  not  nigh  apjiroch,  but  kept  aloofe, 

For  dread  of  her  displeasure's  utmost  proofe  : 

And  evermore,  when  he  did  grace  entreat. 

And  framed  speaches  fit  for  his  behoofe. 

Her  mortall  arrowes  she  at  him  did  threat, 

And  forst  him  backe  with  fowle  dishonor  to  retreat 


At  last,  wlien  long  he  follow'd  had  in  vaine. 
Yet  found  no  ease  of  griefe  nor  hope  of  grace. 
Unto  those  woods  he  turned  backe  againe. 
Full  of  sad  anguish  and  in  heavy  case  : 
And,  finding  there  fit  solitary  place 
For  wofull  wight,  chose  out  a  gloomy  glade. 
Where  hardly  eve  mote  see  bright  heavens  face 
For  mossy  trees,  which  covered  all  with  shade 
And  sad  melancholy  ;  there  he  Ids  cabin  made. 


His  wonted  warlike  weapons  all  he  broke 

And  threw  away,  with  vow  to  use  no  more, 

Ne  thenceforth  ever  strike  in  battell  stroke, 

Ne  ever  word  to  speake  to  woman  more  ; 

But  in  that  wildernesse,  of  men  forlore 

And  of  tlie  wicked  world  forgotten  quight. 

His  hard  mishap  in  dolor  to  dejjlore. 

And  wast  his  wretched  daies  in  wofull  plight: 

So  on  himselfe  to  wreake  his  follies  owne  despight. 


And  eke  his  garment,  to  be  thereto  meet. 

He  wilfully  did  cut  and  sha])e  anew  ; 

And  his  faire  lockes,  that  wont  with  omtment  sweet 

To  be  embaulm'd ,  and  sweat  out  dainty  dew. 

He  let  to  grow  and  grieslv  to  concrew, 

Uncomb'd,  uncurl'd,  and  carelesly  unshed  ; 

Tliat  in  short  time  his  face  they  overgrew, 

And  over  all  his  shoulders  did  dispred. 

That  who  he  whilonie  was  uneath  was  to  be  red. 


There  he  continued  in  this  carefull  plight, 

Wretchedly  wearing  out  his  youthly  yeares, 

Through  wilfull  penury  consumed  quight, 

'I'hat  like  a  pined  ghost  he  soone  appeares : 

For  other  food  then  that  wildc  forrest  beares, 

Ne  other  drinke  there  did  he  ever  tast 

Then  running  water  temjired  willi  his  teares, 

The  more  his  weakened  body  so  to  wast  : 

That  out  of  all  mens  knowleilge  he  was  worne  at  last. 


For  on  a  day,  by  fortune  as  it  fell. 
His  own  deare  Lord  Prince  Arthure  came  that  way, 
Seeking  adventures  where  lie  mote  heare  tell  ; 
And,  as  he  through  the  wandring  wood  did  stray. 
Having  espide  his  cabin  far  away. 
He  to  it  drew,  to  wcet  who  tlu-re  did  wonne  ; 
Weening  therein  some  holy  hermit  Jay, 
That  did  resort  of  sinfull  ])eople  shonne  ; 
Or  else  some  woodman  shrowded  there  from  scorcb* 
ing  sunne. 


Canto  VIII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE 


Sir 


Arriving  there  lie  found  this  wretched  man 
Spending  his  daies  in  dolour  and  despaire, 
And,  through  long  fasting,  woxen  pale  and  wan, 
All  over-growen  with  rude  and  rugged  haire  ; 
That  albeit  his  owne  dear  squire  he  were. 
Yet  he  him  knew  not,  ne  aviz'd  at  all ;  [where, 

But  like  strange  wight,   whom  he   had   seene  no 
Saluting  him,  gan  into  speach  to  fall, 
And  pitty  much  his  plight,  that  liv'd  like  outcast 
thrall. 


But  to  his  speach  he  aunswered  no  whit, 

But  stood  still  mute,  as  if  he  had  beene  dum, 

Ne  signe  of  sence  did  shew,  ne  common  wit, 

As  one  with  griefe  and  anguishe  over-cum  ; 

And  unto  every  thing  did  aunswere  mum  : 

And  ever,  when  the  prince  unto  him  spake, 

He  louted  lowly,  as  did  him  becum, 

And  humble  homage  did  unto  him  make  ; 

Midst   sorrow    shewing  ioyous   semblance  for  his 


At  which  his  uncouth  guise  and  usage  quaint 
The  prince  did  wonder  much,  vet  could  not  gbesse 
The  cause  of  that  his  sorrowful!  constraint  ; 
Yet  weend,  by  secret  signes  of  manlinesse. 
Which  close  appeard  in  that  rude  brutishnesse. 
That  he  whilome  some  gentle  swaine  had  beene, 
Traind  up  in  feats  of  amies  and  knig>!itlinesse  ; 
Which  he  observ'd,  by  that  he  him  had  seene 
To  weld  his  naked  sword  and  trv  the  edges  keene  • 


And  eke  hy  that  he  saw  on  every  tree 

How  he  the  name  of  one  engraven  had 

Which  likly  was  his  liefest  love  to  be. 

From  whom  he  now  so  sorely  was  bestad  ; 

Which  was  by  him  Belphebe  rightly  rad  : 

Yet  who  was  that  Belphebe  he  ne  wist ; 

Yet  saw  he  often  how  he  wexed  glad 

When  he  it  heard,  and  how  the  ground  he  kist 

Wherein  it  written  was,  and  how  himselfe  he  blist. 


Tho,  when  he  long  had  marked  his  demeanor. 

And  saw  that  all  he  said  and  did  was  vaine, 

Ne  ought  mote  make  him  cliange  his  wonted  tenor, 

Ne  ought  mote  cease  to  mitigate  his  paine ; 

He  left  him  there  in  languor  to  remains 

Till  time  for  him  should  remedy  provme. 

And  him  restore  to  former  grace  againe  : 

Which,  for  it  is  too  long  here  to  abide, 

I  will  deferre  the  end  untill  another  tide 


CANTO  VIII. 

The  gentle  squire  recovers  grace  : 
Sclauiider  lier  guests  doth  staine  : 

Corflambo  thaseth  Placidas, 
And  is  by  Arthurs  slaine. 


Well  said  the  wiseman,  now  prov'd  true  by  this 

Which  to  this  gentle  squire  did  happen  late, 

That  the  displeasure  of  the  miglity  is 

Then  death  itselfe  more  dread  and  desperate  ; 

For  naught  the  same  may  calme,  ne  mitigate. 

Till  time  the  tempest  doe  thereof  delay 

With  sutferaunce  soft,  whicli  rigour  can  abate. 

And  have  the  sterne  remembrance  wypt  away 

Of  bitter  thoughts,  which  deepe  therein  infixed  lay. 


Till  on  a  day,  as  in  his  wonted  wise 

His  doole  he  made,  tnere  chaun.st  a  turtle  dove 

To  come  where  he  his  dolors  did  devise, 

'I  hat  likewise  late  had  lost  her  dearest  love, 

W  hich  losse  her  made  like  passion  also  prove: 

Who^  seeing  his  sad  plight,  her  tender  heart 

With  deare  compassion  deeply  did  emmove. 

That  she  gan  iiione  his  undeserved  smart. 

And  with  her  dolefuU  accent  beare  with  him  a  part. 


Like  as  it  fell  to  this  unhappy  boy. 
Whose  tender  heart  the  faire  Belphebe  had 
\Mth  one  sterne  looke  so  daunted,  that  no  iov 
In  all  his  life,  which  afterwards  he  lad. 
He  ever  tasted  ;  but  with  peiiaunce  sad 
And  pensive  sorrow  pind  and  wore  away, 
Ne  ever  laught,  ne  once  sliew'd  countenance  glad  ; 
But  alwaies  wept  and  wailed  night  and  day. 
As  blasted  bloosme  through  heat  dolli  languish  and 
decay  : 


Shee  sitting  by  him,  as  on  ground  he  lay. 
Her  mournefull  notes  full  piteously  did  frame. 
And  thereof  made  a  lamentable  lay, 
So  sensibly  compyld  that  in  the  same 
Him  seemed  oft  he  heard  his  owne  right  name. 
With  that  he  forth  would  poure  so  plenteous  tearea> 
And  beat  his  breast  unworthy  of  such  blame, 
And  kniicke  his  head,  and  rend  his  rugged  heares. 
That  could  have  perst  the  hearts  of  tigres   and  of 
beares 


218 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  iV 


Thus,  long  this  gentle  bird  to  him  did  use 

Withouten  dread  of  peril!  to  repaire 

Unto  his  wonne,  and  with  her  mournefull  muse 

Him  to  recomfort  in  his  greatest  care, 

Tliat  much  did  ease  his  mourning  and  misfare : 

And  everv  day,  for  guerdon  of  her  song, 

He  part  of  Iiis  small  feast  to  her  would  share  ; 

That,  at  the  last,  of  all  his  woe  and  wrong 

Companion  she  became,  and  so  continued  long. 


Upon  a  dav.  as  she  him  sate  beside, 

Hv  chance  he  certaine  miniments  forth  drew, 

\Vhich  yet  with  him  as  relickes  did  abide 

Of  all  the  bounty  which  Belphebe  threw 

On  him,  wliilst  goodly  grace  she  did  him  shew ; 

Amongst  the  rest  a  iewell  rich  he  found, 

1'liat  was  a  ruby  of  right  perfect  hew, 

Shap'd  like  a  lieart  vet  bleeding  of  the  wound. 

And  with  a  litle  oolden  chaine  about  it  bound. 


Tlie  same  he  tooke,  and  with  a  riband  new, 
In  whicli  his  ladies  colours  were,  did  bind 
About  the  turtles  necke,  that  with  the  vew 
Did  greatly  solace  his  engrieved  mind. 
All  unawares  the  bird,  when  she  did  find 
Herselfe  so  dekt,  her  nimble  wings  displaid, 
And  flew  away  as  lightly  as  the  wind  : 
Which  sodaine  aicident  him  much  dismaid  ; 
And,  looking  after  long,  did  niarke  which  way  she 
St  raid. 


But  whenas  long  he  looked  had  in  vaine, 
Yet  saw  her  forward  stUl  to  make  her  flight. 
His  weary  eie  returnd  to  him  againe. 
Full  of  discomfort  and  disquiet  plight, 
That  both  his  iuell  he  bad  lost  so  light, 
And  eke  his  deare  companion  of  his  care. 
But  that  sweet  bird  departing  flew  fortliright, 
Through  the  wide  region  of  tlie  wastfull  aire, 
Untill  she  came  where  wonned  his  Belphebe  faire. 


There  found  she  her  (as  then  it  did  betide) 
Sitting  in  covert  shade  of  arbors  sweet. 
After  late  wearie  toile  wliich  she  liad  tride 
In  salvage  cliase,  to  rest  as  seem'd  Iier  meet. 
Tliere  she,  aligliting,  fell  before  her  feet. 
And  gan  to  her  !ier  mournfull  plaint  to  make, 
As  was  her  wont,  thinking  to  let  her  weet 
The  great  tormenting  griefe  that  for  her  sake 
Her  gentle  squire  through  her  displeasure  did  per- 
take. 


■ihe,  her  beholding  witli  attentive  eye, 
■\t  length  did  marke  a])out  licr  purple  brest 
That  ])recious  iuell,  which  she  formerly 
lad  Kiiowne  right  well  with  colourd  ribbands  drest : 
'Hierewith  she  mse  in  hast,  and  hor  addrest 
With  ready  hand  it  to  have  reft  away  : 
But  the  swift  bird  obayd  not  her  behest, 
But  swarv'd  aside,  and  there  againe  did  stay  ; 
She  iciiow'd  her,  and  thought  againe  it  to  aseay. 


And  ever,  wlien  she  nigli  approcht,  the  dove 
Would  flit  a  little  forward,  and  then  stay 
Till  she  drew  neare,  and  tiien  againe  remove •.' 
So  temjiting  her  still  to  pursue  the  pray, 
And  still  from  her  escaping  soft  away  : 
Till  that  at  length  into  that  firrest  wide 
She  drew  her  far,  and  led  with  slow  delay : 
In  th'  end  she  her  unto  that  place  did  guide. 
Whereas  that  wofuU  man  in  lang-uor  did  abide. 


Eftesoones  she  flew  unto  his  fearlesse  hand. 
And  there  a  piteous  ditty  new  deviz'd, 
And  if  slie  would  have  made  liim  understand 
His  sorrowes  cause,  to  be  of  her  despis'd  : 
Whom  when  she  saw  in  wretched  weeds  disgui..  J 
With  hearv  glib  deform'd,  and  meiger  face, 
Like  ghost  late  risen  from  his  grave  agryz'd. 
She  knew  him  not,  but  pittied  much  his  case. 
And  wisht  it  were  in  her  to  doe  him  any  grace. 


He,  her  beholding,  at  her  feet  downe  fell 

And  kist  the  ground  on  which  her  sole  did  tread. 

And  washt  the  same  with  water  which  did  well 

From  his  moist  eies,  and  like  two  streames  procead 

Yet  spake  no  word,  whereby  she  might  aread 

What  mister  wight  he  was,  or  what  he  ment: 

But,  as  one  daunted  witli  her  presence  dread, 

Onely  few  ruefull  lookes  unto  her  sent, 

As  messensres  of  his  true  meaning:  and  intent. 


Yet  nathemore  his  meaning  she  ared. 

But  wondred  much  at  his  so  selcouth  case  ; 

And  by  his  persons  secret  seemlyhed 

Well  weend  that  he  iiad  beene  some  man  of  place, 

Before  misfortune  did  his  hew  deface  ; 

That,  being  mov'd  with  rulh,  she  thus  bespake  : 

"  Ah  1  wofuU  man,  what  Heavens  hard  disgrace, 

Or  wrath  of  cruell  wight  on  thee  ywrake. 

Or  selfe-disliked  life,  doth  thee  thus  wretched  make  1 


"  If  Heaven  ;  then  none  may  it  redresse  or  blame, 

Sith  to  His  powre  we  all  are  subiect  borne  ! 

If  wrathfull  wight ;  then  fowle  rebuke  and  shame 

Be  theirs  that  have  so  cruell  thee  forlorne  ! 

13ut,  if  through  invv-ard  griefe  or  wilful!  scorne 

Of  life,  it  be  ;  then  better  doe  advise  : 

For  he,  whose  daies  in  wilful!  woe  are  worne, 

The  grace  of  his  Creator  doth  despise, 

That  will  not  use  his  <;ifts  for  thanklesse  nigardise." 


When  so  he  heard  her  say,  eftsoones  he  brake, 

His  sodaine  silence  wliich  he  long  liad  pent. 

And,  sighing  inly  deepe,  lier  thus  bespake  ; 

"  Then  liave  they  all  themselves  aginst  me  bent ! 

For  Heaven,  first  author  of  my  languishment. 

Envying  my  too  threat  felicity, 

Did  cosely  with  a  cruel!  one  consent 

To  cloud  my  daies  in  doleful!  misery. 

And  make  me  loath  this  life,  still  longing  for  to  dio. 


C.KS10  VIII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


219 


"  Xe  any  bm  yourself,  O  dearest  Dred, 

Ilatli  done  this  wrong,  to  wreake  on  worthlesse  wight 

Your  liigh  displeasure,  through  misdeeming  bred: 

That,  when  your  pleasure  is  to  deeme  aright, 

Ye  may  redresse,  and  me  restore  to  light !" 

U  hicli  sory  words  her  mightie  hart  did  mate 

With  mild  regard  to  see  his  ruefull  plight. 

That  her  inburning  wrath  she  gan  abate. 

And  him  receiv'd  aoaine  to  former  favours  state. 


In  which  he  long  time  afterwards  did  lead 

An  happie  life  with  grace  and  good  accord, 

Fearlesse  of  fortunes  chaunge  or  envies  dread, 

And  eke  all  mindlesse  of  his  own  deare  lord 

The  noble  prince,  who  never  heard  one  word 

Of  tydings,  what  did  unto  him  betide. 

Or  what  good  fortune  did  to  him  afford  ; 

But  through  the  endlesse  world  did  wander  wide. 

Him  seeking  evermore,  yet  no  where  him  descride  : 


Till  on  a  day,  as  through  that  wood  he  rode. 

He  chaunst  to  come  where  those  two  ladies  late, 

^T>mylia  and  Amoret,  abode, 

Both  in  full  sad  and  sorrowfull  estate ; 

The  one  right  feeble  through  the  evill  rate 

Of  food,  which  in  her  duresse  she  had  found  ; 

The  other  almost  dead  and  desperate  [wound 

Through  her  late  hurts,  and  through  that  haplesse 

With  which  the  squire,  in  her  defence,  her  sore  astound. 


Whom  when  the  prince  beheld,  he  gan  to  rew 
The  evill  case  in  which  those  ladies  lay ; 
But  most  was  moved  at  the  piteous  vew 
Of  Amoret,  so  neare  unto  decay, 
That  her  great  daunger  did  him  much  dismay. 
Ettsoones  that  pretious  liquor  forth  he  drew, 
\Vlach  he  in  store  about  him  kept  alway. 
And  with  few  drops  thereof  did  softly  dew 
Her  wounds,  that  unto  strength  restor'd  her  soone 
anew. 


The,  when  they  both  recovered  were  right  well, 
He  gan  of  ihem  inquire,  what  evill  guide 
Them  thetlier  brought,  and  how  their  harmes  befell ; 
To  whom  thej'  told  all  that  did  them  betide. 
And  how  from  thraldome  vile  they  were  untide. 
Of  that  same  wicked  carle,  by  virgins  bond  ; 
Whose  bloudie  corse  they  shew'd  him  there  beside, 
And  eke  his  cave  in  which  they  both  were  bond : 
At  which  he  wondred  much  when  all  those  signes  he 
fond. 


And  evermore  he  greatly  did  desire 

To  know,  what  virgin  did  them  thence  unbind  ; 

And  oft  of  them  did  earnestly  inquire, 

Where  was  her  won,  and  how  he  mote  her  find. 

But,  whenas  nought  according  to  his  mind 

He  could  out-learne,  he  them  from  ground  did  reare, 

(^j\'o  service  lothsome  to  a  gentle  kind,) 

And  on  his  warlike  beast  tliein  both  did  beare, 

Himselfe  by  them  on  foot  to  succour  them  from  feare. 


xxiir. 

So  when  that  forrest  they  hud  ])assfd  well, 

A  litle  cottage  farre  away  they  siiiiic. 

To  which  they  drew  ere  night  ujxm  tlieiu  fell  ; 

And,  entring  in,  found  none  therein  abide, 

But  one  old  woman  sitting  there  beside 

Upon  the  ground  in  ragged  rude  attyre, 

With  filthy  lockes  about  her  scattered  wide, 

Gnawing  her  navies  for  felnesse  and  for  vre, 

And  there  out  sucking  venime  to  her  j)arts  entvre. 


A  foule  and  loathly  creature  sure  in  sight, 

And  in  conditions  to  be  loath'd  no  lesse  : 

For  she  was  stuft  with  rancour  and  despiglit 

Up  to  the  throat  tliat  oft  with  bitternesse 

It  forth  would  breake  and  gush  in  great  excesse. 

Pouring  out  streames  of  poyson  and  of  gall 

Gainst  all  that  truth  or  vertue  doe  professe  ; 

Whom  she  with  leasings  lewdlv  did  miscall 

And  wickedly  backbite ;  her  name  did  Sclaunder  call 


Her  nature  is,  all  goodnesse  to  abuse, 
And  causelesse  crimes  continually  to  frame. 
With  which  she  guiltlesse  persons  may  accuse. 
And  steale  away  the  crowne  of  their  good  name  : 
Ne  ever  knight  so  bold,  ne  ever  dame 
So  chast  and  loyal  liv'd,  but  she  would  strive 
With  forged  cause  them  falsely  to  defame  ; 
j\  e  ever  thing  so  well  was  doeii  alive. 
But  she  with  blame  would  blot,  and  of  due  praise 
deprive. 


Her  words  were  not,  as  common  words  are  meat, 
T'expresse  the  meaning  of  the  inward  mind. 
But  noysome  breath,  and  poysnous  spirit  sent 
From  inward  parts,  with  cancred  malice  lind. 
And  breathed  forth  with  blast  of  bitter  wind  ;  [hart, 
Which  passing  through  tlie  eares  would  pierce  the 
And  wound  the  soule  itselfe  with  griefe  unkind  : 
For,  like  ti)e  stings  of  aspes  that  kill  with  smart. 
Her  spightful  Iwords  did  pricke  and  wound  th^  inner 
part. 

xxvii. 

Such  was  that  hag,  unmeet  to  host  such  guests. 
Whom  j^reatest  princes  court  would  welcome  fayne: 
But  neede,  that  answers  not  to  all  requests. 
Bad  them  not  looke  for  better  entertertavne ; 
And  eke  that  age  despysed  nicenesse  vaine, 
Enur'd  to  hardnesse  and  to  homely  fare. 
Which  them  to  warlike  discipline  did  trayne. 
And  manly  limbs  endur'd  with  litle  care 
Against  all  hard  mishaps  and  fortunelesse  misfare. 

XXVIII. 

Then  all  that  evening,  welcommed  with  cold 
And  chearelesse  hunger,  they  together  spent ; 
Yet  found  no  fault,  but  that  the  bag  did  scold 
And  rayle  at  them  with  grudgefuU  discontent. 
For  lodging  there  without  her  owne  consent; 
Yet  they  endured  all  with  patience  niilde. 
And  unto  rest  themselves  all  onely  lent, 
Regardlesse  of  that  queane  !.o  base  and  vilde 
To  be  uniustly  blamd  and  bitterly  revilde. 


220 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IV 


Here  well  I  weene,  whenas  these  rimes  be  red 
With  misregard,  that  some  rash-witted  wight, 
Whose  loos<^r  thought  will  lightly  be  misled, 
These  gentle  Indies  will  misdeeme  too  light 
For  thus  conversing  with  this  noble  knight ; 
Sith  now  of  dayes  such  temperance  is  rare 
And  hard  to  finde,  that  heat  of  youthfuU  spright 
For  ouglit  will  from  his  greedie  pleasure  spare : 
Wore  liard  for  hungry  steed  t'abstaine  from  pleasant 
lare. 


But  antique  age,  yet  in  the  infancie 

Of  time,  did  live  then,  like  an  innocent. 

In  simple  truth  and  blamelesse  chastitie ; 

Ne  then  of  gude  had  made  experiment ; 

But,  voide  of  vile  and  treacherous  intent, 

Held  vertue,  for  itselfe,  in  soveraine  awe  : 

Then  loyal  love  had  royall  regiment, 

And  each  unto  his  lust  did  make  a  lawe, 

From  all  forbidden  things  his  liking  to  withdraw. 


The  lyon  there  did  with  the  lambe  consort, 
And  eke  the  dove  sate  by  the  faulcons  side  ; 
Ne  each  of  other  feared  fraud  or  tort. 
But  did  in  safe  securitie  abide, 
Witliouten  perill  of  the  stronger  pride  : 
But  when  the  world  woxe  old,  it  woxe  warre  old, 
(Whereof  it  hight,)  and,  having  shortly  tride 
The  trainesof  wit,  in  wickednesse  woxe  bold, 
And  dared  of  all  siunes  the  secrets  to  unfold. 


nien  beautie,  which  was  made  to  represent 
The  great  Creatours  owne  resemblance  bright, 
I  Dto  abuse  of  lawlesse  lust  was  lent. 
And  made  the  baite  of  bestiall  delight : 
Then  iaire  grew  foule,  and  foule  grew  faire  in  sight ; 
And  tliat,  wliicli  wont  to  vanc|uisli  God  and  man, 
Was  made  tlie  vassall  of  tlie  victors  might ; 
Then  did  her  glorious  fiowre  wex  dead  and  wan, 
Despisd  and  troden  dovvne  of  all  that  over-ran  : 


And  now  it  is  so  utterly  decayd. 

That  any  bud  thereof  doth  scarse  remaine. 

But  if  lew  jilants,  jireserv'd  tlirough  heavenly  ayd, 

In  ]>rinces  court  doe  hap  to  sprout  againe, 

Dew'd  with  her  drops  of  bountie  soveraine, 

VVliich  from  tliat  goodly  glorious  fiowre  proceed. 

Sprung  of  the  auncient  stocke  of  princes  straine, 

Now  th'  onely  remnant  of  that  royall  breed, 

Whose  noble  kind  at  first  was  sure  of  heavenly  seed.- 


Tho,  soone  as  day  discovered  heavens  face 
To  sinfull  men  with  darkiies  overdight, 
'I'his  gentle  crew  gan  from  tiieir  eye-lids  chace 
The  drowzie  humour  of  the  dampish  night. 
And  did  themselves  unto  their  iourney  dight. 
So  forth  they  vode,  and  forward  sofilv  paced. 
That  them  to  view  had  bene  an  untouth  sight ; 
How  all  the  way  the  prince  on  footjiace  traced. 
The  ladies  both  on  horse  to.gether  fast  embraced. 


Soone  as  they  thence  departed  were  afore. 

That  shamefuU  hag,  the  slaunder  of  her  sexe, 

Them  follow'd  fast,  and  them  reviled  sore. 

Him  calling  theefe,  them  whores  ;  that  much  did  vexe 

His  noble  hart :  thereto  she  did  annexe 

False  crimes  and  fiicts,  such  as  they  never  ment, 

That  those  two  ladies  much  ashamed  did  wexe : 

The  more  did  she  pursuf  lier  lewd  intent. 

And  ray  I'd  and  rag'd,  till  she  had  all  her  poyson  spent^ 


At  last,  when  they  were  passed  out  of  sight. 
Yet  she  did  not  her  spightfull  speach  forbeare. 
But  after  them  did  barke,  and  still  backbite, 
Though  there  were  none  her  hatefuU  words  to  heare: 
Like  as  a  curre  doth  felly  bite  and  teare 
The  stone,  wliich  passed  straunger  at  him  threw  ; 
So  she,  tiiem  seeing  past  the  reach  of  eare, 
Against  the  stones  and  trees  did  rayle  anew. 
Till  she  had  duld  the  sting,  vv-hich  in  her  tongs  end 
grew. 

XXXVII. 

They  passing  forth  kept  on  their  readie  way. 

With  easie  steps  so  soft  as  foot  could  strvde, 

Both  for  great  feeblesse  which  did  oft  assay 

Faire  Amoret,  that  scarcely  she  could  ryde. 

And  eke  through  heavie  armes  which  sore  annoyd 

The  prince  on  foot,  not  wonted  so  to  fare. 

Whose  steadie  hand  was  faine  his  steede  to  guvde. 

And  all  the  way  from  trotting  hard  to  spare  ; 

So  was  his  toyle  the  more,  the  more  that  was  his  care. 

XXXVIII. 

At  length  they  spide  where  towards  them  with  speed 
A  squire  came  galli)])ing,  as  he  would  flie. 
Bearing  a  litle  dwarfe  before  his  steed, 
That  all  the  way  full  loud  for  aide  did  crie, 
That  seem'd  his  shrikes  Avould  rend  the  brasen  skie* 
Whom  after  did  a  mighty  man  pursew, 
Rvding  upon  a  dromedare  on  hie. 
Of  stature  huge,  and  horrible  of  hew. 
That  would  have  maz'd  a  man  his  dreadful!  face  to 
vew  : 

XXXIX. 

For  from  his  fearefidl  eyes  two  fierie  beames, 
IMore  sl)ar]i('  then  jioints  of  ne^nlles,  did  proceede. 
Shooting  lorth  farre  awav  two  flaming  streames. 
Full  of  sad  powre,  that  poysnous  bale  did  breede 
To  all  that  on  idm  lookt  without  good  heed; 
And  secretly  his  enemies  did  slay  : 
Like  as  the  basiliske,  of  serpents  seede. 
From  jiowrefull  eyes  close  venim  doth  convay 
Into  tije  lookers  hart,  and  killeth  farre  away. 


lie  all  the  way  did  rage  at  that  same  squire. 

And  after  him  full  many  threatnings  threw, 

With  curses  vaine  in  his  avengefull  ire: 

But  none  of  them  (so  fast  away  he  flew) 

Ilim  overtooke  before  he  came  in  vew  : 

Where  wlien  he  saw  the  prince  in  armour  bright. 

He  cald  to  him  aloud  his  case  to  rew, 

And  rescue  him,  through  succour  of  his  might. 

From  that  his  cruell  foe  that  him  pursewd  in  sight 


Canto  VIII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


221 


Kftsoones  the  prince  tooke  downe  those  ladies  twaine 

(■"loni  loftie  steede,  and  mounting  in  their  stead 

Came  to  that  squire  yet  trembling  every  vaine  ; 

Of  whom  he  gan  enquire  his  cause  of  dread  : 

Who  as  he  gan  the  same  to  him  aread, 

Loe !  hard  behind  his  backe  his  foe  was  prest, 

With  dreadfull  weapon  aymed  at  his  head, 

That  unto  death  had  doen  him  unredrest, 

Had  not  the  noble  prince  his  readie  stroke  represt : 


Who,  thrusting  boldly  twixt  him  and  the  blow, 
The  burden  of  the  deadly  brunt  did  lieare 
Upon  his  shield,  which  lightly  he  did  throw 
Over  his  head,  before  the  harme  came  neare : 
Nathlesse  it  fell  with  so  despiteous  dreare 
And  heavie  sway,  that  hard  unto  his  crowne 
The  shield  it  drove,  and  did  the  covering  reare  : 
Therewith  both  squire  and  dwarfe  did  tomble  downe 
Unto  the  earth,  and  lay  long  while  in  senselesse 
swowne. 

XLIII. 

Whereat  the  prince,  full  wrath,  his  strong  right  hand 

In  full  avengement  heaved  up  on  hie, 

And  stroke  the  pagan  with  his  steely  brand 

So  sore,  that  to  his  saddle-bow  thereby 

He  bowed  low,  and  so  a  while  did  lie: 

And  sure,  had  not  his  massie  yron  mace 

Betwixt  him  and  his  hurt  bene  happily, 

It  would  have  cleft  him  to  the  girding  place  ; 

Vet,  as  it  was,  it  did  astonish  him  long  space. 


But,  when  he  to  himselfe  returnd  againe. 
All  full  of  rage  he  gan  to  curse  and  sweare, 
And  vow  by  Mahoune  that  he  should  be  slaine. 
With  that  his  murdrous  mace  he  up  did  reare. 
That  seemed  nought  the  souse  thereof  could  beare, 
And  therewith  smote  at  him  with  all  his  might: 
But,  ere  that  it  to  him  approched  neare. 
The  rovall  child  with  readie  quick  foresight 
Did  shun  the  proofe  thereof  and  it  avoyded  light. 


But,  ere  his  hand  be  could  recure  againe 

To  ward  his  bodie  from  the  balefull  stound, 

He  smcte  at  him  with  all  his  might  and  maine 

So  furiously  that,  ere  he  wist,  he  found 

His  head  before  him  tombling  on  the  ground  ; 

i  lie  whiles  his  babling  tongue  did  yet  blaspheme 

And  curse  his  god  that  did  him  so  confound  ; 

1  he  whiles  his  life  ran  foorth  in  bloudie  streams, 

His  soule  descended  downe  into  the  Stygian  reame. 


Which  when  that  squire  beheld,  he  woxe  full  glad 
lo  see  his  foe  breath  out  his  spright  in  vaine  : 
But  that  same  dwarfe  right  sorie  seem'd  and  sad, 
And  howld  aloud  to  see  his  lord  there  slaine. 
And  rent  his  haire  and  scratcht  his  face  for  paine. 
'I'lien  gan  the  prince  at  leasure  to  inquire 
(Jf  all  the  accident  there  hapned  plaine. 
And  what  he  was  whose  eyes  did  flame  with  fire  : 
Al  which  was  thus  to  him  declared  by  that  squire. 


"  This  mightie  man,"  quoth  he,  "  whom  you  hava 

Of  an  huge  geauntesse  whvlome  was  bred  ;  [slaine, 

And  by  his  strength  rule  to  himselfe  did  gaine 

Of  many  nations  into  thraldome  led. 

And  mightie  kingdomes  of  his  force  adred  ; 

Whom  yet  lie  conquer'd  not  by  bloudie  fight, 

Ne  hostes  of  men  with  banners  brode  dispred. 

But  by  the  povi-re  of  his  infectious  sight, 

With  which  he  killed  all  that  came  within  his  might. 


"  Ne  was  he  ever  vanquished  afore, 

But  ever  vanquisht  all  with  whom  he  fought  ; 

Ne  was  there  man  so  strong,  but  he  downe  bore ; 

Ne  woman  yet  so  faire,  but  he  her  brought 

Unto  his  bay,  and  captived  her  thought  : 

For  most  of  strength  and  beautie  his  desire 

Was  spoyle  to  make,  and  wast  them  unto  nought. 

By  casting  secret  flakes  of  lustfuU  fire 

From  his  false  eyes  into  their  harts  and  parts  entire. 


"  Therefore  Corflambo  was  he  cald  aright. 

Though  namelesse  there  his  bodie  now  doth  lie  : 

Yet  hath  he  left  one  daughter  that  is  hight 

The  faire  Psana  :  who  seemes  outwardly 

So  faire  as  ever  yet  saw  living  eie  ; 

And,  were  her  vertue  like  her  beautie  bright, 

She  were  as  faire  as  any  under  skie  : 

But  ah  !  she  given  is  to  vaine  delight. 

And  eke  too  loose  of  life,  and  eke  of  love  too  liiiht. 


"  So,  as  it  fell,  there  was  a  gentle  squire 
That  lov'd  u  ladie  of  high  parentage  ; 
But,  for  his  meane  degree  might  not  aspire 
To  match  so  high,  her  friends  with  counsell  sage 
Dissuaded  her  from  such  a  disparage  : 
But  she,  whose  hart  to  love  was  wholly  lent. 
Out  of  his  hands  could  not  redeeme  her  gage. 
But,  firmely  following  her  first  intent, 
Resolv'd  with  him  to  wend,  gainst  all  her  friends 
consent. 


"  So  twixt  themselves  they  pointed  time  and  place  : 
To  which  when  he  according  did  repaire, 
An  hard  mishap  and  disaventrous  case 
Him  chaunst ;  instead  of  his  .-Emylia  faire. 
This  Gyants  sonne,  that  lies  there  on  the  laire 
An  headlesse  heape,  him  unawares  there  caught , 
And  all  dismayd  through  mercilesse  despaire 
Him  wretched  thrall  unto  his  dongeon  brought, 
Where  he  remaines  of  all  unsuccour'd  and  unsought 


"  This  grants  daughter  came  upon  a  day 
Unto  the  prison,  in  her  ioyous  glee. 
To  view  the  tlijals  which  there  in  bondage  lay : 
Amongst  the  rest  she  cbaunced  there  to  see 
This  lovely  swaine,  the  squire  of  low  degree  ; 
To  whom  she  did  her  liking  lightly  cast. 
And  wooed  him  her  paramour  to  bee  : 
From  day  to  day  she  woo'd  and  prayd  him  fast. 
And  for  his  love  him  promist  libertie  at  lasU 


S22 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IV 


"  He,  thoiitjh  affide  unto  a  former  love, 

To  whom  faith  he  firmely  merit  to  hold, 

Yet  seeing  not  bow  thence  he  mote  remove, 

But  by  that  meanes  which  fortune  did  unfold, 

Her  graunted  love,  but  with  affection  cold, 

To  win  lier  grace  his  libertie  to  get  : 

Vet  he  him  still  detaines  in  captive  hold. 

Fearing,  least  if  she  should  him  freely  set. 

He  would  her  shortly  leave,  and  former  love  forget. 


"  Yet  so  much  fiivour  she  to  him  hath  bight 
Above  the  rest,  that  he  sometimes  may  space 
And  wallce  about  her  gardens  of  delight. 
Having  a  keeper  still  with  bim  in  place  ; 
Which  keeper  is  this  dwarfe,  her  dearling  base. 
To  whom  the  Iceyes  of  every  prison  dore 
By  her  committed  be,  of  speciall  grace. 
And  at  bis  will  may  whom  be  list  restore, 
And,  whom  he  list,  reserve  to  be  afflicted  more. 


"  Whereof  when  tydings  came  unto  mme  eare. 
Full  inly  sorie,  for  the  fervent  zeale 
Which  I  to  him  as  to  my  soule  did  beare, 
I  tbether  went ;  where  I  did  long  conceale 
IVlyselfe,  till  that  the  dwarfe  did  me  reveale. 
And  told  his  dame  her  squire  of  low  degree 
Did  secretly  out  of  her  prison  steale  ; 
For  me  he  did  mistake  that  squire  to  bee  ; 
For  never  two  so  like  did  living  creature  see. 


"  Then  was  I  taken  and  before  her  brought ; 
Who,  through  the  likenesse  of  my  outward  hew, 
BeiniC  likewise  beguiled  in  her  thought, 
Gan  blame  me  much  for  being  so  untrew 
To  seeke  by  flight  her  fellowship  t'cschew, 
Tliat  lov'd  me  deare,  as  dearest  thing  alive. 
Thence  she  commaunded  me  to  prison  new  : 
W  hereof  I  glad  did  not  gaine-say  nor  strive. 
But  suffred  that  same  dwarfe  me  to  her  dongeon 
drive. 


"  There  did  I  finde  mine  onely  faithfull  frend 

In  heavy  plight  and  sad  perplexitie  ; 

Whereof  I  sorie,  yet  myselfe  did  bend 

Him  to  recomfort  with  my  companie  ; 

But  him  the  more  agreev'd  I  found  thereby  : 

For  all  his  ioy,  be  said,  in  that  distresse 

V\'as  mine  and  his  yl^niylias  libertie. 

/I'',ni\lia  well  he  lov'd,  us  1  mote  ghesse  ; 

Yet  greater  love  to  me  then  her  be  did  professe. 

Lviir. 

"  But  I  with  better  reason  him  aviz'd 

And  shew'd  bim  bow,  through  error  and  misthought 

Of  our  like  persons  euth  to  be  disguiz'd, 

Or  his  exchange  or  freedom  might  be  wrought. 

\Vheieto  full  loth  was  be,  ne  would  for  ought 

Consent  that  I,  who  stood  all  fearelesse  free, 

Sliould  wilfully  he  into  thraldoine  brought, 

'I'ill  lortuiie  did  jierl'orce  it  so  decree  : 

\et,  over-ruUi  at  last,  he  did  to  me  agree. 


"  The  morrow  next,  about  the  wonted  bowre, 
The  dwarfe  cald  at  the  doore  of  Amyas 
To  come  forthwith  unto  his  ladies  bowre: 
Insteed  of  whom  forth  came  I  Placidas, 
And  undiscerned  forth  with  bim  did  pas. 
There  with  great  ioyance  and  with  gladsome  glee 
Of  faire  Parana  I  received  was. 
And  oft  imbrast,  as  if  that  I  were  bee, 
And  with  kind  words  accoyd,  vowing  great  love  tcu 
mee. 


"  Which  I,  that  was  not  bent  to  former  love 
As  was  my  friend  that  had  her  long  refus'd. 
Did  well  accept,  as  well  it  did  behove, 
And  to  the  present  neede  it  wisely  usd. 
]\Iy  former  hardnesse  first  I  faire  excusd  ; 
i    And,  after,  promist  large  amends  to  make. 
I    With  such  smooth  termes  her  error  I  abusd 
I    To  my  friends  good  more  then  for  mine  owne  sake, 
For  whose  sole  libertie  I  love  and  life  did  stake. 


"  Thenceforth  I  found  more  favour  at  her  hand ; 

That  to  her  dwarfe,  which  had  me  in  his  charge. 

She  bad  to  lighten  my  too  beavie  band. 

And  graunt  more  scope  to  me  to  walke  at  large. 

So  on  a  day,  as  by  the  flovvrie  marge 

Of  a  fresh  streame  I  with  that  elfe  did  play. 

Finding  no  meanes  how  I  might  us  enlarge, 

But  if  that  dwarfe  I  could  with  me  convay, 

I  lightly  snatcht  him  up  and  with  me  bore  away. 


"  Thereat  be  sbriekt  aloud,  that  with  his  cry 
The  tyrant  selfe  came  forth  with  yelling  bray, 
And  me  pursew'd  ;  but  nathemore  would  I 
Forgoe  the  purchase  of  my  gotten  pray, 
But  have  perforce  him  betber  brought  away." 
Thus  as  they  talked,  loe  !   where  nigh  at  hand 
Those  ladies  two,  vet  douhtfull  through  dismay, 
In  presence  came,  desirous  t'  understand 
Tydings  of  all  which  there  had  hapned  on  the  land. 


Where  scone  as  sad  ^mylia  did  espie 
Her  captive  lovers  friend,  young  Placidas; 
All  mindlesse  of  her  wonted  modestie 
She  to  him  ran,  and,  bim  with  streight  embras 
Enfolding,  said  ;  "  and  lives  yet  Amyas?" 
"  He  lives,"  quoth  he,  "  and  bis  ^Emylia  loves." 
"  Then  lesse,"  said  she,  "  by  all  the  woe  I  pas. 
With  which  my  weaker  patience  fortune  proves: 
But  what  mishap   thus   long  bim  fro  myselfe   re« 
moves  V 


Then  gan  be  all  this  storie  to  renew, 

And  tell  the  course  of  bis  captivitie ; 

That  her  deare  hart  full  deepely  made  to  rew 

And  sigh  full  sore,  to  beare  the  miserie 

In  which  so  long  he  mercilesse  did  lie. 

Then,  after  many  teares  and  sorrowes  spent, 

She  deare  besought  the  prince  of  remedie: 

Who  thereto  did  with  readie  will  consent, 

And  well  perforrn'd  ;  as  shall  apjH'ai-e  by  his  evcnu 


Canto  IX. ] 


THE  i-^AERIE  QUEENE. 


223 


CANTO  IX. 

The  Squire  of  low  degree,  releast, 

Paeana  takes  to  wife  : 
Bntomart  fightes  with  many  knights  j 

Prince  Arthur  stints  their  strife. 


Hard  is  the  doubt,  and  difficult  to  deeme, 

\\  lien  all  three  kinds  of  love  together  meet 

And  doe  dispart  tlie  hart  with  povvre  extreme, 

Whether  shall  weigh  the  balance  downe ;  to  weet, 

The  deare  affection  unto  kindred  sweet, 

Or  raging  fire  of  love  to  womankind. 

Or  zeale  of  friends  combynd  with  vertues  meet. 

But  of  them  all  the  band  of  vertuous  mind, 

Me  seemes,  the  gentle  hart  should  most  assured  bind. 


For  naturall  affection  soone  doth  cesse. 
And  quenched  is  with  Cupids  greater  flame  ; 
But  faithful!  friendship  doth  them  botli  suppresse. 
And  them  with  maystring  discipline  doth  tame, 
Through  thoughts  aspyring  to  eternall  fame. 
For  as  the  soule  doth  rule  the  earthly  masse. 
And  all  the  service  of  the  bodie  frame  ; 
So  love  of  soule  doth  love  of  bodie  passe. 
No  lesse  then  perfect  gold  surmounts  the  meanest 
brasse. 


All  which  who  list  by  tryall  to  assay. 

Shall  in  this  storie  find  approved  plaine ; 

In  which  these  squires  true  friendship  more  did  sway 

Then  either  care  of  parents  could  refraine, 

Or  love  of  fairest  ladle  could  constraine. 

For  though  Pffiaaa  were  as  faii-e  as  morne, 

Yet  did  this  trustie  squire  with  proud  disdaine 

For  his  friends  sake  her  offred  favours  scorne, 

And  she  herselfe  her  syre  of  whom  she  was  yborne. 


Now,  after  tha<t  Prince  Arthur  graunted  had 

To  yeeld  strong  succour  to  that  gentle  swayne, 

Who  now  long  time  had  lyen  in  prison  sad  ; 

He  gan  advise  how  best  he  mote  darrayne 

I'hat  enterprize,  for  greatest  glories  gayne. 

That  headlesse  tyrants  tronke  he  reard  from  ground. 

And,  having  ympt  the  head  to  it  agayne. 

Upon  his  usuall  beast  it  firmely  bound, 

And  made  it  so  to  ride  as  it  alive  was  found. 


Then  did  he  take  that  chased  squire,  and  layd 

Before  the  ryder,  as  he  captive  were  ; 

And  made  his  dwarfe,  though  with  unwilling  ayd, 

'I'd  guide  the  beast  that  did  his  maister  beare. 

Till  to  his  Castle  they  approched  neare  : 

Whom  when  the  watch,  that  kept  contiuuall  ward, 

Saw  cumming  home,  all  voide  of  doubtfull  feare 

l^le.  running  downe,  the  gate  to  him  unbard  ; 

Whom  straight  the  Prince  ensuing  in  together  far'd. 


There  did  he  find  in  her  delitious  boure 

The  faire  Pseana  playing  on  a  rote, 

Complayning  of  her  cruell  paramoure. 

And  singing  all  her  sorrow  to  the  note. 

As  she  had  learned  readily  by  rote  ; 

That  with  the  sweetnesse  of  her  rare  delight 

The  Prince  half  rapt  began  on  her  to  dote  ; 

Till,  better  him  bethinking  of  the  right, 

He  her  unwares  attacht,  and  captive  held  by  might,. 


Whence  being  forth  produc'd,  when  she  perceived 
Her  owne  deare  sire,  she  cald  to  him  lor  aide : 
But  when  of  him  no  aunswere  she  received, 
But  saw  him  sencelesse  by  the  squire  upstaide. 
She  weened  well  that  then  slie  was  betraide  : 
Then  gan  she  loudlv  cry,  and  weepe,  and  waile, 
And  that  same  squire  of  treason  to  upbraide  : 
But  all  in  vaine  ;  her  jdaints  might  not  prevaile  ; 
Ne  none  there  was  to  reskue  her,  ne  none  to  baile. 


Then  tooke  he  that  same  dwarfe  and  him  compeld 
To  open  unto  him  the  prison  dore, 
And  forth  to  bring  those  thrals  which  there  he  held. 
Thence  forth  were  brought  to  him  above  a  score 
Of  knights  and  squires  to  him  unknowne  afore  : 
All  which  he  did  from  bitter  bondage  free. 
And  unto  former  liberty  lestore. 
Amongst  the  rest  that  squire  of  low  degree 
Came  forth  full  weake  and  wan,  not  like  himselfe  to 
bee. 


Whom  soone  as  faire  ^Emylia  beheld 
And  Placidas,  they  both  unto  him  ran. 
And  him  embracing  fast  betwixt  them  held. 
Striving  to  comfort  him  all  that  they  can, 
And  kissing  oft  his  visage  pale  and  wan  : 
That  faire  Fa?ana,  them  beholding  both, 
Gan  both  envy,  and  hitterly  to  bin  ; 
Tlirough  iealous  passion  weeping  inly  wroth, 
To  see  the  sight  perforce  that  both  her  eyes  were 
loth. 


But  when  awhile  they  had  together  beene. 

And  diversly  conferred  of  their  case. 

She,  though  full  oft  she  both  of  them  had  scene 

Asunder,  vet  not  ever  in  one  place, 

Began  to  doubt,  when  she  them  saw  embrace. 

Which  was  the  captive  squire  she  lov'd  so  deare, 

Deceived  through  great  likenesse  of  iheir  face: 

For  thev  so  like  in  person  did  a])peaiv. 

That  she  uneath  discerned  whether  whether  weare. 


IHE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


[book  IT. 


A  ifl.pke  the  prince  whenas  lie  them  avized, 
'i  Iieir  like  reserublaunce  much  admired  there. 
And  mazd  how  natuie  had  so  well  disguized, 
Her  vvorke,  and  counterf'et  herselfe  so  nere, 
As  if  that  by  one  patterne  seene  somewhere 
SJje  had  tliem  made  a  parag-one  to  be ; 
Or  wliether  it  through  skdl  or  errour  were. 
Thus  gazing  long  at  them  much  wondred  he  ; 
1  ditl  the  other  knights  and  squires  which  him  did 
see. 


Then  gan  thev  ransacke  that  same  castle  strong, 

In  which  he  found  great  store  of  hoorded  threasure, 

'J'he  wliich  that  tyrant  gathered  had  by  wrong 

And  tortious  powre,  without  respect  or  measure. 

Upon  all  which  the  Briton  prince  made  seasure, 

And  afterwards  continu'd  there  a  while 

To  rest  himselfe,  and  solace  in  soft  pleasure 

Those  weaker  ladies  after  weary  toile ; 

To  whom  he  did  divide  part  of  his  purchast  spoils. 


And,  for  more  ioy,  that  captive  lady  faire, 
The  faire  Parana,  he  enlarged  free, 
And  by  the  rest  did  set  in  sumptuous  chairs 
To  feast  and  frollicke  ;  nathemore  would  she 
Shew  gladsome  countenaunce  nor  pleasaunt  glee  ; 
But  grieved  was  for  losse  both  of  her  sire. 
And  eke  of  lordship  with  both  land  and  fee  ; 
Btit  most  she  touched  was  with  griefe  entire 
For  losse  of  her  new  love,  the  hope  of  her  desire. 


But  her  the  prince,  through  his  well-wonted  grace, 
To  better  termes  of  myldnesse  did  entreat 
From  that  fowle  rudenesse  which  did  her  deface ; 
And  that  same  bitter  cor'sive,  which  did  eat 
Her  tender  heart  and  made  refniine  from  meat, 
He  with  good  thewes  and  speaches  well  applyde 
Did  mollifie,  and  calme  her  raging  heat : 
For  though  she  were  most  faire,  and  goodly  dyde, 
Yet  she  it  all  did  mar  with  cruelty  and  pride. 


And,  for  to  shut  up  all  in  friendly  love, 
Sith  love  was  first  the  ground  of  all  her  griefe, 
That  trusty  squire  he  wisely  well  did  move 
Not  to  despise  that  dame  which  lov'd  him  liefe. 
Till  he  had  made  of  her  some  better  priefe  ; 
|jut  to  accept  her  to  his  wedded  wife  : 
Thereto  he  offred  for  to  make  him  chiefe 
Of  all  her  land  and  lordship  during  life  : 
He   yeelded,    and    her   tooke ;  so  stinted   all    their 
strife. 


From  that  day  forth  in  peace  and  ioyous  blis 
They  liv'd  together  long  without  debate  ; 
Ne  private  iarre,  ne  spite  of  enemis, 
Could  shake  the  safe  assuraunce  of  their  state* 
And  she,  whom  nature  did  so  faire  create 
That  she  mote  match  the  fairest  of  her  daies, 
let  Willi  lewd  loves  and  lust  intemjierate 
/tild  it  defaste,  thenceforth  reformed  her  waies, 
TliHt  hU  men  much  admyrde  her  change,  and  spake 
her  praise. 


Thus  when  the  prince  had  perfectly  comp^dde 
These  paires  of  friends  in  peace  and  setled  rest ; 
Himselfe,  whose  minde  did  travell  as  with  chylde 
Of  his  old  love  conceav'd  in  secret  brest, 
Resolved  to  pursue  his  former  guest  ; 
And,  taking  leave  of  all,  with  him  did  bears 
Faire  Amoret,  whom  fortune  by  bequest 
Had  left  in  his  protection  whileare, 
Exchanged  out  of  one  into  another  feare. 


Feare  of  her  safety  did  her  not  constraine  , 

For  well  she  wist  now  in  a  mighty  bond 

Her  person,  late  in  ])erill,  did  remaine. 

Who  able  wr^  all  daungers  to  withstond  : 

But  now  in  feare  of  shame  she  more  did  stond, 

Seeing  herselfe  all  snly  succourlesse, 

Left  in  the  victors  powre,  likevassall  bond; 

^Vhose  will  her  weakenesse  could  no  way  represse. 

In  case  his  burning  lust  should  breake  into  excesse. 


But  cause  of  feare  sure  had  she  none  at  all 
Of  him,  who  goodly  learned  had  of  yore 
The  course  of  loose  affection  to  foistall, 
And  lawlesse  lust  to  rule  with  reasons  lore  ; 
That,  all  the  while  he  by  his  side  her  bore, 
She  was  as  safe  as  in  a  sanctuary. 
Thus  many  miles  they  two  together  wore, 
To  seeke  their  loves  dispersed  diversly  ; 
Yet  neither  shewed  to  other  their  hearts  privity 


At  length  they  came  whereas  a  troupe  of  knights 
They  saw  together  skirmishing,  as  seemed  : 
Sixe  they  were  all,  all  full  of  fell  despight. 
But  foure  of  them  the  battell  best  beseemed, 
That  which  of  them  was  best  mote  not  be  deemed 
These  foure  were  thev  from  whom  false  Florimel 
By  Braggadochio  lately  was  redeemed  ; 
To  weet,  sterne  Druon,  and  lewd  Claribell, 
Love-lavish  Blandamour,  and  lustfull  Paridell. 


Druons  delight  was  all  in  single  life. 

And  unto  ladies  love  would  lend  no  leasure  : 

The  more  was  Claribell  enraged  rife 

With  fervent  flames  and  loved  out  of  measure  : 

So  eke  lov'd  J51andamour,  but  yet  at  pleasure 

Would  change  his  liking,  and  new  lemans  prove: 

But  Paridell  of  love  did  make  no  threasure, 

But  lusted  after  all  that  him  did  move  : 

So  diversly  these  foure  disposed  were  to  love. 


But  those  two  other,  which  beside  them  stoode, 

Were  Britomnrt  and  gentle  Scudamour  ; 

Who  all  the  wliile  licheld  their  wrathful!  moode. 

And  wondred  at  their  imjilacable  stoure, 

W'liose  like  they  never  saw  till  that  same  boure  : 

So  dreadfull  strokes  each  did  at  other  drive. 

And  laid  on  load  with  all  their  might  and  powre. 

As  if  that  every  dint  the  ghost  would  rive 

Out  of  tiieir  w-etched  corses,  and  their  lives  deprive 


Canto  IX.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN  E. 


225 


As  when  Dan  ^olus,  in  great  displeasure 
For  losse  of  his  deare  love  by  Neptune  bent, 
Sends  forth  the  winds  out  of  bis  bidden  tbreasure 
Upon  the  sea  to  ^vreake  bis  full  intent  ; 
They,  breaking  forth  with  rude  unruliment 
From  all  foure  parts  of  heaven,  doe  rage  full  sore. 
And  tosse  the  deepes,  and  teare  the  firmament, 
And  all  the  world  confound  with  wide  uprore  ; 
As  if  instead  thereof  they  Chaos  would  restore. 


Cause  of  their  discord  and  so  fell  debate 

Was  for  the  love  of  that  same  snowy  maid, 

VVhome  they  had  lost  in  turneyment  of  late  ; 

And,  seeking  long  to  weet  which  way  slie  straid, 

Alet  here  together  ;  where,  through  lewd  uphraide 

Of  Ate  and  Duessa,  they  fell  out; 

And  each  one  taking  part  in  others  aide 

This  cruell  conflict  raised  thereabout, 

Whose  dangerous  successe  depended  yet  in  doubt : 


For  sometimes  Paridell  and  Blandamour 
The  better  had,  and  bet  the  others  backe; 
Eftsoones  the  others  did  the  field  recoure. 
And  on  their  foes  did  worke  full  cruell  wracke  ; 
Yet  neither  would  their  fiend-like  fury  slacke, 
But  evermore  their  malice  did  augment; 
Till  that  uiieath  tbev  forced  were,  for  lacke 
Of  breath,  their  raging  rigour  to  relent, 
And  rest  themselves  for  to  recover  spirits  spent. 


There  gan  they  change  their  sides,  and  new  parts 
For  Paridell  did  take  to  Druons  side,  [take  ; 

For  oid  aespight  which  now  forth  newly  brake 
Gainst  Blandamour  whom  alwaies  he  envide  : 
And  Blandamour  to  Claribell  relide  : 
So  all  afresh  gan  former  fight  renew. 
As  when  two  harkes,  this  caried  with  the  tide, 
That  with  the  wmd,  contrary  courses  sew. 
If  wind  and  tide  doe  change,  their  courses   change 
anew. 


Thenceforth  they  much  more  furiously  gan  fare. 

As  if  but  then  the  battell  liad  begonne  ; 

Ne  helmets  bright  ne  hawberks  strong  did  spare, 

That  through  the  clifts  the  vermeil  bloud  out  sponne, 

And  all  adowne  their  riven  sides  did  ronne. 

Such  mortall  malice  wonder  was  to  see 

In  friends  profest,  and  so  great  outrage  donne  : 

But  sooth  is  said,  and  tride  in  each  degree, 

Faint  friends  when  they  fall  out  most  cruell  fomen  bee. 


Thus  they  long  while  continued  in  fight ; 

Till  Scudamour  and  that  same  Briton  raaide 

By  fortune  in  that  place  did  chance  to  light : 

\\  hom  soone  as  they  with  wrathfull  eie  bewraide, 

They  gan  remember  of  the  fowle  uphraide, 

The  which  that  Britonesse  had  to  them  donne 

In  that  late  turney  for  the  snowy  maide  ; 

^^  liere  she  liad  tliem  both  sliamefuUy  ibrdonne. 

And  eke  the  famous  prize  of  beauty  from  them  wonne. 


XXIX. 

Eftsoones  all  burning  with  a  fresh  desire 

Of  fell  revenge,  in  their  malicious  mood 

They  from  themselves  gan  turne  their  furious  ire. 

And  cruell  blades  yet  steeming  with  whot  bloud 

Against  those  two  let  drive,  as  they  were  wood  : 

Who  wondring  much  at  that  so  sodaine  fit. 

Yet  nought  dismayd,  them  stoutly  well  withstood 

Ne  yeelded  foote,  ne  once  abacke  did  flit. 

But,  being  doubly  smitten,  likewise  doubly  smit. 


Tlie  warlike  dame  was  on  her  part  assaid 

Of  Claribell  and  Blandamour  attone  ; 

And  Paridell  and  Druon  fiercely  laid 

At  Scudamour,  both  his  professed  fone  : 

Four  charged  two,  and  two  surcharged  one  ; 

^'et  did  those  two  themselves  so  bravely  bears, 

1'hat  th'  other  litle  gained  by  the  lone. 

But  with  their  owne  repayed  duely  weare. 

And  usury  wilhall  :  such  gaine  was  gotten  deare. 


Full  oftentimes  did  Britomart  assay 
To  speake  to  them,  and  some  emparlance  move  ; 
But  they  for  nought  their  cruell  hands  would  stay, 
Ne  lend  an  eare  to  ought  that  might  behove. 
As  when  an  eager  mastifl'e  once  doth  prove 
The  tast  of  bloud  of  some  engored  beast, 
No  words  may  rate,  nor  rigour  him  remove 
From  greedy  hold  of  that  his  blouddy  feast : 
So,  litle  did  they  hearken  to  her  sweet  beheast. 


Whom  when  the  Briton  prince  afarre  beheld 

With  ods  of  so  uiiequall  match  opprest. 

His  mighty  heart  with  indignation  sweld. 

And  inward  grudge  fild  hi,  heroicke  brest : 

Eftsoones  himsehe  l,e  to  their  aide  addrest. 

And  thrusting  fierce  into  ihe  thickest  preace 

Divided  them,  boweyer  loth  to  rest ; 

And  would  them  i'aine  from  battell  to  surceasse. 

With  gentle  words  pi  rs wading  them  to  friendly  peace. 


But  they  so  farre  from  peace  or  patience  were. 

That  all  at  orc^  at  tim  gan  fiercely  flie, 

And  lay  on  load,  as  they  him  downe  would  bears  : 

Like  to  a  storme  which  hovers  under  skie, 

Long  here  and  there  and  round  about  doth  stie, 

At  length  breakes  downe  in  raiue,  and  haile,  anJ 

sleet, 
First  from  one  coast,  till  nought  thereof  be  drie  ; 
And  then  another,  till  that  likewise  fleet ; 
And  so  from  side  to  side  till  all  the  world  it  weet. 


But  now  their  forces  greatly  were  decayd, 

The  prince  yet  being  fresh  untoucht  afoie  ; 

\\  ho  them  with  speaches  milde  gan  first  disswade 

From  such  foule  outrage,  and  them  long  iorbore  ; 

Till,  seeing  them  through  suftrance  hartned  more, 

Ilimselfe  he  bent  their  furies  to  abate. 

And  layd  at  them  so  sharpely  and  so  sore, 

'J'hat  shortly  them  compelled  to  retrate, 

And  being  brought  in  daunger  to  relent  too  late. 


<»<i 


THE  FAERIE  QtlEENE. 


[Book  IV 


But  now  Lis  courasre  beinp;  throughly  fired,  _ 
He  ment  to  make  them  know  their  follies  pnse, 
Had  not  those  two  liim  instantly  desired 
T'  asswage  his  wrath,  and  pardon  their  mesprise  : 
At  whose  request  he  g;in  himselfe  advise 
To  stay  his  hand,  and  of  a  truce  to  treat 
In  milder  tearmes,  as  list  them  to  devise  ; 
Mongst  which  the  cause  of  their  so  cruell  heat 
He  did  them  aske  ;  who  all  that  passed  gan  repeat ; 


And  told  at  large  how  that  same  errant  knight, 

To  weet.  faire  Britomart,  them  late  had  foyled 

In  open  turney,  and  by  wrongfull  fight 

Both  of  their  publicke  praise  had  them  despoyled, 

And  also  of  their  private  loves  beguyled  ; 

Of  two  full  hard  to  read  the  harder  theft. 

But  she  that  wrongfull  challenge  soone  assoyled, 

And  shew'd  that  she  had  not  that  lady  reft, 

(As  they  suppos'd,)  but  her  had  to  her  liking  left. 


To  whom  the  prince  thus  goodly  well  replied  ; 
"  Certes,  sir  knight,  ye  seemen  much  to  blame 
To  rip  up  wrong"  that  battell  once  hath  tried ; 
Wherein  the  honor  both  of  armes  ye  shame. 
And  eke  the  love  of  ladies  foule  defame  ; 
To  whom  the  world  this  franchise  ever  yeelded, 
That  of  their  loves  choise  they  might  freedom  clame, 
And  in  that  right  should  by  all  knights  be  shielded  : 
Gainst  which,  me  seemes,  this  war  ye  wrongfully 
have  wielded." 


"  And  yet,"  quoth  she,  "a  greater  wrong  remaines  • 
For  I  thereby  my  former  love  have  lost ; 
Whom  seeking  ever  since  with  endlesse  paines 
Hath  me  much  sorrow  and  much  travell  cost. 
Aye  me,  to  see  that  gentle  maide  so  tost !" 
But  Scudamour  then  sighing  deepe  thus  saide  ; 
"  Certes  her  losse  ought  me  to  sorrow  most, 
Whose  right  she  is.  wherever  she  be  straide, 
Through   many  perils  wonne,   and  many  fortunes 
waide  : 


"  For  from  the  first  that  I  her  love  profest, 
Unto  this  houre,  this  present  lucklesse  howre, 
I  never  ioyed  happinesse  nor  rest; 
But  thus  tormoild  fiom  one  to  other  stowre 
I  wast  my  life,  and  doe  my  daies  devowre 
In  wretclied  anguishe  and  incessant  woe, 
Passing  the  measure  of  my  feeble  powre  ; 
That,  living  thus  a  wretch  and  loving  so, 
I  neither  can  my  love  ne  yet  my  life  forgo." 


Then  good  Sir  Claribell  him  thus  bespake; 

"  Now  were  it  not,  Sir  Scudamour,  to  you 

Dislikefull  paine  so  sad  a  taske  to  take. 

Mote  me  entreat  you,  sith  this  gentle  crew 

Is  now  so  well  accorded  all  anew, 

That,  as  we  ride  together  on  our  way. 

Ye  vvil!  recount  to  us  in  order  dew 

All  that  adventure  which  ye  did  assay 

For  that  faire  ladies  love :  past  perils  well  apay." 


So  gan  the  rest  him  likewise  to  require  : 

But  Britomart  did  him  imp6rtune  hard 

To  take  on  him  that  paine ;  whose  great  desire 

He  glad  to  satisfie,  himselfe  prepar'd 

To  tell  through  what  misfortune  he  had  fai'd 

In  that  atchievement,  as  to  him  befell. 

And  all  those  daungers  unto  them  declar'd; 

Which  sith  they  cannot  in  this  canto  well 

Comprised  be,  I  will  them  in  another  tell. 


CANTO  X. 

Scudamour  doth  his  conquest  tell 

Of  vertuous  Amoret : 
Great  Venus  temple  is  describ'd  ; 

And  lovers  life  forth  set. 


"  True  lie  ',t  said,  whatever  man  it  sayd, 

That  love  with  gall  and  bony  doth  abound  : 

IB  it  if  the  one  be  with  the  other  wayd, 

Foi  fyo-'  dram  of  liony,  therein  found, 

A  pc'.rd  of  gall  doth  over  it  redound: 

That  I  too  true  by  triall  have  approved ; 

I'or  since  the  day  that  first  with  deadly  wound 

.\ly  heart  was  launcht,  and  learned  to  have  loved, 

[  never  ioyed  howre,  but  still  with  care  was  moved. 


"  And  yet  such  grace  is  given  them  from  above. 
That  ail  the  cares  and  evil)  which  they  meet 
May  nought  at  all  their  setled  mindes  lemove. 
But  seeme  gainst  common  sence  to  them  mostsweet", 
As  hosting  in  their  martyrdome  unmeet. 
So  all  that  ever  yet  I  have  endured 
I  count  as  naught,  and  tread  downe  undei  feet, 
Since  of  my  love  at  length  I  rest  assured, 
That  to  disloyalty  she  will  not  be  allured.     ■ 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEME. 


S97 


'  Long;  were  to  tell  tbe  travell  and  long  toile, 
Through  which  this  shield  of  Love  I  late  have  wonne. 
And  purchased  this  peerlesse  beauties  spoile, 
That  harder  may  be  ended,  then  begonne  : 
But  since  ye  so  desire,  your  will  be  donne. 
Then  hearke,  ye  gentle  knights  and  ladies  free, 
My  hard  mishaps  that  ye  may  learne  to  shonne  ; 
For  though  sweet  love  to  conquer  glorious  bee, 
Yet  is  the  paine  thereof  much  greater  then  the  fee. 


"  What  time  the  fame  of  this  renowmed  prise 
Flew  first  abroad,  and  all  mens  eares  possest ; 
1,  having  armes  then  taken,  gan  avise 
To  winne  me  honour  by  some  noble  gest, 
And  purchase  me  some  place  amongst  the  best. 
I  boldly  thought,  (so  young  mens  thoughts  are  bold). 
That  this  same  brave  emprize  for  me  did  rest, 
And  that  both  shield  and  she  whom  I  behold 
Might  be  my  luckv  lot ;  sith  all  by  lot  we  hold. 


"  So  on  that  hard  adventure  forth  I  went, 
And  to  the  place  of  perill  shortly  came  : 
That  was  a  temple  faire  and  auncient, 
AVhich  of  great  mother  Venus  bare  the  name, 
And  farre  renowmed  through  exceeding  fame  ; 
Much  more  then  that  which  was  in  Paphos  built, 
Or  that  in  Cyprus,  both  long  since  this  same, 
'I'hough  all  the  pillours  of  the  one  were  guilt, 
And  all  the  others  pavement  were  with  yvory  spilt: 


"  And  it  was  seated  in  an  island  strong. 

Abounding  all  with  delices  most  rare, 

And  wall'd  by  nature  gainst  invade**  wrong, 

That  none  mote  have  accesse,  nor  inward  fare, 

But  by  one  way  that  passage  did  prepare. 

It  was  a  bridge  ybuilt  in  goodly  wize 

With  curious  corbes  and  pendants  graven  faire. 

And  arched  all  with  porches  did  arize 

On  stately  pillours  fram'd  after  the  Doricke  guize 


"  And  for  defence  thereof  on  tb'  other  end 

There  reared  was  a  castle  faire  and  stiong. 

That  warded  all  which  in  or  out  did  wend. 

And  flancked  both  the  bridges  sides  along, 

Gainst  all  that  would  it  faine  to  force  or  wrong  : 

And  therein  wonned  twenty  valiant  knights  ; 

All  twenty  tride  in  warres  experience  long  ; 

Whose  office  was  against  all  manner  wights 

By  all  meanes  to  maintaine  that  castels  ancient  rights. 


"  Before  that  castle  vfas  an  open  plaine, 

And  in  the  midst  thereof  a  pillar  placed  ; 

On  which  this  shield,  of  many  sought  in  vaine, 

'I  HE  SHIELD  OF  LOVE,  whose  guerdon  he  bath  graced. 

Was  hangd  on  high  with  golden  ribbands  laced  ; 

Ami  in  tlie  marble  stone  was  written  this, 

With  golden  letters  goodlv  well  enchaced ; 

Bkssed  the  man  that  well  can  use  this  I'Hs  : 

IVhaw  eter  be  the  shield,  Jaire  Amorel  be  hit. 


"  Which  when  I  red,  my  heart  did  inly  earne. 
And  print  with  hope  of  that  adventures  hap  : 
Ne  stayed  further  newes  thereof  to  learne, 
But  with  my  speare  upon  the  shield  did  rap, 
1'hat  all  the  castle  ringed  with  the  clap. 
Streight  forth  issewd  a  knight  all  arm'd  to  pioote, 
And  bravely  mounted  to  his  most  mishap: 
Who,  staying  nought  to  question  from  aloofe. 
Ran  fierce  at  me,  that  tire  glauust  from  his  hcrses 
boofe. 


"  Whom  boldly  I  encountred  (as  I  could) 
And  by  good  fortune  shortly  him  unseated. 
Eftsoones  outsprung  two  more  of  equajl  mould  ; 
But  I  them  both  with  equall  hap  defeated  : 
So  all  the  twenty  1  likewise  entreated, 
And  left  them  groning  there  upon  tbe  plaine. 
Then,  preacing  to  the  pillour,  I  repeated 
The  read  thereof  for  guerdon  of  my  paine, 
And,  taking  downe  the  shield,   with  me  did  ir  re- 
taine. 


"  So  forth  without  impediment  I  past, 

Till  to  the  bridges  utter  gate  I  came  ; 

The  which  I  found  sure  lockt  and  chained  fast. 

I  knockt,  but  no  man  answred  me  by  name  ; 

I  raid,  but  no  man  answred  to  my  clame : 

Yet  I  persever'd  still  to  knocke  and  call; 

Till  at  the  last  I  spide  v.ithin  the  same 

Where  one  stood  peeping  through  a  crevis  small. 

To  whom  1  cald  aloud,  halfe  angry  thereuitjail. 


"  That  was  to  weet  the  porter  of  the  place, 
Unto  whose  trust  the  chiirge  thereof  was  lent: 
His  name  was  Doubt,  that  had  a  double  face, 
Th'  one  forward  looking,  th' other  backeward  bent, 
Therein  resembling  lanus  auncient 
Which  hath  in  charge  the  ingate  of  the  yeare  : 
And  evermore  his  eyes  about  him  went. 
As  if  some  proved  perill  he  did  feare, 
Or  did  misdoubt  some  ill  whose  cause  did  not  ap- 
peare. 

xin. 

"  On  th'one  side  hu,  on  th'  other  sate  Delay, 
Behindfe  the  g"!c,  tijat  none  her  might  espy; 
Whose  manner  was,  all  passengers  to  stay 
And  entertaine  with  her  occasions  sly  ; 
Through  which  some  lost  great  hope  unheedil)'', 
Which  never  they  recover  might  againe  ; 
And  others,  quite  excluded  forth,  did  ly 
Long  languishing  there  in  unpittied  paine, 
And  seeking'  often  entrauuce  afterwards  in  vaine. 


"  Me  wbenas  he  bad  privily  espide 
Bearing  the  shield  which  1  had  conquerd  Ir.te, 
He  kend  it  streight,  and  to  me  opened  wido  : 
So  in  1  past,  and  streight  he  closd  the  gate. 
But  being  in,  Delay  in  close  awaite 
Caught  hold  on  me,  and  thought  my  steps  to  stay. 
Feigning  full  many  a  fond  excuse  to  prate. 
And  time  to  steale,  the  threasure  of  mans  day, 
Whose  smallest  minute  lost  no  riches  render  may 
1  2 


228 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  TV 


*'  But  hv  no  meanes  my  way  I  would  forslow 
For  ought  tliat  ever  she  could  doe  or  say ; 
But  from  my  lofty  steede  dismounting  low 
Past  forth  on  foote,  beholding  all  the  way 
The  goodlv  workes,  and  stones  of  rich  assay, 
Cast  into  sundry  shapes  by  wondrous  skill, 
That  like  on  earth  no  where  T  recken  may ; 
And  underneath,  the  river  rolling  still 
With  raurmure  soft,  that  seem'd  to  serve  the  work- 
mans  will. 


"  Thence  forth  I  passed  to  the  second  gate, 
The  Gate  of  Good  Desert,  whose  goodly  pride 
And  costlv  frame  v/ere  long  here  to  relate  : 
The  same  to  all  stoode  alwaies  open  wide  ; 
But  in  the  porch  did  evermore  abide 
An  hideous  giant,  ilreadfuU  to  behold, 
Tiiat  stopt  the  entraunce  with  his  spacious  stride, 
And  vi'ith  the  terrour  of  his  countenance  bold 
Full  many  did  affray,  that  else  faine  enter  would  : 


"  His  name  was  Daunger,  dreaded  over  all ; 

Who  day  and  night  did  watch  and  duely  ward 

From  fearefull  cowards  entrance  to  forstall 

And  faint-heart-fooles,  whom  shew  of  perill  hard 

Could  terrific  from  fortunes  faire  adward  : 

For  oftentimes  faint  hearts,  at  first  espiall 

Of  his  grim  face,  were  from  approaching  scard  : 

Unworthy  they  of  grace,  whom  one  deniall 

Excludes  from  fairest  hope  withouten  further  triall. 


"  Yet  many  doughty  warriours  often  tride 
In  greater  perils  to  be  stout  and  bold. 
Durst  not  the  sternnesse  of  his  looke  abide  ; 
But,  soone  as  they  his  countenance  did  behold, 
Began  to  faint,  and  feele  their  corage  cold. 
Againe,  some  other,  that  in  hard  assaies 
AVere  cowards  knowne,  and  litle  count  did  hold. 
Either  through  gifts,  or  guile,  or  such  like  waies, 
Crept  in  by  stouping  low,  or  stealing  of  the  kaies. 


"  But  I,  though  meanest  man  of  many  moe. 
Yet  much  disdaining  unto  him  to  lout, 
Or  creejie  betweene  his  legs,  so  in  to  goe, 
Resolv'd  him  to  assault  with  manhood  stout, 
Arid  either  beat  him  in  or  drive  him  out. 
F'.frsoones,  advauncing  that  enchaunted  shield, 
AVitli  all  my  might  I  gan  to  lay  about  : 
AVhich  when  he  saw,  the  glaive  which  he  did  wield 
He  gan  forthwith  t'  avale,  and  way  unto  me  yield. 


"  So,  as  I  enfred,  I  did  backeward  looke, 

For  feare  of  harme  that  might  lie  hidden  there  ; 

And  loe!   his  hindpurts,  whereof  heed  I  tooke, 

Much  more  deformed,  fearfull,  ugly  were. 

Then  all  his  former  parts  did  earst  appere  : 

For  hatred,  murther,   treason,  and  despight, 

With  many  raoe  lay  in  ambfishment  there, 

Awayting  to  entrap  the  warelesse  wight 

Which  did  not  them  prevent  with  vigilant  foresight. 


"  Thus  having  past  all  perill,  I  was  come 

Within  the  compasse  of  that  islands  space  ; 

The  which  did  seeme,  unto  my  simple  doome, 

The  onely  pleasant  and  delightfull  place 

That  ever  troden  was  of  footings  trace  : 

For  all  that  nature  by  her  mother-wit 

Could  frame  in  earth,  and  forme  of  substance  base, 

Was  there  ;  and  all  that  nature  did  omit, 

Art,  playing  second  natures  part,  supply ed  it. 


"  No  tree,  that  is  of  count,  in  greenewood  growes, 

From  lowest  iuniper  to  ceder  tall  ; 

No  flowre  in  field,  that  daintie  odour  throwes, 

And  deckes  his  brancli  with  blossomes  over  all. 

But  there  was  planted,  or  grew  naturall : 

Nor  sense  of  man  so  coy  and  curious  nice. 

But  there  mote  find  to  please  itselfe  withall ; 

Nor  hart  could  wish  for  any  queint  device. 

But  there  it  present  was,  and  did  fraile  sense  entice. 


"  In  such  luxurious  plentie  of  all  pleasure. 

It  seem'd  a  second  paradise  I  ghesse, 

So  lavishly  enricht  with  natures  threasure, 

'Jhatif  the  liappie  soules,  which  doe  possesse 

Th'  Elysian  fields  and  live  in  lasting  blesse, 

Should  happen  this  with  living  eye  to  see. 

They  soone  would  loath  their  lesser  happinesse, 

And  wish  to  life  return'd  againe  to  bee, 

That  in  this  ioyous  place  they  mote  haveioyance  free. 


"  Fresh  shadowes,  fit  to  shroud  from  sunny  ray; 
Faire  lawnds,  to  take  the  sunne  in  season  dew  ; 
Sweet  springs,  in  which  a  thousand  nymphs  did  plaj 
Soft-rombling  brookes,  that  gentle  slomberdrew; 
High-reared  mounts,  the  lands  about  to  view  ; 
Low-looking  dales,  disloignd  from  common  gaze  ; 
Delightfull  bowres,  to  solace  lovers  trew  ; 
False  labvrinthes,  fond  runners  eyes  to  daze  ; 
All  which  by  nature  made  did  nature  selfe  amaze. 


"  And  all  without  were  walkes  and  alleyes  dight 
With  divers  trees  enrang'd  in  even  rankes  ; 
And  here  and  there  were  j)leasant  arbors  pight. 
And  shadie  seates,  and  sundry  flowring  bankes 
To  sit  and  rest  the  walkers  wearie  shankes  : 
And  therem  thousand  payres  of  lovers  walkt, 
Praysing  their  god,  and  yeelding  him  great  thankes, 
Ne  ever  ought  but  of  their  true  loves  talkt, 
Ne  ever  for  rebuke  or  blame  of  any  balkt. 


"  All  these  together  by  themselves  did  sport 
Their  spotlesse  pleasures  and  sweet  loves  content. 
But,  farre  away  from  these  another  sort 
Of  lovers  lincked  in  true  harts  consent ; 
Which  loved  not  as  these  for  like  intent. 
But  on  cliaste  vertue  grounded  their  desire, 
Farre  fiom  all  fraud  or  fayned  blandishment ; 
AVhicli,  in  their  spirits  kindling  zealous  fire, 
Brave  thoughts  and  noble  deedes  did  evermore  aspire. 


Canto  X.| 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


229 


"  Such  were  p;reat  Hercules,  and  Hyllus  deare  : 

Trew  lonathan,  and  David  trustie  trvde  ; 

Stout  Theseus,  and  Piritlious  his  feare  ; 

Pylades,  and  Orestes  by  his  syde  ; 

Wyld  Titus,  and  Gesippus  %vitliout  pryde  ; 

Damon  and  Pythias,  whom  death  could  not  sever : 

All  tliese,  and  all  that  ever  had  bene  tyde 

In  bands  of  friendship,  there  did  live  for  ever ; 

Whose  lives  although  decay 'd.yetlovesdecayed  never. 


"  Which  whenas  I,  that  never  tasted  blis 
Nor  happy  howre,  beheld  with  gazefull  eye, 
I  thought  there  was  none  otiier  heaven  then  this  ; 
And  gan  tlieir  endlesse  happinesse  envye, 
'I'hat  being  free  from  feare  and  gealosye 
Might  frankely  there  their  loves  desire  possesse  ; 
Whilest  I,  through  pains  and  perlous  ieopardie, 
^Vas  forst  to  seeke  my  lifes  de;ire  patronesse  : 
Much  dearer  be  the  things  which  come  through  hard 
distresse. 


"  Yet  all  those  sights,  and  all  that  else  I  saw, 
Might  not  m)'  stei)s  witlihold  but  that  forthright 
Unto  that  purpose!  place  1  did  me  draw, 
Whereas  my  love  was  lodged  dav  and  night. 
The  temple  of  great  Venus,  that  is  higlit 
The  queene  of  beautie,  and  of  love  the  mother, 
There  worshipped  of  every  living  wight ; 
Whose  goodly  workmanship  farre  past  all  other 
That  ever  were  on  earth,  all  were  they  set  together. 


"  Not  that  same  famous  temple  of  Diane, 
Whose  bight  .dl  Ephesus  did  oversee. 
And  which  all  Asia  souglit  with  vowes  prophane. 
One  of  the  world's  seven  wonders  sayd  to  bee, 
IMight  match  with  this  by  many  a  degree  ; 
Nor  that,  which  that  wise  king  of  lurie  framed 
With  endlesse  cost  to  be  tli'  Almighties  see  ; 
Nor  all,  that  else  through  all  the  world  is  named 
To  all  the  heathen  gods,  might  like  to  this  be  clamed. 


XXXI. 

"  I,  much  admyring  that  so  goodly  frame. 
Unto  the  porch  approcht,  which  open  stood  ; 
But  therein  sate  an  amiable  dame, 
That  seem'd  to  be  of  very  sober  mood, 
And  in  her  semblant  shew'd  great  womanhood  : 
Strange  was  her  tyre  ;  for  on  her  head  a  crowne 
tihe  wore,  much  like  unto  a  Danisk  hood, 
Poudred  with  perle  and  stone  ;  and  all  her  gowne 
Enwoven  was  with  gold,  that  raught  full  low  adowne. 

xxxir. 
"  On  either  side  of  her  two  young  men  stood. 
Roth  stronglv  urm'd,  as  fearing  one  another  ; 
Yet  were  they  brethten  both  of  halfe  the  blood. 
Begotten  by  two  fathers  of  one  mother. 
Though  of  contrarie  natures  each  to  othe"  : 
'll:e  one  of  them  bight  Love,  the  other  Hate  ; 
Ih.te  was  the  elder,  Love  the  younger  brother; 
Yet  was  the  younger  stronger  in  his  state 
Ihcii  tlj'  elder,  and  hira  n^aystred  still  in  all  debate. 


"  Nathlesse  that  dame  so  well  them  tempred  both. 

That  she  them  forced  hand  to  iovne  in  hand, 

Albe  that  Hatred  was  tht-reto  full  loth, 

And  turn'd  his  face  away,  as  he  did  stand, 

Unwilling  to  behold  that  lovely  band  - 

Yet  she  was  of  such  grace  and  vertuous  might. 

That  her  commaundment  he  could  not  withsiauc!, 

But  bit  his  lip  for  felonous  despight, 

And  gnasht  his  yron  tuskes  at  that  displeasing  sight. 


"  Concord  she  cleeped  was  in  common  reed, 

jMother  of  blessed  Peace  and  Friendship  trew; 

They  both  her  twins,  both  borne  of  heavenly  seed, 

And  she  hevselfe  likewise  divinely  grew  ; 

The  which  right  well  her  workes  divine  did  shew  : 

For  strength  and  wealth  and  happinesse  she  lends, 

And  strife  and  warre  and  anger  does  subdew  ; 

Of  little  much,  of  foes  she  maketh  frends, 

And  to  afflicted  minis  sweet  rest  and  quiet  sends. 


"  By  her  the  heaven  is  in  his  course  contained. 
And  all  the  world  in  state  unmoved  stands, 
As  their  Almightie  Maker  first  ordained, 
And  bound  them  with  invio'able  bands  ; 
Else  would  the  waters  overflow  the  lands, 
And  fire  devoure  the  ayre,  and  hell  them  quight  j 
But  that  she  holds  them  with  her  blessed  hands. 
She  is  the  nourse  of  pleasure  and  delight, 
And  unto  Venus  grace  the  gate  doth  open  right. 


"  By  her  I  entring  half  dismayed  was ; 
But  she  in  gentle  wise  me  entertayned. 
And  twixt  herselfe  and  Love  did  let  me  pas  ; 
But  Hatred  would  my  entrance  have  restrayned, 
And  with  his  club  me  threatned  to  have  brayned, 
Had  not  the  ladie  with  her  powrefuU  speach 
Him  from  his  wicked  will  uneath  refiayned  : 
And  th'  other  eke  his  malice  did  erapeach, 
Till  I  was  throughly  past  the  periU  of  his  reach. 


"  Into  the  inmost  temple  thus  I  came. 
Which  fuming  all  with  frankensence  I  found 
And  odours  rising  from  the  altars  fiame. 
ITjioii  an  hundred  marble  pillors  round 
The  roof  up  high  was  reared  from  the  ground. 
All  deckt  with  crownes,  and  chaynes,and  girlands  gay. 
And  thousand  pretious  gifts  worth  many  a  pound, 
The  which  sad  lovers  for  their  vowes  did  ]iav  ; 
And  all  the  ground  was  strow'd  with  flowres  as  fresh 
as  i\lay. 


"  An  hundred  altars  round  about  were  set, 

All  flaming  with  their  sacrifices  fire, 

That  with  the  stnme  thereof  the  te-mple  swet, 

\\'hich  rould  in  clouds  to  heaven  did  aspire, 

And  ill  them  bore  true  lovers  vowes  entire  : 

And  eke  an  hundred  brasen  caudrons  bright 

To  bath  in  ioy  and  amorous  desire. 

Every  of  which  was  to  a  damzell  hight  ; 

For  all  the  jjnests  were  damzels  in  soft  linnen  digbt. 


2  so 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  IV. 


XXXIX, 

'  Rio;lit  in  tlie  midst  the  i^oddesse  selfe  did  stand 
Upon  an  altar  of  some  costlv  m;isse. 
Whose  substance  was  uneath  to  understand: 
For  neitiier  pretious  stone,  nor  durefull  brasse, 
N'or  sliining  gold,  nor  mouldrinn-  clay  it  was  ; 
But  much  more  rare  and  pretious  to  esteemo, 
Pure  in  aspect,  and  like  to  christall  ghisse  ; 
Yet  glasse  was  not,  if  one  did  rightly  deeme ; 
I5ut,  being  faire  and  brickie,  likest  glassedid  seerae, 


"  But  it  in  shape  and  beautie  did  excell 
All  other  idoles  which  the  heath'en  adore, 
Farre  passing  that,  which  bv  surpassing  skill 
Phidias  did  make  in  Paphos  isle  of  yore. 
With  which  that  wretched  Greeke,  that  life  forloro, 
Did  fall  in  love  :  yet  this  much  fairer  sinned, 
But  covered  with  a  slender  veile  afore  : 
And  both  her  feete  and  legs  togeflier  twyned 
Were  with  a  snake,  whose  bead  and  tail  were  fast 
combyned. 

XLI. 

'  The  cause  why  she  was  covered  with  a  vele 
Was  hard  to  know,  for  that  her  priests  the  same 
From  peoples  knowledge  labour'd  to  concele : 
But  sooth  it  was  not  vure  for  womanish  shame. 
Nor  any  blemish,  which  the  worke  mote  blame  ; 
But  for  (tbey  say)  she  hath  both  kinds  in  one, 
Both  male  and  female,  both  under  one  name  : 
'^he  svre  and  mother  is  herselfe  alone. 
Begets  and  eke  conceives,  ne  needeth  odier  none. 


"  And  all  about  her  necke  and  shoulders  flew 
A  flocke  of  little  loves,  and  sports,  and  ioyes, 
\\ii\i  nimble  wings  of  gold  and  purple  hew, 
NMiose  shapes  seem'd  not  like  to  terrestriall  boj'es. 
But  like  to  angels  ]jlaying  heavenly  toyes ; 
Tlie  whilest  their  eldest  brother  vvas  away, 
Cupid  their  eldest  brother:   he  enioyes 
The  wide  kingdome  of  love  with  lordly  sway. 
And  to  bis  law  compels  all  creatures  to  obay. 


"  And  all  about  her  altar  scattered  lay 

Great  sorts  of  lovers  piteously  complayning. 

Some  of  their  losse,  some  of  their  loves  delay. 

Some  of  their  ])ride,  some  paragons  disdaining, 

Some  fearing  fraud,  some  fraudulently  fayning. 

As  every  one  had  cause  of  good  or  ill.       [stravning 

Amongst   the  rest   some  one,   through    Loves  con- 

Torinenled  sore,  could  not  conleine  it  Ktill, 

But  thus  brake  forth,  that  all  the  temple  it  did  fill  ; 


"  '  Great  Venus  !   queene  of  Ix^autie  and  of  grace, 
The  iov  of  gods  and  men,  that  under  skie 
Doest  fayrest  shine,  and  most  adorne  thy  place  ; 
That  with  thy  smyling  looko  doest  paciKe 
The  raging  seas,  and  makst  the  stormes  to  flie  ; 
Thee,  goddesse,  thee  the  winds,  the  clouds  doe  feare  ; 
And,  vvlien  thou  spredst  thy  mantle  forth  on  hie, 
The  waters  play,  and  pleasant  lands  appeare. 
And  heavens  laugh,  and  al  the  world   shews  ioyous 
cheare  * 


"  '  Then  doth  the  da:dale  carlh  throw  forth  to  thee 
Out  of  her  fniitfull  lap  aboundant  flowres  ; 
And  then  all  living  wights,  soone  as  they  see 
The  spring  breake  forth  out  of  his  lusty  bowres. 
They  all  doe  learne  to  (dav  the  paramours: 
First  doe  the  merry  birds,  thy  prety  pages, 
Privily  pricked  with  thy  lustfull  powres, 
Chirpe  loud  to  thee  out  of  their  leavy  cages, 
And  thee  their  motiier  call  to  coole  their  kindly  rages 


"  '  Then  doe  the  salvage  beasts  begin  to  play 
Their  jdeasaiit  friskes,  and  loath  their  wonted  food 
The  lyons  rore  ;  the  tvgers  loudly  br.iy ; 
The  raging  buls  rebellow  through  the  wood, 
And  breaking  fortli  dare  tempt  the  deepest  flood 
To  come  where  thou  doest  draw  them  with  desire  : 
So  all  things  else,  that  nourish  vitall  blood, 
Soone  as  with  fury  thou  doest  them  insjiire, 
In  generati6n  ^eeke  to  quench  their  inward  fire. 


"  '  So  all  the  world  by  thee  at  first  was  made, 
And  dayly  yet  thou  doest  the  same  repayre: 
Ne  ought  on  eartli  that  merry  is  and  glad, 
Ne  ought  on  earth  that  lovely  is  and  fayre. 
But  thou  the  same  for  pleasure  didst  prcpaj're  : 
Thou  art  the  root  of  all  that  iojous  is  : 
Great  god  of  men  and  women,  (jueene  of  tli'  ajre, 
Mother  of  laughter,  and  wel-sprmg  of  blisse, 

0  graunt  that  of  my  love  at  last  1  may  not  misse  !' 

XLVIIl. 

"  So  did  he  say  :  but  I  witli  murmure  soft. 
That  none  might  heare  the  sorrow  of  my  hart. 
Yet  inly  groning  deepe  and  sighing  oft. 
Besought  her  to  graunt  ease  unto  my  smart, 
And  to  my  wound  her  gratious  help  impart. 
Whilest  thus  I  spake,  behold  !  with  happy  eye 

1  spyde  where  at  the  idoles  feet  a])art 
A  bevie  of  fayre  damzels  close  did  lye, 
Waytingwhenas  the  antheme  should  be  sung  on  live. 


"  The  first  of  them  did  seeme  of  ryper  yeares 
And  graver  countenance  then  all  the  rest: 
Yet  all  the  rest  were  eke  her  equall  jjeares, 
Yet  unto  her  obayed  all  the  best : 
Her  name  was  \\  oinanhood  ;  that  she  esprest 
By  her  sad  semblant  and  donieanure  wyse  ; 
For  stedfost  still  her  eyes  did  fixed  rest, 
Ne  rov'd  ;it  randon,  after  gazers  guyse, 
Whose  luring  baytes   oftiines    due  heedlesse  liarts 
entyse. 

L. 

"And  nex,t  to  her  sate  goodly  Shamefastnesse, 
Ne  ever  durst  her  eyes  from  ground  upreare, 
Ne  ever  once  did  looke  up  troin  her  desse. 
As  if  some  blame  of  evill  she  did  fearj. 
That  in  her  cheekes  made  roses  oft  appeare : 
And  her  against  sweet  Cheerfulnesse  ^vas  placed. 
Whose  eves,  like  twinkling  stars  in  evening  clearo, 
Were  deckt  with  smiles  that  all  sad  humors  chaced, 
And  darted  ibrtii  delights  the  which  her  goodly  graced. 


Cakio  XL] 


THE  FAERIE  QDEEIVE. 


?3l 


"  And  next  to  her  sate  sober  Modestie, 

Holdino;  her  hand  upon  her  gentle  hart ; 

And  lier  against  sate  comely  Curtesie, 

That  unto  every  person  knew  her  part ; 

And  lier  before  was  seated  overthwart 

Soft  Silence,  and  submisse  Obedience, 

Both  linckt  together  never  to  dispart  ; 

Both  gifts  of  God  not  gotten  but  from  thsnc-^  ; 

Both  oirlonds  of  his  saints  ao-ainst  their  foes  ojtence. 


''  Thus  sate  they  all  around  in  seemely  rate  : 
And  in  the  midst  of  them  a  goodly  mayd 
(Even  in  the  lap  of  womanhood)  there  sate, 
Tlie  which  was  all  in  lilly  white  arayd, 
With  silver  streames  amongst  the  hnnen  stray 'd  ; 
Like  to  the  IMorne,  when  first  her  sbyning  face 
Hath  to  the  gloomy  world  itself  bewray 'd  : 
That  same  was  fayrest  Anioret  in  place, 
Shyning  with  beauties  light  and  heavenly  vertues 
grace. 

LIII. 

"  Whome  soone  as  I  beheld,  my  hart  gan  throb 
And  wade  in  doubt  whal  best  were  to  be  donne : 
For  sacrilege  me  seem'd  the  cliurch  to  rob  ; 
And  folly  seem'd  to  leave  ihe  thing  undonne. 
Which  with  so  strong  attempt  1  had  begonne. 
Tho,  shaking  off"  all  doubt  and  sharaefast  feare. 
Which  ladies  love  I  heard  had  never  wonne 
Mongst  men  of  worth,  I  to  her  stepped  neare, 
And  by  the  lilly  hand  her  labour'd  up  to  reare. 


"  Thereat  that  fonnost  matrone  nie  did  blame, 
And  sharpe  rebuke  for  being  over-bold  ; 
Saying  it  was  to  knight  unseemi-ly  shame. 
Upon  a  recluse  virgin  to  lay  hold, 
That  unto  Venus  services  was  sold. 
To  whom  I  thus  ;  Nay,  but  it  f  tfeth  best 
For  Cupids  man  with  Venus  mayd  to  hold  ; 
For  ill  your  goddesse  services  are  drest 
By  virgins,  and  her  sacrifices  let  to  rest. 


"  With  that  my  shield  I  forth  to  her  did  show. 
Which  all  that  while  I  closely  had  conceld  ; 
On  which  when  Cupid  with  his  killing  bow 
And  cruell  shafts  emblazond  she  beheld. 
At  sight  thereof  she  was  with  terror  queld. 
And  said  no  more  :  but  I,  which  all  that  while 
The  pledge  of  faith  her  hand  engaged  held, 
(Like  warie  hynd  within  the  weedie  so  vie,) 
For  no  intreatie  would  forgoe  so  glorious  spoyle. 


"  And  evermore  upon  the  goddesse  face 

Mine  eye  wast  fixt,  for  feare  of  her  offence 

Whom  when  I  saw  with  amiable  grace 

To  laugh  on  me,  and  favour  my  pretence, 

I  was  emboldned  with  more  confidence  ; 

And,  nought  for  nicenesse  no  for  envy  sparing, 

Li  presence  of  them  all  forth  led  her  thence. 

All  looking  on,  and  like  astonisht  staring. 

Yet  to  lay  hand  on  her  not  one  of  all  them  daring 


"  She  often  prayd,  and  often  me  besought, 
Sometime  with  tender  teares  to  let  her  goe, 
Sometime  with  witching  smyles :  but  yet,  for  nought 
That  ever  she  to  me  could  say  or  doe, 
Could  she  her  wished  freedome  fro  me  wooe  ; 
But  forth  I  led  her  through  the  temple  gate. 
By  which  I  hardly  past  with  much  adoe  : 
But  that  same  ladie,  which  me  friended  late 
In  entrance,  did  me  also  friend  in  mv  retreate. 


"  No  lesse  did  Daunger  threaten  me  with  dread, 
Whenas  he  saw  me,  maugre  all  his  powre, 
That  glorious  spoyle  of  lieautie  with  me  lead, 
Then  Cerberus,  when  Orpheus  did  recoure 
His  leman  from  the  Stygian  princes  boure. 
But  evermore  my  shield  did  me  defend 
Against  the  storme  of  every  dreadfuU  stoure  : 
Thus  safely  with  my  love  I  thence  did  wend." 
So  ended  he  his  tale  :  where  I  this  canto  end. 


CANTO  XI. 

Marinells  former  wound  is  heald  ; 

He  comes  to  Proteus  hall. 
Where  Thames  doth  the  RIedway  wedd, 

And  feasts  the  sea-2.ods  all. 


But  ah  \  for  pittie  that  I  have  thus  long 

Left  a  fayre  ladie  languishing  in  payne  ! 

Now  well  away  !  that  1  have  doen  such  wrong. 

To  let  faire  Florimell  in  bands  remayne, 

In  bawds  of  love,  and  in  sad  thraldomes  chayne  ; 

From  which  unlesse  some  heavenly  power  her  free 

By  miracle,  not  yet  ap]iearing  playne. 

She  lenger  yet  is  like  captiv'd  to  bee  ; 

That  even  to  thinke  thereof  it  inly  pitties  mee. 


Here  neede  you  to  remember,  how  erewhiie 
Unlovely  Proteus,  missing  to  his  mind 
That  virgins  love  to  win  by  wit  or  wile. 
Her  threw  into  a  dongeon  dee])e  and  blind. 
And  there  in  chaynes  her  cruelly  bid  bind. 
In  hope  thereby  her  to  his  bent  to  draw  : 
For.  whenas  neither  gifts  nor  graces  kind 
Her  constant  mind  could  move  at  all  he  saw. 
He  thought  her  to  compell  by  crueltie  and  awe. 


232 


THE  FAP:11IE  gUEENE. 


[Book  IV 


Deepe  in  tlie  bottome  of  an  liug-e  great  roclce 
The  dongeon  was,  in  wliich  her  bound  he  left, 
Th'it  neither  vron  barres,  nor  brasen  locke, 
Did  neede  to  gard  from  force  or  secret  tlieft 
Of  all  lier  lovers  which  would  her  have  reft : 
For  waird  it  was  with  waves,  which  rag'<i  and  ror'd 
As  they  the  cliffe  in  ]ieeces  would  have  cleft ; 
Besides,  ten  thousand  monsters  foule  abhor'd 
Did  waite  about  it,  gaping  griesly,  all  begor'd. 


And  in  the  midst  thereof  did  Horror  dwell, 
And  Darkenesse  dredd  that  never  viewed  day, 
Like  to  the  balefull  house  of  lowest  hell. 
In  which  old  Styx  her  aged  bones  ahvay 
(Old  Styx  the  grandame  of  the  gods)  doth  lay. 
There  did  this  lucklesse  raayd  seven  months  abide, 
Ne  ever  evening  saw,  ne  mornings  ray, 
Ne  ever  from  the  day  the  night  descride, 
But  thought  it  all  one  night,  that  did   no  houres 
divide. 


And  all  this  was  for  love  of  IMarinell, 

Who  her  despysd  (ah  !  who  would  her  despyse  !) 

And  weinens  love  did  from  his  hart  expell, 

And  all  those  ioves  that  weake  mankind  entyse. 

Nathlesse  his  pride  full  dearely  he  did  pryse  ; 

For  of  a  womans  hand  it  was  ywroke. 

That  of  the  wound  iie  yet  in  languor  lyes, 

Ne  can  he  cured  of  tliat  cruell  stroke 

Which  Britomart  him  gave,  when  he  did  her  provoke. 


Yet  farre  and  neare  the  nymph  his  mother  sought, 

And  many  salves  did  to  his  sore  applie, 

And  many  herbes  did  use  :  but  whenas  nought 

She  saw  could  ease  his  rankling  maludie  ; 

At  last  to  Tryphon  she  for  helpe  did  hie, 

(This  Tryphon  is  the  sea-gods  surgeon  hight,) 

Whom  she  besought  to  find  some  remedie  : 

And  for  his  paines  a  whistle  him  beliight, 

Tiiat  of  a  fishes  shell  was  wrought  with  rare  delight. 


So  well  that  leach  did  hearke  to  her  request, 

And  did  so  well  employ  his  carefull  paine, 

TJiat  in  short  sj)ace  his  hurts  he  had  redrest. 

And  him  restor'd  to  healtlifull  state  againe  : 

In  wliich  he  long  time  after  did  remame 

There  with  the  nymph  liis  motlier,  like  her  thrall  ; 

Who  sore  agaitist  his  will  did  him  retaine, 

For  feare  of  porill  wliicli  to  him  mote  fall 

'I'lirough  his  too  ventrous  prowesse  proved  over  all. 


It  fortun'd  then,  a  solemn  feast  was  there 

To  all  the  sea-gods  and  their  fruitfull  seede, 

ill  honour  of  tlie  spousalls  which  then  were 

Hftwixt  the  Medway  and  the  Thames  agreed. 

Long  had  the  'I'hames  (as  we  in  records  reed) 

before  tliat  day  her  wooed  to  his  bed  ; 

But  the  proud  nymph  would  for  no  worldly  meed, 

Nor  no  entreatii-,  to  his  love  be  led  ; 

Till  now  »t  last  relenting  she  to  him  was  wed. 


So  botli  agreed  that  this  their  bridale  feast 
Should  for  the  gods  in  Proteus  house  be  made  ; 
To  which  they  all  repayr'd,  both  most  and  least. 
As  well  which  in  the  mightie  ocean  trade, 
As  that  in  rivers  swmi,  or  brookes  doe  wade  • 
All  which,  not  if  an  hundred  tongues  to  tell. 
And  hundred  mouthes,  and  voice  of  brasse  I  had. 
And  endlesse  memorie  that  mote  excel), 
In  order  as  they  came  could  I  recount  them  welL 


Helpe  therefore,  O  thou  sacred  impe  of  love. 

The  noursling  of  dame  iMemorie  his  deare. 

To  whom  those  rolles,  layd  up  in  heaven  above. 

And  records  of  antiquitie  appeare, 

To  which  no  wit  of  man  may  comen  neare  ; 

Helpe  me  to  tell  the  names  of  all  tliose  floods 

And  all  those  nymphes,  which  then  assembled  were 

To  that  great  banquet  of  the  watry  gods. 

And  all  their  sundry  kinds,  and  all  their  hid  abodes. 


First  came  great  Neptune,  with  his  three-forkt  mace, 
Thiit  rules  the  seas  and  makes  them  rise  or  fall  , 
His  dewv  lockes  did  drop  with  brine  apace 
Under  his  diademe  imperiall  : 
And  by  his  side  his  queene  with  coronall, 
Faire  Amphitrite,  most  divinely  faire, 
Whose  yvorie  shoulders  weren  covered  all. 
As  with  a  robe,  witli  her  owne  silver  haire, 
And  deckt  with  pearles  wliich  th'  Indian   seas  for 
her  prepaire. 


These  marched  farre  afore  the  other  crew : 
And  all  the  way  before  them,  as  they  went, 
Triton  his  trompet  shrill  before  them  blew. 
For  goodly  triumiih  and  great  iollyment, 
That  made  the  rockes  to  roare  as  they  were  rent. 
And  after  them  the  royall  issue  came, 
Which  of  them  sprung  by  lineall  descent  : 
First  the  sea-gods,  whicli  to  themselves  doe  clame 
Tiie  ]iowre  to  rule  the  billowes,  and  the  waves  to 
tame  : 


Phorcys,  the  father  of  tliat  fatall  brood, 

By  whom  those  old  lieroes  wonne  such  fame  ; 

And  Glaucus,  that  wise  southsayes  understood; 

And  tragicke  Inoes  sonne,  the  which  became 

A  god  of  seas  through  his  mad  motliers  blame, 

Now  hight  I'alemoii,  and  is  saylers  frend  ; 

Cireat  Brontes;  and  Astranis,  that  did  shame 

Hiinsclfe  with  incest  of  his  kin  unkend  ; 

And  huge  Orion,  that  doth  tempests  still  portend; 


The  rich  Ctentus  ;  and  Eurytus  long; 
Neleus  and  Pelias,  lovely  brethren  both  ; 
Mightie  Chrysaor;  and  Cai'cus  strong  ; 
Eurypulus,  that  calmes  the  waters  wroth  ; 
And  faire  Eujiliocmus,  that  upon  them  go'th. 
As  on  the  ground,  without  dismay  or  dread; 
Fierce  Ervx  ;   and  Alebius,  (hat  know'th 
'J'he  waters  df-j)ih,  and  doth  tlicir  bottome  trearl ; 
And  sad  As-^pus,  comely  with  his  hoarie  head. 


Canto  XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


There  also  some  most  famous  founders  were 

Of  puissant  nations,  wliich  the  world  possest, 

Yet  sonnes  of  Neptune,  now  assembled  here  : 

Ancient  Ogyges,  even  th'  auncientest  ; 

And  Inaclius  renowmd  above  the  rest ; 

Phoenix  ;  and  Aon  ;  and  Pelasgus  old  ; 

Great  Belus  ;   Phoeax  ;  and  Agenor  best ; 

And  mightie  Albion,  father  of  the  bold 

And  warlike  people  which  the  Britaine  Islands  hold : 


For  Albion  the  sonne  of  Neptune  was  ; 
Who,  for  the  proofe  of  his  great  puissance, 
Out  of  his  Albion  did  on  dry-foot  pas 
Into  old  Gall,  that  now  is  cleeped  France, 
To  fight  with  Hercules,  that  did  advance 
To  vanquish  all  the  world  with  matchlesse  mighte ; 
And  there  his  morfall  part  by  great  mischance 
Was  slaine ;  but  that  which  is  th'  immortall  spright 
Lives  still,  and  to  this  feast  with  Neptunes  seed  was 
dight. 


But  what  do  I  their  names  seeke  to  reherse, 
Which  all  the  world  have  with  their  issue  fild  ? 
How  can  they  all  in  this  so  narrow  verse 
Contayned  be,  and  in  small  comjiasse  hild? 
Let  them  record  them  that  are  better  skild, 
And  know  the  moniments  of  passed  age  : 
Onely  what  needeth  shall  be  here  fulfild, 
T'  expresse  some  part  of  that  great  equipage 
Which  from  great  Neptune  do  derive  their  parentage. 

ZVIII. 

Next  came  the  asjed  Ocean  and  his  dame 
Old  Tethys,  th'  oldest  two  of  all  the  rest; 
For  all  the  rest  of  those  two  parents  came, 
Which  afterward  both  sea  and  land  jjossest ; 
Of  all  which  Nereus,  th'  eldest  and  the  best, 
Did  first  proceed  ;  then  which  none  more  upright, 
IN'e  more  sincere  in  word  and  deed  profest ; 
Most  voide  of  guile,  most  free  from  fowle  despiglit. 
Doing  himselfe  and  teaching  others  to  doe  rijiht : 


Thereto  he  was  expert  in  prophecies, 
And  could  the  ledden  of  the  gods  unfold  ;        [prise. 
Through  which,   when    Paris   brought   liis  famous 
The  foire  Tindarid  lasse,  he  him  forelold 
That  her  all  Greece  with  many  a  champion  bold 
Should  fetch  againe,  and  finally  destroy 
Proud  Priams  towne :   so  wise  is  Nereus  old. 
And  so  well  skild ;  nathlesse  he  takes  great  ioy 
Oft-times  amongst  the  wanton  nymphs  to  sport  and 
toy. 

XX. 

And  after  him  the  famous  rivers  came. 
Which  doe  the  earth  enrich  and  beautifie: 
The  fertile  Nile,  which  crea:ures  new  doth  frame  ; 
Long  Rhodanus,  whose  sourse  springs  from  the  skie ; 
Faire  Ister,  flowing  from  tlie  mountaines  hie; 
Divine  Scamander,  purpled  yet  with  blood 
Of  Greeks  and  Troians,  which  therein  did  die  ; 
Pactolus  glistring  with  his  golden  flood ; 
And  Tygris  fierce,  whose  streames  of  none  may  be 
withstood  ; 


Great  Ganges  ;  and  immortall  Euphrates ; 
Deepe  Indus;  and  Ma'ander  intricate; 
Slow  Peneus ;  and  tempestuous  Phasides; 
Swift  Rhene  ;  and  Alpheus  still  immaculate  j 
Ooraxes,  feared  for  great  Cyrus  fiite  ; 
Tjbris,  renownied  for  the  Romaines  fame  ; 
Rich  Oranochy,  though  but  knowen  late  ; 
And  that  huge  river,  which  doth  beare  bis  name 
Of  warlike  Amazons  which  doe  possesse  the  same. 


Joy  on  those  warlike  women,  which  so  long 

Can  from  all  men  so  rich  a  kingdome  hold  ! 

And  shame  on  you,  0  men,  which  boast  your  strong 

And  valiant  hearts,  in  thoughts  lesse  hard  and  bold, 

Yet  quaile  in  concjuest  of  that  land  of  gold  ! 

But  this  to  you,  O  Britons  most  ])erlaines. 

To  whom  the  right  hereof  itselfe  hath  sold  ; 

The  which,  for  sparing  litle  cost  or  paines, 

Loose  so  immortall  glory,  and  so  endlesse  gaines. 


Then  was  there  heard  a  most  celestiall  sound 
Of  dainty  musicke,  which  did  next  ensew 
Before  the  spouse :  that  was  Arion  crownd  ; 
Who,  playing  on  his  harpe,  unto  him  drew 
The  eares  and  hearts  of  all  that  goodly  crew; 
That  even  yet  the  dolphin,  which  him  bore 
Through  the  ^Egeun  seas  from  pirates  vew, 
Stood  still  by  him  astonisht  at  his  lore, 
And  all  the  raging  seas  for  ioy  forjjot  to  rore. 


So  went  he  playing  on  the  watery  plaine  : 
Soone  Hfter  whom  the  lovely  bridegroonie  came, 
The  noble  Thames,  with  all  his  goodly  traine. 
But  him  before  there  went,  as  best  became, 
His  auncient  pnrents,  namely  th'  auncient  Thame ; 
But  much  more  aged  was  his  wife  then  he. 
The  Ouze,  whom  men  doe  Isis  rightly  name  ; 
Full  weake  and  crooked  creature  seemed  shee. 
And  almost  blind  through  eld,  that  scarce  her  way 
could  see. 


Therefore  on  either  side  she  was  sustained 

Of  two  smal  grooms,  which  by  then' names  were  hight 

The  Churne  and  Charwell,two  small  streames,  which 

pained 
Themselves  her  footing  to  direct  aright, 
Whicii  fayled  oft  through  faint  and  feeble  plight: 
But  Thame  was  stronger,  and  of  better  stay  ; 
Yet  seem'd  lull  aged  by  his  outward  sight. 
With  head  all  hoary,  and  his  beard  all  gray, 
Deawed  with  silver  drops  that  trickled  downe  ahvay : 

XXVI. 

And  eke  he  somewhat  seem'd  to  stoupe  afore 

With  bowed  backe,  by  reason  of  the  lode 

And  auncient  heavy  burden  which  he  bore 

Of  that  faire  city,  wherein  make  abode 

So  many  learned  impes,  that  shnote  abrode. 

And  with  their  braunches  spred  all  Briiany, 

No  lesse  then  do  her  elder  sisters  broode. 

Ioy  to  you  both,  ye  double  noursery 

Of  arts!  but,  Oxford,  thine  doth  Thame  most  glorify. 


S54 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[DooK  IV. 


But  lie  their  sonne  full  fresh  and  iolly  was, 

All  decked  in  a  robe  of  watchet  liew, 

On  which  the  waves,  glitterinp^  like  christall  glas, 

So  cunningly  enwoven  were,  that  few 

Could  weenen  whether  they  were  false  or  trew  : 

And  on  his  head  like  to  a  coronet 

He  wore,  that  seemed  strange  to  common  vew. 

In  which  were  many  towres  and  castels  set, 

That  it  encompast  round  as  with  a  golden  fret. 


Like  as  the  mother  of  the  gods,  they  say, 

In  her  great  iron  charet  wonts  to  ride, 

\Vhen  to  loves  pallace  she  doth  take  her  waj-, 

Old  Cybele,  arayd  with  pompous  pride, 

Wearing  a  diademe  emhattild  wide 

With  hundred  turrets,  like  a  turribant. 

With  such  an  one  was  Thamis  beautifide  ; 

That  was  to  weet  the  famous  Troynovant, 

In  which  her  kingdomes  throne  is  chiefly  resiant. 


And  round  about  him  many  a  pretty  page 
Attended  duely,  ready  to  obay  ; 
All  little  rivers  which  owe  vassallage 
To  him,  as  to  their  lord,  and  tribute  pay: 
Thf)  chaulky  Kenet  ;  and  the  Thetis  gray ; 
The  morish  Cole  ;  and  the  soft-sliding  Breane ; 
The  wanton  I-ee,  that  oft  doth  loose  his  way ; 
And  the  still  Darent,  in  whose  waters  cleane 
Ten  thousand  fishes  play  and  decks    his  pleasant 
streame. 


Then  came  his  neighbour  flouds  which  nigh  him 

dwell, 
Aid  water  all  the  English  soile  throughout; 
They  all  on  him  this  day  attended  well. 
And  with  meet  service  waited  him  about; 
Ne  none  disdained  low  to  him  to  lout : 
No  not  the  stately  Severne  grudg'd  at  all, 
Ne  storming  Ilumber,  though  he  looked  stout ; 
But  both  him  honor'd  as  their  principall. 
And  let  their  swelling  waters  low  before  him  fall. 


There  was  the  speedy  Tamar,  which  divides 
The  Cornish  and  the  Devonish  confines  ; 
Througli  both  whose  borders  swiftly  downe  it  glides. 
And,  meeting  Plim,  to  Plimmouth  thence  declines* 
And  Dart,  nigh  chockt  with  sands  of  tinny  mines  : 
But  Avon  marched  in  more  stately  path. 
Proud  of  his  adamants  with  which  he  sliines 
And  glisters  wide,  as  als  of  wondrous  Bath, 
\nd  Bristow  faire,  which  on  his  waves  lie  budded 
hath. 


And  there  came  Stoure  with  terrible  aspect, 
IJearing  his  sixe  deformed  heads  on  hye. 
That  dolli  his  course  through  Hlandford  plains  direct, 
And  vvasheth  Winborne  meades  in  season  drye. 
Next  him  went  Wylibourne  witli  passage  slye, 
That  of  his  wylinesse  his  name  doth  take. 
And  of  himselfe  doth  name  the  shire  thereby  : 
And  Mole,  tliat  like  a  nousling  mole  doth  make 
His  way  still  under  ground  till  Thames  he  overtake. 


Then  came  the  Rother,  decked  all  with  woods 
Like  a  wood-god,  and  flowing  fast  to  Rhy  ; 
And  Sture,  that  parteth  with  his  pleasant  floods 
The  casterne  Saxons  from  the  southerne  ny. 
And  Clare  and  Harwitch  both  doth  beautify  . 
Him  follow'd  Yar,  soft  washing  Norwitch  wall. 
And  with  him  brought  a  present  ioyfully 
Of  his  owne  fish  unto  their  festival!. 
Whose  like  none  else  could  shew,  the  which  they 
rulfins  call. 


Next  these  the  plenteous  Ouse  came  far  from  land, 

By  many  a  city  and  by  many  a  towne, 

And  many  livers  taking  under-hand 

Into  his  waters,  as  he  passeth  downe,  [Rowne,) 

(The   Cle,  the   Were,   (he  Guant,  the  Sture,    the 

Thence  doth  by  Huntingdon  and  Cambridge  flit, 

My  mother  Cambridge,  whom  as  with  a  crowne 

He  doth.adorne,  and  is  adorn'd  of  it 

With  many  a  gentle  muse  and  many  a  learned  wit. 


And  after  him  the  fatall  Welland  went, 
That  if  old  sawes  prove  true  (which  God  forbid  !) 
Shall  drowne  all  Holhmd  with  his  excrement, 
And  shall  see  Stamford,  though  now  homely  hid, 
Then  shine  in  learning  more  then  ever  did 
Cambridge  or  Oxford,  Lnglands  goodly  beumes. 
And  next  to  him  the  Nene  downe  softly  slid  ; 
And  bounteous  Trent,  that  in  himselfe  enseames 
Both  thirty  sorts  of  fish  and  thirty  sundry  streames. 


Next  these  came  Tyne,  along  whose  stony  bancke 

That  Romaine  monarch  built  a  brasen  wall. 

Which  mote  the  feebled  Britons  strongly  ilancke 

Against  the  Picts  that  swarmed  over  all. 

Which  yet  thereof  Gualsever  they  doe  call : 

And  Twede,  the  limit  betwixt  Logris  land 

And  Albany  :  and  Eden,  though  hut  small. 

Yet  often  stainde  with  bloud  of  many  a  band 

Of  Scots  and  English  both,  that  tyned  on  his  strand. 

xxxvii. 

Then  came  those  sixe  sad  brethren,  like  forlorne. 
That  whilome  were,  as  antique  fathers  tell, 
Sixe  valiant  knights  of  one  faire  nymphe  yborne, 
Which  did  in  noble  deedes  of  amies  excell. 
And  wonned  there  wliere  now  Yorke  people  dwell  - 
Still  Ure,  swift  Werfe,and  Oze  the  most  of  might, 
High  Swale,  unquiet  Nide,  and  troublous  Skell; 
All  whom  a  Scythian  king,  that  lluniber  bight, 
Slew  cruelly,  and  in  the  river  drowned  quite : 


But  past  not  long,  ere  Brutus  warlicke  sonne 
Locrinus  thorn  nveng'd,  and  the  same  date. 
Which  the  ])r()ud  ILimber  unto  them  liad  donne, 
By  e(|uall  dome  rcpayd  on  his  owne  pate  : 
For  in  tlie  selfe  same  river,  where  he  late 
Had  drenched  them,  he  drowned  him  againe ; 
And  nam'd  the  river  of  his  \*'retche(l  fate ; 
Whose  bad  condition  yet  it  doth  retaine. 
Oft  tossed   with  his  stornres  which  therein  still  re- 
maine. 


C»KTO    XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


2.15 


These  after  came  the  stony  shallow  Lone, 
Tliat  to  old  Loncaster  his  name  dotli  lend ; 
And  following'  Dee,  whicli  Britons  long-  ygone 
Did  call  divine,  that  doth  bv  Cliester  tend  ; 
And  Conwav.  which  out  ot"  his  streame  doth  send 
Plenty  of  pearles  to  decke  his  dames  witliall  ; 
And  Lindus,  that  liis  pikes  dotli  most  commend. 
Of  which  the  auncient  Liiicolne  men  doe  call : 
All  these  too-ether  marched  toward  Proteus  hall. 


Ne  thence  the  Irishe  rivers  absent  were  : 
Sith  no  lesse  fsimous  then  the  rest  tliey  bee. 
And  ioyne  in  neighbourhood  of  kingdome  nere, 
AVhy  should  they  not  likewise  in  love  agree, 
And  ioy  likewise  this  solemne  day  to  see  ? 
Tliey  saw  it  all,  and  present  were  in  place  : 
Though  I  them  all,  according  their  degree. 
Cannot  recount,  nor  tell  tlieir  liidden  race, 
Nor  read  the  salvage  countries  thorough  which  they 
pace. 

XI,I. 

There  was  the  Liffy  rolling  downe  the  lea ; 
The  Sandy  Slane  ;  the  stony  Aubrion  ; 
The  spacious  Shenaa  spreading  like  a  sea ; 
The  pleasant  Boyne  ;  the  fishy  fruitfuU  Ban  ; 
Swift  Awniduff,  which  of  the  English  man 
Is  cal'de  Black e-water  ;  and  the  Liffar  deep  ; 
Sad  Trowis,  that  once  his  people  over-ran; 
Strong  Alio  tombling  from  Slewlogher  steep  ; 
And   Mulla  mine,  whose  waves  I  whilom  taught  to 
weep. 

XLII. 

And  there  the  three  renowmed  brethren  were, 
Which  that  great  gyant  Blomius  begot 
Of  the  faire  nimph  Rhelisa  wandring  there  : 
One  day,  as  she  to  shunne  the  season  whot 
Under  Slewboome  in  shady  grove  was  go:. 
This  gyant  found  her  and  by  force  deflovvr'd  ; 
Whereof  conceiving,  she  in  time  forth  brought 
Tliese  three  faire  sons,  which  thenceforth  powrd 
In  three  great  rivers  ran,  and  many  countreis  scowrd. 

xmi. 

The  first  the  gentle  Shure  that,  making  way 

By  sweet  Clonmell,  adornes  rich  Waterford  ; 

fhe  next,  the  stubborne  Newre  whose  waters  gray 

By  faire  Kilkenny  and  Rosseponte  boord; 

The  thiid,  the  goodly  Barow  which  doth  hoord 

Great  heaps  of  salmons  in  his  deepe  bosome  : 

All  which,  long  sundred,  doe  at  last  accord 

To  ioyne  in  one,  eie  to  the  sea  they  come  ; 

So,  flowing  ail  from  one,  all  one  at  last  become. 


There  also  was  the  wide  embayed  Mayre ; 

The  pleasaunt  Bandon  crown  J  with  many  a  wood; 

The  spreading  Lee  that,  like  an  island  fayre, 

Encloseth  Corke  with  his  divided  flood  ; 

And  balei-'ull  Oure  late  staind  with  English  blood  : 

With  many  more  whose  names  no  tongue  can  tel!. 

All  which  that  day  in  order  seemly  good 

Did  on  the  Thames  attend,  and  waited  well 

To  doe  their  dueful  service,  as  to  them  befell. 


Then  came  the  bride,  the  lovely  Medua  came. 

Clad  in  a  vesture  of  unknowen  geare 

And  uncouth  Aishion,  yet  her  well  became, 

I'hat  seem"d  like  silver  sprinckled  here  and  theare 

With  glittering  spangs  that  did  like  starres  appeare, 

And  wav'd  upon,  like  water  chamelot. 

To  hide  the  metall,  which  yet  every  where 

Bewrayd  itselfe,  to  let  men  plainelv  wot 

It  was  no  mortall  worke,  that  seem'd  and  yet  was  not. 


Her  goodly  lockes  adowne  her  backe  did  flow 
Unto  her  waste,  with  flowres  bescattered, 
'J  he  which  ambrosiall  odours  forth  did  throw 
To  all  about,  and  all  her  shoulders  spred 
As  a  new  spring  ;  and  likewise  on  her  hed 
A  chajjelet  of  sundry  flowers  she  wore. 
From  under  which  the  deawy  humour  shed 
Did  tricle  downe  her  haire   like  to  the  hore 
Congealed  litle  drops  which  doe  the  morne  adore. 


On  her  two  pretty  handmaides  did  attend. 
One  cald  the  Theise,  the  other  cald  the  Crane; 
Whicli  on  her  waited  things  amisse  to  mend. 
And  botli  behind  upheld  her  spredding-  traine  ; 
Under  the  which  her  feet  appeared  plaine. 
Her  silver  feet,  faire  washt  against  this  day; 
And  her  before  there  paced  pages  twaine. 
Both  clad  in  colours  like  and  like  array, 
The  Douna^and  eke  the  Frith,  both  whici  prepared 
her  way. 

XLVIII. 

And  after  these  the  sea-nymphs  marched  all. 

All  goodly  damzels,  deckt  with  long  gr3ene  haire, 

Whom  of  their  sire  Nereides  men  call. 

All  which  the  Oceans  daughter  to  him  bare. 

The  gray-eyede  Doris  ;  all  which  fifty  are; 

All  which  she  there  on  her  attending  had  : 

Swift  Proto  ;  milde  Eucrate  ;  Thetis  faire  ; 

Soft  Spio  ;  sweete  Endore  ;  Sao  sad  ; 

Light  Doto  j  wanton  Glauce  ;  and  Galeue  glad  ; 


White-hand  Eunica  ;  proud  Dynamene  ; 

loyous  Thalia  ;  goodly  Amphitrite  ; 

Lovely  Pasitbee  ;  kinde  Eulimene  ; 

Light-foote  Cymothoe ;  and  sweete  Melite  ; 

Fairest  Pherusa  ;   Phao  lilly  white  ; 

Wondred  Agave;  Poris ;  and  Nesrea; 

With  Erato  that  doth  in  love  delite; 

And  Panopa; ;  and  wise  Protomeda-a  , 

And  snowy-neckd  Doris ;  and  milke-white  Galathasa; 


Speedy  Hippothoe ;  and  chaste  Actea ; 

Large  Lisianassa  ;  and  Prona>a  sage  ; 

Euagore  ;  and  light  Pontoporea  ; 

And,  she  that  with  her  least  word  can  asswage 

The  surging  seas  when  they  do  sorest  rage, 

Cymodoce  ;  and  stout  Autonoti ; 

And  Neso  ;  and  Eione  vs'ell  in  age  ; 

And  seeming  still  to  smile  Glauconome; 

And,  she  that  hight  of  many  heastes,  Pol)'norae ; 


236 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boor  IV 


Fresh  Alimeda  deckt  with  girlond  greene  ; 
Hyponeo  witli  salt-bedewed  wrests  ; 
Laomedifi  hke  flie  chrv  stall  sheene; 
Liagoie  much  praisd  for  wise  behests  ; 
And  Psamathe  for  her  brode  snowy  brests  ; 
Cynio  ;  Eupompe  ;  and  Themiste  iust ; 
And,  she  that  vertue  loves  and  vice  detests, 
Euarna  ;  and  Menijipe  true  in  trust  ; 
And  Nemertea  learned  vtell  to  rule  her  lust. 


All  these  the  daughters  of  old  Nereus  were. 
Which  have  the  sea  in  charge  to  them  assinde, 
To  rule  his  tides,  and  surges  to  uprere, 
To  bring  forth  stormes,  or  fast  tliem  to  uphinde, 
And  sailers  save  from  wreckes  of  wrathfull  winde. 
And  yet  besides,  three  thousand  more  there  were 
Of  th'  Oceans  seede,  but  loves  and  Phccbus  kinde ; 
The  which  in  floods  and  fountaines  doe  appere. 
And  all  mankinde  do  nourish  with  their  waters  clere. 


The  which,  more  eath  it  were  for  mortall  wight 
To  tell  the  sands,  or  count  the  starres  on  hye, 
Or  ought  more  hard,  then  thinke  to  reckon  right. 
But  well  1  wote  that  these,  which  I  descry, 
Were  present  at  this  great  solemnity  : 
And  there,  amongst  the  rest,  the  mother  was 
Of  luckelesse  RIarinell,  Cymodoce  ; 
Which,  for  mv  muse  herselfe  now  tyred  has, 
Unto  an  other  canto  1  will  overpas. 


CANTO  XII. 

Marin,  for  love  of  Florimell, 
In  languor  wastes  his  life  : 

The  nym])h,  his  mother,  getteth  her 
And  gives  to  him  for  wife 


O  WHAT  an  endlesse  worke  have  I  in  hand. 
To  count  the  seas  abundant  progeny, 
Whose  fruitfull  seede  farre  passeth  those  in  land, 
And  also  those  which  wonne  in  th'  azure  sky  ! 
For  much  irore  eath  to  tell  the  starres  on  hy, 
Alhe  thev  er.dlesse  seeme  in  estimation, 
Then  to  recount  the  seas  posterity  : 
So  fertile  be  the  flouds  in  generation. 
So  huge  their  numbers,  and  so  numberlesse  their 
nation. 

IT. 

Therefore  the  antique  wisards  well  invented 
That  Venus  of  the  fomy  sea  was  bred ; 
For  that  the  seas  by  her  are  most  augmented. 
Witnesse  th'  exceeding  frv  which  there  are  fed. 
And  wondrous  slioles  wliicli  may  of  none  be  red. 
Then  blauK!  me  not  if  I  have  err'd  in  count 
Of  gods,  of  nymplis,  of  rivers,  yet  unred  : 
For  though  tiieir  numbers  do  much  more  surmount, 
Yet  all  those  same  were  there  which  erst  I  did  re- 
count. 


AH  those  were  there,  and  many  other  more. 
Whose  names  and  nations  were  too  long  to  tell, 
That  Proteus  house  they  fild  even  to  the  dore  ; 
Yet  were  they  all  in  order,  as  belell. 
According  their  degrees  disposed  well. 
Amongst  the  rest  was  faiie  Cymodoce, 
The  mother  of  unlucky  iMarinell, 
Who  thither  \riih  her  came,  to  learne  and  see 
31ie  Hianner  of  the  gods  when  they  at  baniiuet  be. 


But  for  he  was  halfe  mortall,  being  bred 
Of  mortall  sire,  though  of  immortall  wombe, 
He  might  not  witii  immortall  food  be  fed, 
Ne  with  th'  eternal!  gods  to  bancket  come  ; 
But  walkt  abrode,  and  round  about  did  rome 
To  view  the  building  of  tiiat  uncouth  place. 
That  seem'd  unlike  unto  his  earthly  home  : 
^Vhere,  as  he  to  and  fro  hy  chaunce  did  trace. 
There  unto  him  betid  a  disadventrous  case. 


Under  the  hanging  of  an  hideous  clieffe 
He  heard  the  lamentable  voice  of  one, 
That  piteously  complaind  her  careful  grieflfe, 
Which  never  she  before  disclosd  to  none. 
But  to  herselfe  her  sorrow  did  bemone  : 
So  feelingly  her  ease  she  did  complaine. 
That  rutli  it  moved  in  the  rocky  stone, 
And  made  it  seeme  to  feele  her  grievous  paine. 
And  oft  to  grone  with   biUowes  beating  from  the 
maine : 


"  Though  vaine  I  see  my  sorrowes  to  unfold 
And  count  my  cares,  when  none  is  nigh  to  hea:«; 
Yet,  hojjing  griefe  may  lessen  being  told, 
I  will  them  tell  though  unto  no  man  neare: 
For  heaven,  that  unto  all  lends  eijuall  eare, 
Is  farre  from  hearing  of  my  heavy  plight ; 
And  lowest  hell,  to  which  I  lie  most  neare. 
Cares  not  what  evils  hap  to  wretched  wight; 
And  greedy  seas  doe  in  the  spoilo  of  life  delight. 


C-«NT0XII.] 


THE  FAERIE  v^LLENE. 


237 


**  Yet  loe !  the  seas  I  see  by  often  beating 

Doe  pearce  the  rockes  ;  and  liardest  marble  weares  : 

But  his  hard  rocky  hart  for  no  entreating 

Will  yeeld,  but,  when  my  piteous  plaiitts  he  heares, 

Is  hardned  more  with  my  aboundant  teares  : 

Yet  though  he  never  list  to  me  relent, 

But  let  me  waste  in  woe  my  wretched  yeares, 

Yet  will  I  never  of  mv  love  repent. 

But  ioy  that  for  his  sake  I  suffer  prisonment. 


"  And  when  my  weary  ghost,  with  griefe  outworne, 
By  timely  death  shall  winne  her  wished  rest, 
Let  then  this  plaint  unto  his  eares  be  borne, 
That  blame  it  is,  to  him  that  armes  profest, 
To  let  her  die  whom  he  might  have  redrest !" 
There  did  she  pause,  inforced  to  give  place 
Unto  the  passion  that  her  heart  opprest  ; 
And,  after  she  had  wept  and  wail'd  a  space, 
She  gan  afresh  thus  to  renew  her  wretched  case  : 


"  Ye  gods  of  seas,  if  anj^  gods  at  all 

Have  care  of  right  or  ruth  of  wretches  wrong, 

By  one  or  other  way  me  woefull  thrall 

Deliver  hence  out  of  this  dungeon  strong, 

In  which  I  daily  dying  am  too  long: 

And  if  ye  deeme  me  death  for  loving  one 

That  loves  not  me,  then  doe  it  not  prolong. 

But  let  me  die  and  end  my  dales  attone, 

And  let  Lim  live  unlov'd,  or  love  himselfe  alone. 


'•  But  if  that  life  5-6  unto  me  decree, 

Tlien  let  mee  live,  as  lovers  ought  to  do. 

And  of  my  lifes  deare  love  beloved  be  : 

And,  if  he  should  through  pride  your  doome  undo. 

Do  you  by  duresse  him  compell  thereto. 

And  in  this  prison  put  him  here  with  me  ; 

One  prison  fittest  is  to  hold  us  two  : 

So  had  I  rather  to  be  thrall  then  free  ; 

Such  thraldome  or  such  freedome  let  it  surely  be. 


"  But  O  vaine  iudgment,  and  conditions  vaine, 
'I'lie  which  the  prisoner  points  unto  the  free  ! 
The  whiles  I  him  condemne,  and  deeme  his  paine. 
He  where  he  list  goes  loose,  and  laughes  at  me : 
So  ever  loose,  so  ever  happy  be  ! 
But  whereso  loose  or  happy  that  thou  art, 
Know,  iMarinell,  that  all  this  is  for  thee  !" 
^\  ith  that  she  wept  and  wail'd,  as  if  her  hart 
Would  quite  have  burst  through  great  abundance  of 
her  smart. 


All  which  complaint  when  Marinell  had  heard. 

And  understood  the  cause  of  all  her  care 

To  come  of  him  for  using  her  so  hard  ; 

His  stubborne  heart  that  never  felt  misfare, 

\\  as  toucht  with  soft  remorse  and  pitty  rare  ; 

That  even  for  grief  of  minde  he  oft  did  grone, 

And  inly  wish  that  in  his  powre  it  weare 

Her  to  redresse  :  but  since  he  nieanes  found  none, 

He  could  no  more  but  hei-  great  misery  bemone. 


Thus,  whilst  his  stony  heart  with  tender  ruth. 
Was  toucht,  and  mighty  courage  mollifine. 
Dame  Venus  sonne  that  tameth  stubborne  youth 
With  iron  bit,  and  maketh  him  abide 
Till  like  a  victor  on  his  backe  he  ride. 
Into  his  mouth  his  maystring  bridle  threw. 
That  made  him  stoupe,  till  he  did  him  bestride  : 
Then  gan  he  make  him  tread  his  steps  anew. 
And  learne  to  love  by  learning  lovers  paines  to  rew 


Now  gan  he  in  his  grieved  minde  devise. 
How  from  that  dungeon  he  might  her  enlarge  : 
Some  while  he  thought,  by  faire  and  humble  wise 
To  Proteus  selfe  to  sue  for  her  discharge  : 
But  then  he  fear'd  his  mothers  former  charge 
Gainst  womens  love,  long  given  him  in  vaine : 
Then  gan  he  thinke,  perforce  with  sword  and  targe 
Her  forth  to  fetch,  and  Proteus  to  constraine  : 
But  soone  he  gan  such  folly  to  forthinke  againe. 


Then  did  he  cast  to  steale  her  thence  away, 

And  with  him  beare  where  none  of  her  might  know 

But  all  in  vaine  :   for  why?  he  found  no  way 

To  enter  in,  or  issue  forth  below  ; 

For  all  about  that  rocke  the  sea  did  flow. 

And  though  unto  his  will  she  given  were. 

Yet,  without  ship  or  bote  her  thence  to  row. 

He  wist  not  how  her  thence  away  to  here  ; 

And  dauno-er  well  he  wist  long  to  continue  there. 


At  last,  whenas  no  meanes  he  could  invent, 
Backe  to  himselfe  he  gan  returne  the  blame. 
That  was  the  author  of  her  punishment ; 
And  with  vile  curses  and  reprochfuU  shame 
To  damne  himselfe  by  every  evil  name, 
And  deeme  unworthy  or  of  love  or  life, 
That  had  despisde  so  chast  and  faire  a  dame, 
Which  him  had  sought  through  trouble  and  long  strife 
Yet  had  refusde  a  sod  tiat  her  had  sought  to  wife. 


In  this  sad  plight  he  walked  here  and  there. 
And  romed  round  about  the  rocke  in  vaine. 
As  he  had  lost  himselfe  he  wist  not  where; 
Oft  listening  if  he  mote  her  heare  againe  ; 
And  still  bemoning  her  unworthy  paine  : 
Like  as  an  hynde  whose  calfe  is  falne  unwares 
Into  some  pit,  where  she  him  heares  comp  laine. 
An  hundred  times  about  the  pit  side  fares. 
Right  sorrowfully  mourning  her  bereaved  cares. 


And  now  by  this  the  feast  was  throughly  ended. 
And  every  one  gan  homeward  to  resort : 
W  hich  seeing,  Marinell  was  sore  offended 
That  his  departure  thence  should  be  so  short, 
And  leave  his  love  in  that  sea- walled  fort 
Yet  durst  he  not  his  mother  disobay  ; 
But,  her  attending  in  full  seemly  sort. 
Did  march  amongst  the  many  all  the  way  ; 
And  all  the  way  did  inly  mourne,  like  one  astray 


S38 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Hook  JF 


Beina:  returned  to  liis  mothers  bowre, 
In  solitary  silence  far  from  wiglit 
He  gan  record  the  lamentable  stowre, 
In  which  his  wretched  love  lay  day  and  night, 
For  his  deare  sake,  that  ill  deserv'd  that  plight: 
The  thought  whereof  empierst  his  hart  so  deepe, 
That  of  no  worldly  thing  he  tooke  delight; 
Ne  davly  food  did  take,  ne  nightly  sleepe, 
But  pvn'd,  and  mourn'd,  and  languisht,  and  alone 
did  weepe ; 

XX. 

That  in  short  space  his  wonted  chearefull  hew 
Gan  fade,  and  lively  spirits  deaded  quight : 
His  cheeke-bones  raw,  and  eie-pits  liollow  grew, 
And  brawney  armes  had  lost  their  knowen  might, 
That  nothing  like  himselfe  he  seem'd  in  sight. 
Ere  long  so  weake  of  limbe,  and  sicke  of  love 
He  woxe,  that  lenger  he  note  stand  upright, 
But  to  his  bed  was  brought,  and  layd  above. 
Like  ruefull  ghost,  unable  once  to  stir  or  move. 


Which  when  his  mother  saw,  she  in  her  mind 
VVas  troubled  sore,  ne  wist  well  what  to  weene ; 
Ne  could  by  search  nor  any  meanes  out  find 
The  secret  cause  and  nature  of  his  teene, 
Whereby  she  might  apply  some  medicine; 
But  weeping  day  and  night  did  him  attend. 
And  mourn'd  to  see  her  losse  before  her  eyne, 
Which  griev'd  her  more  that  she  it  could  not  mend  ; 
To  see  an  helplesse  evill  double  griefe  doth  lend. 


Nought  could  she  read  the  ro(<f  of  his  disease, 

Ne  weene  what  mister  maladie  it  is. 

When  by  to  seeke  some  means  it  to  appease. 

]\lost  did  she  thinke,  but  most  she  thought  amis. 

That  that  same  former  fatall  wound  of  his 

Whyleare  by  Tryphon  was  not  throughly  healed. 

But  closely  rankJed  under  th'orifis  : 

Least  did  she  thinke,  that  which  he  most  concealed, 

That  love  it  was,  which  in  his  hart  lay  unrevealed. 


Therefore  to  Tryphon  she  againe  dotn  hast, 
And  him  doth  chyde  as  false  and  fraudulent, 
That  fayld  the  trust,  which  she  in  him  liad  plast. 
To  cure  her  Sonne,  as  he  his  faith  had  lent ; 
Who  now  was  falne  into  new  languishment 
Of  his  old  hurt,  which  was  not  throughly  cured. 
So  backe  he  came  unto  her  patient ; 
Where  searching  every  part,  her  well  assured 
That  it  was  no  old   sore  which  his  new  paine  pro- 
cured ; 


But  that  it  was  some  other  maladie. 
Or  grief  unknowne,  which  he  could  not  discerne: 
So  left  he  her  withouten  remedie. 
Then  gan  her  heart  to  faint,  and  quake,  and  earne, 
And  inly  troubled  was,  the  truth  to  learne. 
Unto  himselfe  she  came,  and  him  besought,  [sterne. 
Now    with   faire    speeches,    now   with    threatnings 
If  ought  hiy  hidden  in  his  grieved  thought, 
U  to  rf  veale  :  who  still   her  answered,  there  was 
nought. 


Nathlesse  she  rested  not  so  satisfide  ; 

But  leaving  watry  gods,  as  booting  nought. 

Unto  the  shinie  heaven  in  haste  she  hide. 

And  thence  Apollo  king  of  leaches  brought. 

Apollo  came  ;  who,  soone  as  he  had  sought 

Through  his  disease,  did  by  and  by  out  find 

That  he  did  languish  of  some  inward  thought. 

The  which  afflicted  his  engrieved  mind  ; 

Which  love  he  red  to  be,  that  leads  each  living  kind. 


Which  when  he  had  unto  his  mother  told, 

She  gan  thereat  to  fret  and  greatly  grieve  : 

And,  comming  to  her  sonne,  gan  first  to  scold 

And  chyde  at  him  that  made  her  misbelieve  : 

But  afterwards  she  gan  him  soft  to  shrieve. 

And  wooe  with  fair  intreatie,  to  disclose 

Which  of  the  nymphes  his  heart  so  sore  did  mieve  : 

For  sure  she  weend  it  was  some  one  of  those. 

Which  be  had  lately  seene,  that  for  his  love  he  chose. 


Now  lesse  she  feared  that  same  fatall  read. 
That  warned  him  of  womens  love  beware  : 
Which  being  ment  of  mortal  creatures  sead. 
For  love  of  nymplies  she  thought  she  need  not  cf.re 
But  promist  him,  whatever  wight  she  weare, 
'J'hat  she  her  love  to  him  would  shortly  game  : 
So  he  her  told :  but  soone  as  she  did  heare 
That  Florimell  it  was  which  wrought  his  paHie, 
She  gan  afresh  to  chafe,  and  grieve  in  every  vaine 


Yet  since  she  saw  the  streight  extremitie, 
In  which  his  life  unluckily  was  la\d. 
It  was  no  time  to  scan  the  prophecie. 
Whether  old  Proteus  true  or  false  had  sayd, 
That  his  decay  should  happen  by  a  mayd  ; 
(It's  late,  in  cleath,  of  daunger  to  advize ; 
Or  love  forbid  him,  that  is  life  denavd  ;) 
Hut  rather  gan  in  troubled  mind  devize 
How  she  that  ladies  libertie  might  enterprize. 

XXIX. 

To  Proteus  selfe  to  sew  she  thought  it  vaine. 
Who  was  the  root  and  worker  of  her  woe  ; 
Nor  unto  anv  meaner  to  complaine  ; 
But  unto  great  King  Neptune  selfe  did  goe, 
And,  on  her  knee  before  l)im  falling  lowe, 
IMade  humble  suit  unto  Iiis  maiestie 
To  graunt  to  her  her  sonnes  life,  which  his  foe, 
A  cruell  tyrant,  had  j)resumpteouslie 
By  wicked  doome  condemn'd  a  wretched  death  to 
die. 


To  whom  god  Neptune,  softly  smyling,  thus  ; 
"  Daugh.ier,  mo  seemes  of  double  wrong  ve  plaine. 
Gainst  one  that  hath  botli  wronged  you  and  us: 
For  death  t'adward  I  ween'd  did  a]iperlaine 
'J"o  none  but  to  the  seas  sole  soveraine  : 
Read  therefore  who  it  is  which  this  hath  wrought. 
And  for  what  cause  ;  the  truth  discover  plaine : 
For  never  wight  so  evil)  did  or  thought. 
But   would    some    rightfuU   cause  pretend,   though 
rightly  nought." 


Canto  XII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENK. 


■':59 


To  whom  she  answer'd ;  "  Then  it  is  by  name 

Prott'us,  that  hath  ordayn'd  my  sonne  to  die; 

For  that  a  waift,  the  which  by  fortune  came 

Upon  your  sjeas,  he  claym'd  as  propertie : 

And  yet  nor  his,  nor  his  in  equitie, 

But  yours  the  waift  by  high  prerogative  : 

Therefore  I  humbly  crave  your  majestie 

It  to  replevie,  and  my  sonne  reprive  : 

So  shall  you  by  one  gift  save  all  us  three  alive." 


He  graunted  it :  and  streight  liis  warrant  made, 
Under  the  sea-god's  seale  autenticall, 
Commaunding  Proteus  straight  t'  enlarge  the  mayd 
Which  wandring  (  n  his  seas  imperiall 
He  lately  tooke,  and  sithence  kept  as  thrall. 
Which  she  receiving  with  meete  thankefulnesse, 
Dej)arted  straight  to  Proteus  therewithal! : 
Who,  reading  it  with  inward  loathfulnesse, 
Was  grieved  to  restore  the  pledge  he  did  possesse. 


Yet  durst  he  not  the  warrant  to  withstand, 
But  unto  her  delivered  Florimell : 
Whom  she  receiving  by  the  lilly  hand, 
Admyr'd  her  beautie  much,  as  she  mote  well, 
For  she  all  living  creatures  did  excell, 
And  was  right  ioyous  that  she  gotten  had 
So  faire  a  wife  for  her  sonne  Rlarinell. 
So  home  with  her  she  streight  the  virgin  lad, 
And  shewed  her  to  him  then  being  sore  bestad. 


Who  soone  as  he  beheld  that  angels  face 

Adorn'd  with  all  divine  perfection, 

His  cheared  heart  eftsoones  away  gan  chace 

Sad  death,  revived  with  her  sweet  inspection, 

And  feeble  spirit  inly  felt  refection  ; 

As  withered  weed  through  cruell  winters  tine, 

That  feeles  the  warmth  of  sunny  beames  reflection, 

Liftes  up  his  head  that  did  before  decline. 

And  gins  to  spread  his  leafe  before  the  faire  sunshine. 


Right  so  himselfe  did  Marinell  upreare. 
When  he  in  place  his  dearest  love  did  spy  ; 
And  though  his  limbs  could  not  his  bodie  bearo, 
Ne  former  strength  returne  so  suddenly, 
Yet  chearefuU  signes  he  shewed  outwanlly. 
Ne  lesse  was  she  in  secret  hart  afl'ected, 
But  that  she  masked  it  with  modestie, 
Por  feare  she  should  of  lightnesse  be  detected : 
Which  to  another  place  I  leave  to  be  perfected. 


niE  i'lFTII  BOOK 


THE    FAERIE    QUEENE, 


CONTAYNINO 


THE  LEGEND  OF  ARTEGALL,  OR  OF  JUSTICE. 


So  oft  as  I  with  state  of  present  time 
The  image  of  the  antique  world  compare, 
^\  henas  mans  age  was  in  his  freshest  prime, 
And,  the  first  blossome  of  faire  vertue  bare  ; 
Such  oddes  I  finde  twixt  those,  and  these  which  are, 
As  that,  through  long  continuance  of  his  course, 
Me  seemes  the  world  is  runne  quite  out  of  square 
From  the  first  point  of  his  appointed  sourse  ; 
And  being  once  amisse  growes  daily  wourse  and 
wourse : 


f'or  from  the  golden  age,  that  rirst  was  named, 

!i's  now  at  earst  become  a  stonie  one  ; 

Anil  men  themselves,  the  whicli  at  first  were  framed 

Of  earthly  mould,  and  form'd  of  flesh  and  bone. 

Are  now  transformed  into  hardest  stone  ; 

Such  as  behind  their  backs  (so  backward  bred) 

Were  throwne  by  Pyrrha  and  Deucalione  : 

And  if  then  those  may  any  worse  be  red. 

They  into  that  ere  long  will  be  degendered. 


].et  none  then  blnme  me,  if,  in  discipline 

Of  vertue  and  of  civill  uses  lore, 

1  do  not  forme  them  to  the  common  line 

Of  present  dayes  which  are  corruj)ted  sore  ; 

J5ut  to  the  antique  use  which  was  of  yore, 

^\  hen  good  was  onely  for  itselfe  desyred, 

And  all  men  sought  their  owne,  and  none  no  more; 

^Vhen  iustice  was  not  for  most  meed  outhyred, 

Hut  simple  truth  did  rayne,  and  was  of  all  admyred. 


!  nr  that  wliicli  all  men  then  did  verfuocall, 

K  now  cald  vice  ;  and  that  which  vice  was  hi^-ht, 

1^  now-hight  vertue,  and  so  us'd  of  all  : 

111;; lit  now  is  wrong,  and  wrong  that  was  is  right ; 

As  all  things  else  in  time  are  chaunged  qui"-ht  : 

Ne  wonder;  for  the  heavens  revolution 

Is  wandicd  farre  from  where  it  first  was  piglit, 

And  so  doe  make  contraiie  constitution 

Of  all  this  lower  world  toward  his  dissolution. 


For  whoso  list  into  the  heavens  looke, 
And  search  the  courses  of  the  rowling  spheares 
Shall  find  that  from  the  point  where  they  first  tcoke 
'J'here  setting  forth,  in  these  few  thousand  yeares 
They  all  arc  vi-andred  much  ;  that  plaine  appeares : 
For  that  same  golden  fleecy  ram,  which  bore 
Pbrixus  and  Jleile  from  their  stepdames  feares, 
Hath  now  for?'-ol.  where  he  was  plast  of  yore. 
And  shouidreil  iiath  the  bull  which  fayre  Europa 
bore : 


And  eke  the  bull  hath  with  his  bow-bent  home 

So  hardly  butted  those  two  twinnes  of  love, 

That  they  have  crusht  the  crab,  and  quite  him  borne 

Into  the  great  Nema'an  lions  grove. 

So  now  all  range,  and  doe  at  randon  rove 

Out  of  their  pro])er  places  farre  away, 

And  all  this  world  with  them  amisse  doe  move, 

And  all  his  creatures  from  their  course  astray; 

Till  they  arrive  at  their  last  ruinous  decay. 


Ne  is  that  same  great  glorious  lampe  of  light, 

That  doth  enlumine  all  these  lesser  fyres. 

In  better  case,  ne  keepos  his  course  more  right. 

But  is  miscaried  with  the  other  spheres  : 

For  since  the  terine  of  fourteen  hundred  yeres, 

That  learned  Ptoloma'e  his  bight  did  take, 

He  is  declyned  from  that  marke  of  theirs 

IS'igh  thirtie  minutes  to  the  southerne  lake  ; 

That  makes  me  feare  in  time  he  will  us  quite  forsake. 


And  if  to  those  Egyptian  wisards  old 

(Which  in  star-read  were  wont  have  bestmsight) 

Faith  may  be  given,  it  is  by  them  told 

That  since  the  time  they  first  tooke  the  sunns  hight, 

Foure  times  his  place  he  shifted  hath  in  sight. 

And  twice  hath  n^en  where  he  now  doth  west, 

And  wested  twice  where  he  ought  rise  aright. 

But  most  is  Mars  amisse  of  all  the  rest ; 

And  next  to  him  old  Saturne,  that  was  wont  be  best 


Cavio 


THE  faerip:  queene. 


941 


For  during  Saturnes  ancient  raigne  it's  sayd 

'J'lnU  all  the  world  with  goodnesse  did  abound; 

All  loved  vertue,  no  man  wa.s  aftrayd 

Of  force,  ne  fraud  in  wight  was  to  be  found  ; 

No  warre  was  knowne,  no  dreadful  trompets  sound ; 

Peace  universal  rayn'd  mongst  men  and  beasts  : 

And  all  things  freely  grew  out  of  the  ground  : 

lustice  sate  high  ador'd  with  solemne  feasts, 

And  to  all  people  did  divide  her  dred  beheasts  : 


Most  sacred  Vertue  she  of  all  the  rest, 
Resembling  God  in  his  imperiall  might ; 
Whose  soveraine  powre  is  herein  most  exprest. 
That  both  to  good  and  bad  he  dealeth  right. 
And  all  his  vvorkes  with  iustice  hath  bedight. 
That  powre  he  also  doth  to  prmces  lend,  '^ 
And  makes  them  like  himselfe  in  glorious  sicrht 
To  sit  in  his  own  seate,  his  cause  to  end, 
And  rule  his  people  right,  as  he  doth  recommend. 


Dread  soverayne  goddesse,  that  doest  highest  sit 
Jn  seate  of  iudgement  in  th'  Almighties  stead, 
And  with  magnificke  might  and  wondrous  wit 
Doest  to  thy  people  righteous  doome  aread. 
That  furthest  nations  filles  with  awfull  dread, 
Pardon  the  boldnesse  of  thy  basest  thrall, 
That  dare  discourse  of  so  divine  a  read. 
As  thy  great  iustice  praysed  over  all ; 
The  instrument  whereof  loe  here  thy  Artegall. 


CANTO  I. 

Artegall  trayn'd  in  iustice  lore 
Irenaes  quest  pursewed  ; 

He  doeth  avenge  on  Sanglier 
His  ladies  bloud  embrewed. 


Though  vertue  then  were  held  in  highest  price 
In  those  old  times  of  which  I  doe  inh-eat  ' 

Yet  then  likewise  the  wicked  seede  of  vice 
Began  to  spring ;  which  shortly  grew  full  great. 
And  with  their  boughes  the  gentle  plants  did  be;t : 
But  evei-more  some  of  the  vertuous  race 
Rose  up,  inspired  with  heroicke  heat 
fhat  cropt  the  branches  of  the  sient  base 

See  ''™°°  '^^nd  their  fruitfuU  rancknes  did  de- 


All  th   east  before  untam'd  did  over-ronne 
And  wrong  repressed,  and  estabhsht  right^ 
Which  la wlesse  men  had  formerly  fordonne  • 
There  Justice  first  her  princely  rule  begonne 

Wh      nT"^*^"  ^'^  ^'^'  ^"^^™Pl«  shewed, 
Wl  1     f  ""''  ^''^  ^^"^"  ^™q"est  w'onne. 

The  club  of  Justice  dread  with  kingly  powre  ende^ed. 


And  such  was  he  of  whom  I  have  to  tell 
1  he  champion  of  true  iustice,  Arteoall  •  ' 
Uhom  (as  ye  lately  mote  remembe°r  wd!) 
An  hard  adventure,  which  did  then  befall 
nto  redoubted  perill  forth  did  call  • 
1  Irnt  was,  to  succour  a  distressed  dame 
\Vhom  a  strong  tyrant  did  uniustly  thrall 
Ana  from  the  heritage,  which  she'd  delate 
Did  widi^s^ong  hand  withhold;  CirantorZwas  his 


W  herefore  the  lady,  which  Irena  hio-ht 

Did  to  the  Faerie  Queene  her  way  addresse, 

lo  whom  complayning  her  afflicted  plight, 

fehe  her  besought  of  gratious  redresse  : 

1  hat  soveraine  queene,  that  mightie  emperesse. 

VV  iiose  glorie  is  to  aide  all  suppliants  pore 

And  of  weake  princes  to  be  patronesse. 

Chose  Artegall  to  right  her  to  restore  ; 

For  that  to  Her  he  seem'd  best  skild  in  righteous  lore 


For  Artegall  in  iustice  was  upbrought 

Fven  from  the  cradle  of  l,is  infancie 

And  all  the  depth  of  rightful!  doome  was  taught 

-by  taire  Astra^a,  with  great  Industrie 

VVhilest  here  on  earth  she  lived  mortallie  • 

for,  till  the  world  from  his  perfection  fell 

Into  all  filth  and  foule  iniquitie, 

Astrrea  here  mongst  eartlily  men  did  dwell. 

And  in  the  rules  of  iustice  them  instructed  well. 


Whdes  through  the  world  she  walked  iu  this  sort. 
Upon  a  day  she  found  this  gentle  childe 
Amongst  Ins  peres  playing  his  childish  sport; 
Whom  seeing  fit,  and  with  no  crime  defilde, 
t^lie  did  allure  with  gifts  and  speaches  milde 
lo  wend  with  her  :  so  thence  him  fai-re  she  brouo-h» 
into  a  cave  from  companie  exilde,  " 

In  which  she  noursled  him,  till  yeares  he  rau-ht  • 
And  all  the  discipline  of  iustice  there  him  taught. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


There  she  him  taug^ht  to  weigh  both  right  and  wrong 
In  equall  ballnnce  with  due  recompence. 
And  e(|uitie  to  measure  out  along 
According  to  the  line  of  conscience, 
Whenso  it  needs  with  rigour  to  dispeuce : 
Of  all  the  which,  for  want  there  of  mankind, 
She  caused  him  to  make  experience 
Upon  wyld  beasts,  which  she  in  woods  did  find, 
Witii  wrongful!  powre  oppressing  others  of  theu 
kind. 


Thus  she  him  traT,Tied,  and  thus  she  him  taught 
In  all  the  skill  of  deeming  wrong  and  right, 
Untill  the  ripenesse  of  mans  yeares  he  aught  ; 
That  even  wilde  beasts  did  feare  his  awfull  sight, 
And  men  admyr'd  bis  over-ruling  might ; 
Ne  any  liv'd  on  ground  that  durst  withstand 
His  dreadful!  beast,  much  lesse  him  match  in  iiglit. 
Or  bide  tlie  liorror  of  his  wreakfull  hand, 
Whenso  he  list  in  wrath  lift  up  his  steely  brand  : 


Whicli  steely  brand,  to  make  him  dreaded  more 
She  gave  unto  him,  gotten  by  her  slight 
And  earnest  search,  where  it  was  kept  in  store 
In  loves  eternal!  house,  unwist  of  wiglit. 
Since  he  liimselfe  it  us'd  in  that  great  tight 
Against  the  Titans,  that  whylome  rebelled 
Gainst  highest  lieaven  ;  Chrysaor  it  was  night ; 
Chrysaor,  that  al!  other  swords  excelled. 
Well   prov'd  in    that  same    day  when  love  those 
gyants  quelled  : 

X. 

For  of  most  perfect  metal!  it  was  made, 
Tempred  with  adamant  amongst  the  same. 
And  garnisht  all  with  gold  upon  the  blade 
In  goodly  wise,  whereof  it  tooke  liis  name, 
And  was  of  no  lesse  vertue  then  of  fame  : 
For  there  no  substance  was  so  firme  and  hard, 
But  it  would  pierce  or  cleave  whereso  it  came  ; 
Ne  any  armour  could  his  dint  out-ward  ; 
But  wheresoever  it  did  light,  it  throughly  shard. 


Now  when  the  world  with  sinne  gan  to  abound, 
Astr:i!a  loathing  lenger  liere  to  space 
IMongst  wicked  men,  in  whom  no  truth  slie  found, 
Return'd  to  lieaven,  whence  slie  derir'd  her  race ; 
Where  she  hath  now  an  everlasting  place 
Mongst  those  twelve  signes,  wliich  nightly  we  do  see 
The  heavens  bright-sluniiig  baudricke  to  enchace ; 
And  is  the  \'irgin,  sixt  in  her  degree, 
An<i  next  herselfe  her  righteous  ballance  lianging 
bee. 


But  when  she  parted  hence  she  left  her  groome, 
An  yron  man,  which  did  on  her  attend 
Always  to  pxecu{e  her  stedfast  doome, 
And  willed  him  witli  Artegall  to  wenil. 
And  doe  whatever  thing  he  did  intend  : 
His  name  was  'J"alus,  made  of  yron  mould. 
Immoveable,  resistlesse,  without  end  ; 
\V''fi  in  his  hand  an  vron  flale  did  liould, 
With  wtiicli  he  ihresht  out  falshood,  and  did  truth 
ujifould. 


He  now  went  with  him  in  this  nsw  inquest. 

Him  for  to  aide,  if  aide  he  cliaunst  to  neede, 

Against  that  cruell  tyrant,  which  opprest 

Tiie  faire  Irena  with  his  foule  misdeede. 

And  kept  the  crowne  in  which  she  should  succeed  : 

And  now  together  on  their  way  they  bin, 

Whenas  they  saw  a  squire  in  squallid  weed 

Lamenting  sore  his  sorrowful!  sad  tyne 

With  many  bitter  teares  shed  from  his  blubbred  eyne. 


To  whom  as  they  approclied,  they  espide 

A  sorie  sight  as  ever  seene  with  eye. 

And  headlesse  ladie  lying  him  beside 

In  her  owne  blood  all  wallow'd  wofully, 

That  her  gay  clothes  did  in  discolour  die. 

Much  was  he  moved  at  that  rueful!  siglit ; 

And  flam'd  with  zeale  of  vengeance  inwardlv 

He  askt  who  had  that  dame  so  fouly  dight, 

Or  whether  his  owne  liaud,  or  whether  other  wight? 


"  All !  woe  is  me,  and  well  away,"  quoth  hee 

Bursting  forth  teares  like  springs  out  of  a  banke, 

"  That  ever  I  this  dismal!  day  did  see  ! 

Full  farre  was  I  from  thinking  such  a  pranke  ; 

Yet  litle  losse  it  were,  and  mickle  thanke. 

If  I  should  graunt  that  I  liave  doen  the  same, 

'i  hat  I  mote  drinke  the  cup  whereof  she  dranke; 

But  that  I  should  die  guiltie  of  the  blame. 

The  which  another  did  who  now  is  fled  with  shame. 


"  Who  was  it  then,"  sayd  Artegall,  "that  wrought 
And  why  ?  doe  it  declare  unto  me  trew." 
"  A  knight,"  said  he,  "  if  knight  he  may  be  thought 
That  (lid  his  hand  in  ladies  bloud  embrew, 
And  for  no  cause,  but  as  I  shall  you  shew. 
This  day  as  I  in  solace  sate  hereby 
With  a  fayre  love  whose  losse  I  now  do  rew. 
There  came  this  kniglit,  having  in  corapatie 
This  lucklesse  ladie  which  now  here  doth  headlesse 
lie. 

XVII. 

"  He,  whether  mine  seem'd  fayrer  in  his  eye. 
Or  that  he  wesed  weary  of  his  owne, 
^Vould  change  with  me  ;  but  I  did  it  denye. 
So  did  the  ladies  both,  as  may  be  knowne  ; 
]?iit  he,  whose  spirit  was  with  pride  u])blowne. 
Would  not  so  rest  contented  with  his  riglit ; 
15ut,  having  from  his  courser  lier  dovvne  tlirowne. 
Fro  me  reft  mine  away  by  lawlesse  might, 
And  on  Lis  steed  her  set  to  beare  her  out  of  sight. 


"  Which  when  his  ladie  saw,  slie  follow'd  fast 
And  on  him  catching  hold  gan  loud  to  crie 
Not  so  to  leave  her  nor  away  to  cast. 
But  rather  of  his  hand  besought  to  die  : 
With  that  his  sword  he  drew  all  wrathfully. 
And  at  one  stroke  cropt  oil'  her  head  with  scorne. 
In  that  same  place  wliereas  it  now  doth  lie. 
So  he  my  love  away  with  him  hath  borne. 
And  left  me  here  both  his  and  mine  owne  love  td 
mourne." 


Canto  I.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


243 


"  Avead,"  saj'd  he  ;  "  which  way  then  did  he  make  ? 
And  by  what  markes  may  he  be  knowne  againe  ?" 
"  To  hope,"  quoth  lie,  "  iiim  soone  to  overtake, 
That  hence  so  long  departed,  is  but  vaine  : 
Hut  3'et  he  pricked  over  yonder  plaine, 
And  as  I  marked  bore  upon  his  shield, 
By  which  it's  easie  him  to  know  againe, 
A  broken  sword  within  a  bloodie  held  ; 
Expressing'   well  his  nature  which  the  same   did 
wield." 


No  sooner  sayd,  but  streight  he  after  sent 

His  yron  page,  who  him  pursew'd  so  light. 

As  that  it  seem'd  above  the  ground  he  went : 

For  he  was  swift  as  swallow  in  her  flight. 

And  strong  as  lyon  in  his  lordly  might. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  overtooke 

Sir  Sanglier,  (so  cleeped  was  that  knight,) 

Whom  at  the  first  he  ghessed  by  his  looke. 

And  by  the  other  markes  which  of  his  shield  be  tooke. 


He  bad  him  stay  and  backe  with  him  retire  ; 
Who,  full  of  scorne  to  he  commaunded  so, 
The  ladv  to  alight  did  eft  require, 
Whilest  he  reformed  that  uncivil!  fo  ; 
And  streight  at  him  with  all  his  force  did  go  : 
Who  mov'd  no  more  therewith,  then  when  a  rocke 
Is  lightly  stricken  with  some  stones  throw; 
But  to  him  leaping  lent  him  such  a  knocke, 
'J'hat  on  the  ground  he  layd  him  like  a  sencelesse 
blocke. 


Hut,  ere  he  could  himselfe  recure  againe. 

Him  in  his  iron  paw  he  seized  had  ; 

Ihiit  when  he  wak't  out  of  his  warelesse  paine. 

He  found  himself  unwist  so  ill  bestad, 

(hat  lim  he  could  not  wag  :  thence  he  him  lad, 

liound  like  a  beast  appointed  to  the  stall : 

The  sight  whereof  the  lady  sore  adrad, 

A  nd  fain'd  to  fly  for  feare  of  being  thrall ; 

But  he  her  quickly  stayd,  and  forst  to  wend  withall. 


Ulien  to  the  place  they  came  where  Artegall 

By  that  same  carefull  squire  did  then  abide, 

He  gently  gan  him  to  demaund  of  all 

That  did  betwixt  him  and  that  squire  betide  : 

\\  ho  with  Sterne  countenance  and  indignant  pride 

Did  aunswere,  that  of  all  he  guiltlesse  stood. 

And  his  accuser  thereuppon  defide  ; 

For  neither  he  did  shed  that  ladies  bloud, 

j\or  tooke  away  his  love,  but  his  owne  proper  good. 


W'ell  did  the  squire  perceive  liimseKe  too  weake 

To  aunswere  bis  detiaunce  in  the  field. 

And  rather  chose  his  challenge  oflf  to  breake 

I  hen  to  approve  his  right  with  s])eare  and  shield. 

And  rather  guilty  chose  himselfe  to  yield. 

!5iit  Anegall  by  signes  perceiving:  yilaine 

That  he  it  w;is  not  which  that  lady  kild, 

(Jut  that  strange  knight,  the  fiiiier  love  to  gaine, 

Did  casfahuutby  sleighttlie  truth  thereout  tostraine; 


And  sayd  :  "  Now  sure  this  doubtfull  causes  right 

Can  hardly  but  by  sacrament  be  tride, 

Or  else  by  ordele,  or  by  blooddv  fight  , 

That  ill  perhaps  mote  fall  to  either  side  : 

But  if  3'e  pleise  that  I  your  cause  decide. 

Perhaps  I  may  all  further  quairell  end, 

So  ye  will  swoare  my  iudgement  to  abide." 

Thereto  they  doth  did  franckly  condiscend, 

And  to  his  doome  with  listfall  eares  did  both  attend. 


"  Sith  then,"  sayd  he,  "  ye  both  the  dead  deny. 
And  both  the  living  lady  claime  your  right, 
Let  both  the  dead  and  living  equally 
Devided  be  betwixt  you  here  in  sight. 
And  each  of  either  take  his  share  aright. 
But  looke,  who  does  dissent  from  this  my  read, 
He  for  a  twelve  moneths  day  shall  in  despight 
Beare  for  his  penaunce  that  same  ladies  head  ; 
To  witnesse  to  the  world  that  she  by  him  is  dead.' 


Well  pleased  with  that  doome  was  Sangliere, 
And  offred  streight  the  lady  to  be  slaine : 
But  that  same  squire  to  whom  she  was  more  dere, 
Whenas  he  saw  she  should  be  cut  in  twaine, 
Did  yield  she  rather  should  with  him  remaine 
Alive  then  to  himselfe  be  shared  dead  ; 
And  rather  then  his  love  should  suffer  paine. 
He  chose  with  shnme  to  beare  that  ladies  head  : 
True  love  despiseth  shame  when  life  is  cald  in  dread. 


WHiom  when  so  willing  Artegall  perceaved  ; 
"  Not  so,  thou  squire,"  he  sayd,  "  but  thine  I  deeme 
The  living  lady,  which  from  thee  he  reaved  : 
For  worthy  thou  of  her  doest  rightly  seeme. 
And  you,  sir  knight,  that  love  so  light  esteeme, 
As  that  ye  would  for  little  leave  the  same. 
Take  here  your  owne  that  doth  you  best  beseeme. 
And  with  it  beare  the  burden  of  defame; 
Your  owne  dead  ladies  head,  to  tell  abrode  your 
shame." 


But  Sangliere  disdained  much  his  doome, 
And  sternly  g-an  rej)ine  at  his  heheast  ; 
Ne  would  for  ought  obay,  as  did  become, 
I'o  beare  that  ladies  head  before  his  breast* 
Untill  that  Talus  had  his  pride  re])rest. 
And  forced  him,  maulgre,  it  up  to  reare. 
Who  when  he  saw  it  bootelesse  to  resist, 
He  tooke  it  up,  and  thence  with  him  did  beare  ; 
As  rated  spaniell  takes  his  burden  up  for  feare. 


INIuch  did  that  sqnire  Sir  Artegall  adore 
For  his  great  iustice  held  in  high  regard  ; 
And  as  liis  squire  him  ofl'rcd  evermore 
To  serve,  for  want  of  other  ineete  reward, 
And  wend  with  him  on  his  adventure  hard  : 
But  ho  thereto  would  by  no  meanes  consent ; 
But  leaving  him  forth  on  his  iourney  far'd  : 
Ne  wight  with  him  but  onely  Talus  went : 
They  two  enough  t'encounter  an  whole  regiment 


••i-V-l 


THE  PA  ERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book 


CANTO  II. 

Artcgall  heares  of  Florimell ; 

Does  with  the  pagan  fight- 
Him  slaies  ;  drownes  Lady  Rlunera  ; 

Does  race  her  castle  quight. 


Nought  is  more  honourable  to  a  knight, 

Ne  better  doth  beseeme  brave  chevalry, 

Then  to  defend  the  feeble  in  their  right, 

And  wrong  redresse  in  sucli  as  wend  awry : 

Whilome  those  great  heroes  got  thereby 

Their  greatest  glory  for  their  rightfull  deedes, 

And  place  deserved  with  the  gods  on  hy  : 

Herein  the  noblesse  of  this  knight  exceedes. 

Who  now  to  perils  great  for  iustice  sake  proceedes ; 


To  which  as  he  now  was  uppon  the  way, 

He  chaunst  to  meet  a  dwarfe  in  hasty  course  ; 

Whom  he  requir'd  his  forward  hast  to  stay. 

Till  he  of  tidings  mote  with  him  discourse. 

Loth  was  the  dwarfe,  yet  did  he  stay  perforse, 

And  gan  of  sundry  newes  his  store  to  tell, 

As  to  his  memory  they  had  recourse  ; 

But  chiefly  of  the  fairest  Florimell, 

How  she  was  found  againe.  and  spousde  to  IMarinell, 


For  this  was  Dony,  Florimells  owne  dwarfe, 
Whom  having  lost  (as  ye  have  heard  whyleare) 
And  finding  in  the  way  the  scattred  scarfe, 
The  fortune  of  her  life  long  time  did  feare : 
}}ut  of  her  health  when  Artegall  did  heare. 
And  safe  returne,  he  was  full  inly  glad, 
And  askt  him  where  and  when  her  bridale  cheare 
Should  be  solemniz'd  ;  for,  if  time  he  had, 
He  would  be  there,  and  honor  to  her  spousall  ad. 


"  Within  three  daies,"  quoth  he,  "  as  I  do  heare. 
It  will  1)e  at  the  castle  of  the  strond  ; 
What  time,  if  naught  me  let,  I  will  be  there 
To  do  her  service  so  as  I  am  bond. 
r>ut  in  n)y  way  a  little  here  beyond 
A  cursed  cruell  sarazin  doth  wonne, 
'lliat  kee])es  a  bridges  passage  by  strong  hond. 
And  many  errant  knights  hath  there  fordonne  ; 
'i  liat  makes  all  men  for  feare  that  passage  for  to 
shonne." 


"  Wliat  mister  wight,"  quoth  he,  "and  how  far  hence 
I.-,  he,  that  doth  to  travellers  such  harmesT' 
"  He  is,'  said  he,  "  a  man  of  great  defence  ; 
KxjtTt  in  battell  and  in  d^cdes  of  armes  ; 
And  more  cmboldned  by  the  wicked  charmes, 
With  which  his  daughter  doth  him  still  support; 
H  iving  great  lordsliips  got  and  goodly  farmes 
ThroTigh  strong  oppression  of  liis  powre  extort ; 
By  which  iiestil  them  holds,  and  keepeswith  strong 
eflbrt. 


"  And  daylyhe  his  wrongs  encreaseth  more  ; 
For  never  wight  he  lets  to  passe  that  way, 
Over  his  bridge,  albee  he  rich  or  poore. 
But  he  him  makes  his  passage-penny  pay : 
I^lse  he  doth  hold  him  backe  or  beat  away. 
Thereto  he  hath  a  groome  of  evill  guize. 
Whose  scalp  is  bare,  that  bondage  doth  bewray, 
Which  pols  and  pils  the  poore  in  piteous  wize; 
But  he  liimselfe  upon  the  rich  doth  tyrannize. 


"  His  name  is  bight  Pollente,  rightly  so. 
For  that  he  is  so  puissant  and  strong, 
'I'hat  with  his  powre  he  all  doth  over  go. 
And  makes  them  subiect  to  his  mighty  wrong ; 
And  some  by  sleight  he  eke  doth  underfong : 
For  on  abridge  lie  custometh  to  fight. 
Which  is  but  narrow,  but  exceeding  long  ; 
And  in  the  same  are  many  trap-fals  pight, 
Through  which  the  rider  downe  doth   fall  through 
oversight. 


"  And  underneath  the  same  a  river  flowes, 

'I'hat  is  both  swift  and  dangerous  deepe  withall ; 

Into  the  which  wliomso  he  overthrowes, 

All  destitute  of  helpe  dotli  headlong  fall ; 

But  he  himselfe  through  practise  usuall 

Leapes  forth  into  the  floud,  and  there  assaies 

His  foe  confused  through  his  sodaine  fall, 

That  horse  and  man  he  equally  dismaies. 

And  either  both  them  drownes,  or  trayterously  slaies 


"  Then  doth  lie  take  the  spoile  of  them  at  will, 
And  to  his  daughter  brings,  that  dwells  thereby  : 
Who  all  that  conies  doth  take,  and  therewith  fill 
The  coll'ers  of  her  wicked  threasury  ; 
Which  she  with  wrongs  halh  heaped  up  so  hy 
That  many  princes  she  in  wealth  exceedes, 
And  ])urchast  all  the  countrey  lying  ny 
Willi  the  revenue  of  her  plenteous  meedes  : 
Her  name  is  iVIunera,  agreeing  with  her  deedes. 


"  Thereto  she  is  full  faire,  and  rich  attired, 

With  golilen  hands  and  silver  feete  beside. 

That  many  lords  have  her  to  wife  desired  : 

liut  she  them  all  despiseth  for  great  pride." 

"  Now  by  my  life,"  sayd  he,  "  and  God  to  guide. 

None  other  way  will  I  this  day  betake, 

But  hy  that  biidge  whereas  he  doth  abide  : 

'J'hcrcfbie  me  thither  lead."     No  more  he  spake^ 

But  thitherward  forthright  his  ready  way  did  make 


Canto  II.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


245 


Unto  the  place  he  came  within  a  while, 
Wliere  on  the  bri(lp,e  he  ready  armed  saw 
The  Sarazin,  awavting  for  some  spoile: 
Who  as  thev  to  the  passage  gan  to  draw, 
A  villaine  to  th^m  came  with  scull  all  raw. 
That  passage-monev  did  of  them  retjuire, 
According  to  the  custome  of  their  law  : 
To  whom  he  aunswerd  wroth,  "  loe  there  thy  hire  ;" 
And  with  that  word  Iiim  strooke,  that  streighthe  did 
expire. 

XII. 

Which  when  the  pagan  saw  he  wexed  wroth, 
And  streight  himselfe  unto  the  fight  addrest; 
Ne  was  Sir  Ariegall  behinde  :  so  both 
Together  ran  wilh  readv  speares  in  rest. 
Right  in  the  midst,  whereas  they  brest  to  brest 
Should  nieete,  a  trap  was  letten  downe  to  fall 
Into  the  floud  :   streight  leapt  the  carle  unblest, 
\Vell  weening  that  his  foe  was  falne  witliall : 
But  lie  was  well  aware,  and  leapt  before  ids  /iill. 


There  being  both  together  in  the  floud, 

Thev  each  at  other  tyrannously  flew  ; 

Ke  ought  the  water  cooled  iheir  whot  bloud. 

But  rather  in  them  kindled  clioler  new  : 

But  there  the  Paynim,  who  that  use  well  knew 

To  fight  in  water,  great  advantage  had, 

That  oftentimes  him  nigh  he  overthrew  : 

And  eke  the  courser  whereuppon  he  rad 

Could  swim  like  to  a  fish  whiles  he  his  backe  bestrad. 


Which  oddes  whenas  Sir  Artegall  espide. 

He  saw  no  way  but  close  with  him  in  hast; 

And  to  him  driving  strongly  downe  the  tide 

Uppon  his  iron  coller  griped  fast. 

That  with  the  siraini  his  wesand  nigh  he  hrast. 

There  thev  together  strove  and  struggled  long. 

Either  the  other  from  his  steed  to  cast ; 

Ne  ever  Artegall  his  griple  strong 

For  any  ihinge  wold  slacke,  but  still  upon  him  hong. 


As  when  a  dolphin  and  a  sele  are  met 

In  the  wide  charaj)ian  of  ihe  ocean  plaine, 

With  cruell  chaufe  their  courages  they  whet. 

The  mayslerdome  of  eacli  by  force  to  gaine, 

And  dreadfuU  battaile  twixt  them  do  darraine  ; 

Thev  snuf,  they  snort,  they  bounce,  they  rage,  thev 

That  all  the  sea,  disturbed  with  their  traine,       [rore, 

Dotli  frie  witli  fome  above  the  surges  hore: 

Such  was  betwixt  these  two  the  troublesome  uprore. 


So  Artegall  at  length  him  forst  forsake 

His  horses  backe  for  dread  of  being  drownd, 

And  to  his  handy  swimming  him  betake. 

Eftsoones  himselfe  he  i'rnui  his  hold  unbownd. 

And  then  no  ods  at  all  in  him  he  fownd  ; 

For  Artegall  in  swimmiMg  skiifuU  was. 

And  durst  the  depth  of  any  water  sownd. 

So  ought  ea  li  knii;lit,  that  use  of  perill  has, 

In  swimming  be  expert,  through  waters  force  to  pas. 


Then  very  doubtfull  was  the  warres  event, 

Uncertaine  whether  had  the  better  side  : 

For  both  were  skild  in  that  experiment, 

And  both  in  amies  well  traind  and  throughly  tride. 

But  Artegall  was  better  breath'd  beside. 

And  towards  th'  end  grow  greater  in  his  might, 

That  his  faint  foe  no  longer  could  abide 

His  puissance,  ne  beare  himselfe  upright  ; 

But  from  the  water  to  the  land  betooke  his  flight 


Rut  Artegall  pursewd  him  still  so  neare 
\\  ith  bright  Chrysaor  in  his  cruell  hand, 
'i'hat,  as  his  head  he  gan  a  litle  reare 
Above  the  brmcke  to  tread  upon  the  land. 
He  smote  it  oit',  that  tumbling  on  the  strand 
It  bit  the  earth  for  very  fell  despiglit, 
And  gnashed  with  his  teeth,  as  if  he  band 
High  God,  whose  goodnesse  he  despaired  quight, 
Or  curst  the  hand  which  did  that  vengeance  ou  him 
diffht. 


His  corps  was  carried  downe  along  the  lee, 
Whose  waters  with  his  filthy  bloud  it  stayned : 
But  iiis  blasphemous  head,  that  all  might  see, 
He  pitcht  upon  a  pole  on  high  ordayned  ; 
Where  many  years  it  afterwards  remayned. 
To  be  a  mirrour  to  all  mighty  men, 
In  whose  right  hands  great  power  is  contavned. 
That  none  of  them  the  feeble  over-ren. 
But  alwaies  doe  their  powre  within  iust  corapasse 
pen. 


That  done,  unto  the  castle  he  did  wend. 

In  which  the  Paynims  daughter  did  abide. 

Guarded  of  many  which  did  her  defend: 

Of  whom  he  entrance  sought,  but  was  denide. 

And  with  reprochfull  blasphemy  defide, 

Beaten  with  stones  downe  from  the  battilment, 

That;  he  was  forced  to  withdraw  aside  ; 

And  bad  his  servant  Talus  to  invent 

Which  way  he  enter  might  without  endangerment. 


Eftsoones  his  page  drew  to  the  castle  gate. 

And  with  his  iron  flale  at  it  let  flie, 

That  all  the  warders  it  did  sore  amate, 

The  which  ere-while  spake  so  reprochfully. 

And  made  them  stoupe,  that  looked  earst  so  hie. 

Yet  still  he  bet  and  bounsi  upijon  the  dore. 

And  thundred  stokes  theron  so  hideouslie. 

'That  all  the  peece  he  thaked  from  the  flore. 

And  filled  all  the  house  with  feare  and  great  uprore 


With  noise  whereof  the  lady  forth  appeared 
U|ipon  the  castle  wall ;  and,  when  she  saw 
'The  daungerous  state  in  which  she  stood,  she  feared 
'The  sad  eft'ect  of  her  neare  overthrow  ; 
And  gan  intreat  that  iron  man  below 
To  cease  his  outrage,  and  him  faire  besought ; 
Sith  neither  force  of  stones  whic:i  thev  did  throw. 
Nor  powr  of  charms,  which  she  against  him  wrought 
Wight  ofher^'ise  prevaile.   or  make  him  cease  for 
OU';ht. 


246 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


But,  ^lipnas  yet  she  saw  him  to  proceede 

IJnniov'i  with  praieis  or  with  piteous  thought, 

8he  meiit  him  to  corrupt  with  goodly  meede  ; 

And  causde  great  saclces  with  endlesse riches  fraught 

Into  liie  battilment  to  be  ujjbrought, 

And  i)Ovvred  forth  over  the  castle  wall, 

That  bbe  might  win  some  time,  though  dearly  bought, 

Whilest  he  to  gathering  of  the  gold  did  fall ; 

But  Jie  was  notliing  mov'd  nor  tempted  tberewithall: 


But  still  continu'd  liis  assault  the  more, 
And  layd  on  load  with  his  huge  yrou  flaile. 
That  at  the  length  lie  has  yrent  the  dore 
And  made  way  for  liis  maister  to  assaile : 
Who  being  entred,  nought  did  them  availe 
For  wight  against  his  powre  themselves  to  reare  : 
Each  one  did  flie  ;  their  hearts  began  to  faile  ; 
And  hid  themselves  in  corners  here  and  there  ; 
And  eke  their  dame  hall'e  dead  did  hide  herself  for 
feare. 


Long  they  her  sought,  vet  no  where  could  they  finde 
That  sure  they  ween'd  she  was  escapt  away  :     [her. 
But  Talus,  that  could  like  a  lime-bound  uinde  her, 
And  all  things  secrete  wisely  could  bewray, 
At  lengtli  found  out  whereas  she  hidden  lay 
Under  an  heape  of  gold  :   thence  he  her  drew 
By  the  iaire  lockes,  and  fowly  did  array 
Withouten  pitty  of  her  goodly  hew, 
I'hat  Artegall  himselfe  her  seemelesse  plight  did  rew. 


Yet  for  no  pitty  would  he  change  the  course 
Of  iustice,  which  in  J'alus  hand  did  lye; 
Who  rude!}'  hayld  her  fortli  without  remorse. 
Still  holding  up  her  suppliant  hands  on  hye. 
And  kneeling  at  his  ieete  submissively: 
But  he  her  suppliant  hands,  those  hands  of  gold. 
And  eke  her  feete,  tliose  feete  of  silver  trye, 
Which  sought  unrighteousiiesse,  and  iustice  sold, 
Chopt  iff.  and  nay  Id  on  high,   that  all  might  them 
behold. 


Herselfe  then  tooke  he  by  the  sclender  wast 

In  vaine  loud  crying,  and  into  the  flood 

Over  tlie  casile  wall  adowne  her  cast. 

And  there  her  drowned  in  the  dirty  mud  : 

But  the  streame  washt  away  her  guilty  blood. 

Thereafter  all  that  mucky  pelie  he  tooke. 

The  sjjoile  of  jieojiles  evil  gotten  good. 

The  which  her  sire  had  scrajj't  by  liookeand  crooke. 

And  burning  all  to  ashes  powr'd  it  down  the  brooke. 


And  lastly  all  that  castle  quite  he  raced. 

Even  from  the  sole  of  his  foundation, 

And  all  the  hewen  stones  thereof  defaced. 

That  tiiere  mote  be  no  liope  of  reparation, 

A  or  memory  thereof  to  any  nation 

All  whieh  when  Talus  throughly  liad  perfournied, 

Sir  Artegall  undid  the  evil  fashion. 

And  vviclied  customes  of  that  bridge  refourmed  : 

Whicli  done,  unto  his  former  iourney  heretourned. 


In  which  they  measur'd  mickle  weary  way. 
Till  that  at  length  nigh  to  the  sea  they  drew  ; 
By  which  a^    lev  did  tiavell  on  a  day. 
They  saw  befor>'  them,  far  as  they  could  vew. 
Full  many  peojjle  jatht;  jd  in  a  crew  : 
Whose  great  assembly  they  did  much  admire, 
For  never  there  the  like  resort  they  knew. 
So  towardes  thera  they  coasted,  to  en  piire 
What  thing  so  many  nations  met  did  tiiere  desire. 


There  they  beheld  a  mighty  gyant  stand 

Upon  a  rocke,  and  hoUUng  forth  on  iiie 

An  huge  great  paire  of  ballance  in  his  hand. 

With  whi,  h  he  boasted  in  his  surquedrie 

I'hat  all  the  world  he  would  weigh  equallie, 

If  ought  he  had  tlie  same  to  couiiterpoys  : 

For  want  whereof  he  weighed  vanity. 

And  fild  his  ballaunce  full  of  idle  toys: 

Yet  was  admired  much  of  fooles,  women,  and  boys. 


He  sayd  that  he  would  all  the  earth  uptake 

And  all  the  sea,  divided  each  from  either: 

So  would  he  of  the  fire  one  ballaunce  make. 

And  one  of  th'ayre,  without  or  wind  or  wether: 

Then  would  lie  ballaunce  heaven  and  hell  together, 

And  all  that  did  within  them  all  containe ; 

Of  all  whose  weight  he  would  not  misse  a  fether : 

And  looke  what  surplus  did  of  each  remaine. 

He  would  to  his  owne  part  restore  the  same  againe. 


For  why,  he  sayd,  they  all  unequal!  were. 
And  had  encroched  upon  others  share  ; 
Like  as  the  sea  (wliich  plaine  he  shewed  there) 
Had  wonie  the  earth  ;  so  did  the  fire  the  aire  3 
So  all  the  rest  did  others  parts  empaire  : 
And  so  were  realmes  and  nations  run  av/ry. 
All  which  he  undertooke  for  to  rejiaire. 
In  sort  as  ihey  were  formed  auiicieiitly  ; 
And  all  things  would  reduce  unto  eijuality 


Therefore  the  vulgar  did  about  him  flocke. 

And  cluster  thicke  unto  his  leasings  vaine; 

Like  foolish  flies  about  an  hony-crocke; 

In  hope  by  him  great  benefile  to  gaiue. 

And  uncontrolled  freedonje  to  obtaine. 

All  which  when  Artegall  did  see  and  heare. 

How  he  misled  the  simple  peojdes  traine, 

In  sdeignfuU  wi/.e  he  drew  unto  him  neare. 

And  thus  unto  him  spake,  without  regard  or  feare, 


''  Thou,  that  presum'st  to  weigh  the  world  anew. 

And  all  things  to  an  equall  to  restore. 

Instead  of  right  me  seemes  great  wrong  dost  shew, 

And  far  above  thy  forces  ])itch  to  sore  : 

For,  ere  thou  limit  what  is  lesse  or  more 

In  every  thing,  thou  oughtest  first  to  know 

What  was  the  poyse  of  every  jiart  of  yore  : 

And  looke  then,  how  much  it  doth  overtiow 

Or  faile  thereof,  so  much  is  n>ore  then  iust  to  trow 


Canto  ll.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


24T 


"  For  at  the  first  they  all  created  were 
In  goodly  measure  hv  their  Makers  might; 
And  wtighed  out  in  ballaunces  so  iier°, 
That  not  a  dram  was  missing  of  their  right : 
The  earth  was  in  the  middle  centre  pight, 
In  v.-liich  it  doth  immoveable  abide, 
Herad  in  with  waters  like  a  wall  in  sight, 
And  thev  with  aire,  that  not  a  drop  can  slide  : 
Al  which  the  heavens  containe,  and  in  their  courses 
guide. 

XXXTI. 

"  Such  heavenly  iustice  doth  among  them  raine, 
That  every  one  doe  know  their  Cf rtaine  bound  ; 
In  which  they  doe  tliese  many  yeares  remaine. 
And  rnongst  them  al  no  change  hath  yet  beene  found  : 
But  if  thou  now  shouldst  weigh  them  new  in  pound, 
We  are  not  sure  they  would  so  long  remaine : 
All  change  is  perillous,  and  all  chaunce  unsound. 
Therefore  leave  otf  to  weigh  them  all  againe, 
Till    we    may   be   assur'd  they   shall  their  course 
retaine." 


"  Thou  foolisbe  elfe,"  said  then  the  gyant  wroth, 

"  Seest  not  how  badly  all  things  present  bee, 

And  each  estate  quite  out  of  order  goth  ? 

The  sea  itselfe  doest  thou  not  plainely  see 

Encroch  uppon  the  land  there  under  thee  ? 

And  th'  earth  itselfe  how  daily  its  increast 

By  all  that  dying  to  it  turned  be  } 

Were  it  not  good  that  wrong  were  then  surceast. 

And  from  the  most  that  some  were  given  to  the  least  1 


"  Therefore  I  will  throw  downe  these  mountains  hie, 
And  make  them  Icveli  with  t!ie  lowly  plaine. 
These  towring  rocks,  which  reach  unto  the  skie, 
I  will  thrust  downe  into  the  deepest  maine, 
And,  as  they  were,  them  equalize  againe. 
Tyrants,  that  make  men  subiect  to  their  law, 
I  will  suppresse,  that  they  no  more  may  raine; 
And  lordings  curbe  that  commons  over-aw  ; 
And  all  the  wealth  of  rich  men  to  the  poore  will 
draw." 


"  Of  things  unseene  how  lanst  thou  deeme  aright," 

Then  answered  the  righteous  Artegall, 

"  Sith  thou  misdeem'st  so  much  of  things  in  sight? 

What  though  the  sea  with  waves  continuall 

Doe  eate  the  earth,  it  is  no  more  at  all ; 

Xe  is  the  earth  the  lesse,  or  loseth  ought: 

For  whatsoever  from  one  place  doth  fall 

Is  with  the  tyde  unto  another  brought: 

For  there  is  nothing  lost,  that  may  be  found  if  sought. 


"  Likewise  the  earth  is  not  augmented  more 

By  all  that  dying  into  it  doe  fade  ; 

For  of  the  earth  thev  formed  were  of  yore  : 

However  gay  their  blossome  or  their  blade 

Doe  flourish  now,  they  into  dust  shall  vade. 

What  wrong  then  is  it  if  that  when  they  die 

They  turne  to  that  whereof  tliey  first  were  made? 

All  in  tlie  jjowre  of  their  great  Maker  lie  : 

All  creatures  must  obey  the  voice  of  the  IMost  Hie. 


"  They  live,  they  die,  like  as  He  doth  ordaine, 

Ne  ever  any  asketh  reason  why. 

The  hils  doe  not  the  lowly  dales  disdaine  ; 

The  dales  doe  not  the  lofty  hils  envy. 

He  maketh  kingij  to  sit  in  soverainty ; 

He  maketh  subiects  to  their  powre  obay  ; 

He  pulleth  downe.  He  setteth  up  on  by  ; 

He  gives  to  this,  from  that  He  takes  away : 

For  all  we  have  is  His :  what  He  list  doe.  He  may 


"  Whatever  thing  is  done,  by  Him  is  donne, 
Ne  any  may  His  mighty  will  withstand  ; 
Ne  any  may  His  soveraine  power  shonne, 
Ne  loose  that  He  hath  bound  with  stedfast  band  • 
In  vaine  therefore  doest  thou  now  take  in  hand 
To  call  to  count,  or  weigh  His  workes  anew, 
Wliose  counsels  depth  thou  canst  not  understand; 
Sith  of  things  subiect  to  thy  daily  vew 
Thou  doest  not  know  the  causes  nor  their  courses 
dew. 


"  For  take  thy  ballaunce,  if  thou  he  so  wise, 
And  weigh  the  winde  that  under  heaven  doth  blow  • 
Or  weigh  the  light  that  in  the  east  doth  rise  ; 
Or  weigh  the  thought  that  from  mans  mind  doth  flow  • 
But  if  the  weight  of  these  thou  canst  not  show, 
Weigh  but  one  word  which  from  thy  lips  doth  fall : 
For  how  canst  thou  those  greater  secrets  know, 
That  doest  not  know  the  least  thing  of  tliem  all  ? 
Ill  can  he  rule  the  great  that  cannot  reach  the  small.' 


Therewith  the  gyant  much  abashed  sayd 
That  he  of  little  things  made  reckoning  light ; 
Yet  the  least  word  that  ever  could  be  layd 
\\  ithin  his  ballaunce  he  could  way  aright. 
"  Which  is,"  said  he,  "  more  heavy  then  in  weight, 
The  right  or  wrong,  the  false  or  else  the  trew?" 
He  answered  that  he  would  try  it  streiglit  : 
So  he  the  words  into  his  ballaunce  threw  ; 
But  streight  the  winged  words  out  of  his  ballaunce 
flew. 


Wroth  wext  he  then,  and  sayd  that  words  were  light, 
Ne  would  witliin  his  ballaunce  well  abide  : 
But  he  could  iustly  weigh  the  wrong  or  right. 
"  Well  then,"  sayd  Artegall,  "  let  it  be  tride  : 
First  in  one  ballance  set  the  true  aside." 
He  did  so  first,  and  then  the  false  he  layd 
In  th'  other  scale ;  but  still  it  downe  did  slide. 
And  by  no  meane  could  in  tlie  weight  be  stayd  : 
For  by  no  meanes  the  false  will  with  the  truth  be 
wayd. 


"  Now  take  the  right  likewise,"  savd  Artegale, 
"  And  counterpeise  the  same  with  so  much  wrong,' 
So  first  the  right  he  put  into  one  scale  ; 
And  then  the  gyant  strove  with  puissance  strong 
To  fill  the  other  scale  with  so  much  wrong : 
But  all  the  wrongs  that  he  therein  could  lay- 
Might  not  it  peise  ;  vet  did  he  labour  long, 
And  swat,  and  chaufd,  and  proved  every  way: 
Yet  all  the  wrongs  could  not  a  litis  right  downe  wa  ^ 


248 


THE  fap:rie  QUKENE. 


[Book  V 


Which  when  he  saw,  he  (rreatly  grew  in  rage, 
And  -almost  would  his  balances  liave  broken: 
But  Artf<;all  him  fairelv  g'an  asswage, 
And  said,  "  Be  not  upon  thy  balance  wroken  ; 
For  thev  do  nought  but  right  or  wrong  betoken  ; 
Jjut  in  the  mind  the  dooms  of  right  must  bee  : 
And  so  likewise  of  words,  the  which  be  spoken, 
The  eare  must  be  the  ballance,  to  decree 
Andiudge,  whether  with  truth  or  falshood  they  agree. 

XLVIII, 

"  But  set  the  truth  and  set  the  right  aside, 
For  they  with  wrong  or  falshood  will  not  fare, 
And  put  two  wrongs  together  to  be  tride, 
Or  else  two  falses,  of  each  equal  sliare. 
And  then  together  doe  them  both  compare  ; 
For  truth  is  one,  and  right  is  ever  one." 
So  did  he  ;  and  then  plaine  it  did  appeare. 
Whether  of  them  the  greater  were  attone  : 
But  right  sat  in  the  middest  of  the  beame  alone. 


But  he  the  right  from  thence  did  thrust  away  ; 
For  it  was  not  the  rii;ht  which  he  did  seeke  : 
But  rather  strove  extremities  to  way, 
Th'  one  to  diminish,  th'  otljcr  for  to  eeke: 
For  of  the  meane  he  greatly  did  misleeke. 
Whom  when  so  lewdly  minded  Talus  found, 
Approching  nigh  unto  him  cheeke  hy  cheeke, 
lie  shouldered  him  from  oft'  the  higher  ground, 
And  down  the  rock  him  throwing  in  the  sea  him 
dround. 


Like  as  a  ship,  whom  cruell  tempest  drives 

l'))on  a  rccke  with  liorrible  dismay. 

Her  shaitered  ribs  in  tliousand  peeces  rives 

Aiid  sjioyling  all  her  genres  and  goodlj'  ray 

Does  make  herselfe  misfortunes  ]iiteous  jiray  : 

So  downe  the  clifi'e  the  wretched  gyant  tumbled; 

H  is  battred  ballances  in  peeces  lay. 

His  timbered  bones  all  broken  rudely  rumbled  : 

bo  was  the  hi};h-aspyring  witii  huge  ruine  humbled. 


That  when  the  people,  which  had  there  about 
Long  wayted,  saw  his  sudden  desolation, 
They  gan  to  gather  in  tumultuous  rout, 
And  mutining  to  stirre  up  civill  faction 
For  certaine  losse  of  so  great  expectation  : 
For  well  they  hoped  to  have  got  great  good. 
And  wondrous  riches  by  his  innovation  : 
Therefore  resolving  to  revenge  liis  blood, 
They  rose  in  armes,  and  all  in  battell  order  stood. 


Which  lawiesse  multitude  him  comming'  to 

In  warlike  wise  when  Artegall  did  vew. 

He  much  was  troubled,  ne  wist  what  to  do  : 

For  loth  he  was  his  noble  hands  t'embrew 

In  the  base  blood  of  sucli  a  rascall  crew ; 

And  otherwise,  if  that  he  should  retire. 

He  fear'd  lest  they  with  shame  would  him  pursew : 

Therefore  he  Talus  to  tbem  sent  t'inquire 

The  cause  of  their  array,  and  truce  for  to  desire. 


But  soone  as  they  him  nigh  approching  spide, 

Tliey  gan  with  all  their  weapons  him  assay, 

And  rudely  stroke  at  him  on  every  side  ; 

Yet  nought  they  could  him  hurt,  ne  ought  dismay: 

But  when  at  them  lie  with  his  flaile  gan  lay, 

He  like  a  swarm  of  flyes  them  overthrew  : 

Ne  any  of  them  durst  come  in  his  way, 

But  here  and  there  before  his  presence  ilew. 

And  hid  themselves  in  holes  and  bushes  from  his  vew; 


As  when  a  faulcon  hath  with  nimble  flight 

Flowne  at  a  tiusb  of  ducks  forebv  the  brooke. 

The  trembling  foule  disniayd  witli  dreadfull  sight 

Of  death,  the  which  tiiem  almost  overtooke. 

Doe  hide  then. selves  from  her  astonying  looke 

Amongst  the  flags  and  covert  round  about. 

\\  hen  Talus  saw  they  all  the  field  forsooke, 

And  none  appear'd  of  all  that  raskall  rout. 

To  Artegall  he  turn'd  imd  went  with  him  throughout. 


CANTO  in. 

The  spousals  of  faire  Florimell, 
Wlierc  turney  many  knights; 

There  Braggadochio  is  uncas'd 
In  all  the  ladies  sights. 


After  long  stormes  and  tempests  over-blowne 
1  he  suime  at  length  his  ioyous  face  doth  cleare  : 
So  wlienas  fortune  all  iier  spight  bath  showne. 
Some  blisfull  lioures  at  last  must  r.eedes  appeare  ; 
Else  should  afflictfd  wights  oft-times  dtspeire. 
So  comes  it  now  to  Florimell  by  lourne, 
After  long  sorrowes  suftered  whyleare, 
In  which  cajitiv'd  slie  manv  moiietlis  ilid  mourne, 
'i'o  tast  of  ioy,  and  to  wont  pleasures  to  retourne  : 


Who  being  freed  from  Proteus  cruell  band 

By  Marinell  was  unto  him  affide, 

And  by  him  brought  againe  to  Faerie  Land  ; 

A\  here  he  her  s])ous"d,  and  made  his  ioyous  bride. 

']  lie  time  and  place  was  blazed  farre  and  wide. 

And  soiemne  ieastes  and  giusts  ordain'd  therefore  : 

To  which  tliere  did  resort  from  every  side 

Of  lords  anil  latlies  in  Unite  great  store  ; 

Ne  any  knight  was  absent  that  brave  courage  bore. 


Canto  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


219 


o  tell  the  glorie  of  the  feast  that  day, 
be  goodly  service,  the  devicef'uU  sights, 
The  bridegroines  state,  the  brides  most  rich  aray, 
The  pride  of  ladies,  and  the  worth  of  kniglits, 
The  royall  banquets,  and  the  rare  delights, 
Were  worke  fit  for  an  herauld,  not  for  me  : 
But  for  so  much  as  to  my  lot  here  lig'hts, 
That  with  this  present  treatise  doth  agree. 
True  vertue  to  advance,  shall  here  recounted  bee. 


When  all  men  had  with  full  satietie 

Of  meates  and  drinkes  their  appetites  suffiz'd, 

To  deedes  of  armes  and  y)roofe  of  chevalrie 

They  gan  themselves  addresse,  full  rich  aguiz'd, 

As  each  one  had  his  furnitures  deviz'd. 

And  first  of  all  issu'd  Sir  INIarinell, 

And  with  him  sixe  knights  more,  wliich  enterpriz'd 

To  chalenge  all  in  ngiit  of  Florimell, 

And  to  maintaine  that  she  all  others  did  excell. 


The  first  of  them  was  hight  Sir  Orimont, 
A  noble  knight,  and  tride  in  h-.ird  assayes ; 
The  second  had  to  name  Sir  Bellisonf, 
But  second  unto  none  in  prowesse  prayse : 
The  third  was  Brunei!,  famous  in  his  dayes : 
The  fourth  Ecastor,  of  exceeding  might  : 
The  fift  Armeddan,  skild  in  lovely  layes  : 
The  sixt  was  Lansack,  a  redoubted  knight : 
All  sixe  well  seene  in  armes,  and  prov'd  in  many  a 
fight. 


And  them  against  came  all  that  list  to  giust. 
From  every  coast  and  countrie  under  sunne  : 
None  was  debard,  but  all  had  leave  that  lust. 
The  trompets  sound  ;  then  all  together  ronne. 
Full  many  deeds  of  armes  that  dav  were  donne  ; 
And  many  knights  unhorsr,  and  many  wounded. 
As  fortune  fell ;  yet  little  lost  or  vionne  : 
But  all  that  day  the  greatest  prayse  redounded 
To  Marinell,  whose  name  the  heralds  loud  resounded. 


The  second  day,  so  soone  as  morrow  light 

Appear'd  in  heaven,  into  the  field  they  came. 

And  there  all  day  continew'd  cruell  fight, 

With  divers  fortune  fit  for  such  a  game, 

In  whiih  all  strove  with  perill  to  wnine  fame ; 

Yet  whether  side  was  victor  note  be  ghest : 

But  at  the  last  the  trompets  did  procianie 

That  IMarinell  that  day  deserved  best. 

So  they  disparted  were,  and  all  men  went  to  rest. 


The  third  day  came,  tliat  should  due  tryall  lend 
Of  all  the  rest ;  and  then  tliis  warlike  ciew 
Together  met,  of  all  to  make  an  end. 
There  Marinell  great  deeds  of  armes  did  shew; 
And  through  the  thickest  lilce  a  Ivon  flew, 
Rashing  off  helnies,  and  ryving  plates  asonder ; 
That  every  one  his  daunger  did  eschew  : 
So  terribly  his  dreadful!  strokes  did  thonder. 
That  all  men   stood  amaz'd,  and  at  his  might   did 
wonder. 


But  what  on  earth  can  alwaies  happie  stand  ? 
The  greater  prowesse  greater  perils  find. 
So  larre  he  past  amongst  his  enemies  band, 
Th:it  tliey  have  him  enclosed  so  beliind. 
As  bv  no  meanes  he  can  himselfe  outwind  : 
And  novv  jjerlbrce  they  have  him  prisonei  taken  ; 
And  now  tliey  doe  with  captive  bands  him  hind ; 
And  now  they  lead  him  hence,  of  all  forsaken, 
Unlesse  some  succour  had  in  time  him  overtaken. 


It  fortun'd  whylest  they  were  thus  ill  beset. 

Sir  Artegall  into  the  tilt-yard  came. 

With  Hraggadochio,  whom  he  lately  met 

Upon  the  way  wiih  that  his  snowy  dame  : 

Where  when  he  understood  by  common  fame, 

W'hat  evil  hap  to  Marinell  betid, 

Fie  much  was  mov'd  at  so  unworthie  shame. 

And  streight  that  boaster  prayd,  with  whom  he  rid. 

To  change  his  shield  with  him,  to  be  the  better  hid. 


So  forth  he  went,  and  soone  them  overhent, 
^\  here  they  were  leading  IMarinell  away  ; 
\Vliom  iie  assavld  with  dreadlesse  hardiment. 
And  forst  the  burden  of  tlieir  prize  to  stay. 
They  were  an  hundred  kniglits  of  that  array  ; 
Of  which  th'  one  halfe  upon  himselfe  did  set, 
The  other  stayd  behind  to  gard  the  pray  : 
But  he  ere  long  the  former  fittie  bet ; 
And  from  the  other  fiftie  soone  the  prisoner  fet. 


So  backe  he  brought  Sir  IMarinell  againe  ; 
Whom  having  quickly  arm'd  againe  anew, 
I    They  hoth  together  inyned  might  and  maint-. 
To  set  airesli  on  ail  the  other  crew  : 
Whom  with  sore  havocke  soone  they  overthrew. 
And  chased  ijuite  out  of '.he  field,  that  none 
Against  them  durst  his  head  to  perill  shew. 
So  were  they  left  lords  of  the  field  alone  : 
So  jJarinell  by  him  was  rescu'd  from  his  fone. 


Which  when  he  had  perform'd,  then  bat.te  againe 

To  Braggadochio  did  his  shield  restore  : 

Who  all  this  while  beliind  him  did  remaine, 

Keeping  there  close  wiih  him  in  pretious  store 

That  his  false  ladie,  as  ye  Heard  afore. 

Then  did  the  trompets  sound,  and  iudges  rose, 

And  all  these  kniglits,  which  that  day  armour  bore. 

Came  to  the  open  hall  to  listen  whose 

The  honour  of  the  prize  should  be  adiudged  by  those. 


And  thether  also  came  in  open  sight 
Fayre  Florimell  into  tlie  common  hall. 
To  greet  his  guerdon  'into  every  knight, 
And  best  to  him  to  wlioin  the  b  st  si  ould  fail. 
Then  for  that  stiangei  knight  the.   loud  did  call^ 
I'o  whom  that  dav  ihey  should  the  girlond  yield  ; 
Who  came  not  liirth:  but  for  Sir  Artegall 
Came  Biagg;idocliio,  and  did  shew  his  shield. 
Which  bore  the  sunne  brode  blazed  in  a  golden  field. 


250 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[lioOK    V. 


The  sif^ht  whereof  did  all  with  o-ladnesse  fill : 
So  unto  bim  they  did  addeeme  the  prise 
Ot'all  that  trvumph.     Then  the  trompets  shrill 
DoiT  Hrao'gailochios  name  resounded  thrise  : 
Si)  courage  lent  a  cloke  to  cowardise  : 
And  then  to  him  came  fayrest  Florimell, 
And  goodly  gan  to  greete  his  brave  emprise, 
And  thousand  thankes  him  yeeld,  that  had  so  well 
Appror'd  that  day  that  she  all  others  did  excell. 


To  whom  the  boaster,  that  all  knights  did  blot, 

With  proud  disduine  did  scornefull  answere  make, 

That  what  he  did  that  day,  he  did  it  not 

For  her,  but  for  his  owne  deare  ladies  sake, 

Whom  on  his  perill  he  did  undertake 

Both  her  and  eke  all  others  to  excell : 

And  further  did  uncomely  speaches  crake. 

Much  did  his  words  the  gentle  ladie  quell, 

And  turu'd  aside  for  shame  to  heare  what  he  did  tell. 


Then  forth  he  brought  his  snowy  Florimele, 
Whom  Trompart  had  in  keeping  there  beside. 
Covered  from  peoples  gazement  with  a  vele  : 
Whom  when  discovered  they  had  throughly  eide, 
With  great  amazement  they  were  stupefide  ; 
And  said,  that  surely  Florimell  it  was. 
Or  if  it  were  not  Florimell  so  tride, 
That  Florimell  herselfe  she  then  did  pas. 
So  feeble  skill  of  perfect  things  the  vulgar  has. 


Which  whenas  Marinell  beheld  likewise. 

He  was  therewith  exceedingly  dismayd  ; 

Ne  wist  he  what  to  thinke,  or  to  devise : 

But,  like  as  one  whom  feends  had  made  affrayd. 

He  long  astonisht  stood,  ne  ought  he  sayd, 

Ne  ought  he  did,  but  with  fast  fixed  eies 

He  gazed  still  upon  that  snowy  mayd. 

Whom  ever  as  he  did  the  more  avize. 

The  more  to  be  true  Florimell  he  did  surmize. 


As  when  two  sunnes  appeare  in  th'  azure  stye, 

Mounted  in  Plncbus  charet  fiei-ie  bright, 

Both  darting  forth  faire  beames  to  each  mans  eye, 

And  both  adorn'd  with  lampes  of  flaming  light ; 

All  that  behold  so  strange  prodigious  sight. 

Not  knowing  natures  worke,  nor  wliat  to  weene. 

Are  rapt  with  wonder  and  with  rare  aflVight. 

So  stood  Sir  IVarinell  when  he  had  scene 

"•le  semblaut  of  this  false  by  his  faire  beauties  queene. 


All  which  when  Artegall,  who  all  this  while 
Stood  in  the  preasse  close  covered,  well  advewed. 
And  saw  that  boasters  pride  and  gracelesse  guile, 
lie  could  no  longer  heare,  but  forth  issewed. 
And  unto  all  himselfe  tiiere  open  shewed, 
A.nd  to  the  boaster  said  ;  "  Thou  losell  base, 
That  hast  with  borrowed  jilumes  tliyselfe  endewed. 
And  others  wortii  with  leasings  doest  deface, 
When  tliey  are  all  restor'd  thou  shalt  rest  in  dis- 
grace. 


"  That  shield,  which  thou  doest  beare,  was  it  indeed 

Which  this  dayes  honour  sav'd  to  JNIarinell  ; 

]^ut  not  that  arme,  nor  thou  tlie  man  I  reed, 

Which  didst  that  service  unto  Florimell : 

For  proofe  shew  forth  thy  sword,  and  let  it  tell 

What  strokes,  what  dreadfuU  stoure,  it  stird  this  day: 

Or  shew  the  wounds  which  unto  thee  befell  ; 

Or  shew  the  sweat  with  which  thou  diddest  sway 

So  sliarpe  a  battell,  that  so  many  did  dismay. 


"  But  this  the  sword  which  wrought   those  cruell 

stounds, 
And  this  the  arme  the  which  that  shield  did  beare. 
And  these  the  signs,"  (so  shewed  forth  his  wounds,) 
"  By  which  that  glorie  gotten  doth  appeare. 
As  for  this  ladie,  which  he  sheweth  here. 
Is  not  (I  wager)  Florimell  at  all  ; 
But  some  fiiyre  franion,  fit  for  such  a  fere, 
That  by  misfortune  in  his  hand  did  fall." 
For  proofe  whereof  he  bad  them  Florimell  forth  call. 

XXIII. 

So  forth  the  noble  ladie  was  ybrought, 
Adorn'd  with  honor  and  all  comelv  grace  : 
Whereto  her  bashfull  sbamefastnesse  vwrought 
A  great  increase  an  her  faire  blushing  face  ; 
As  roses  did  with  lillies  interlace  : 
For  of  those  words,  the  which  that  boaster  threw. 
She  inly  yet  conceived  great  disgrace  : 
Whom  whenas  all  the  people  such  did  vew. 
They  shouted  loud,  and  signes  of  gladnesse  all  did 
shev?. 


Then  did  he  set  her  by  that  snowy  one, 
Tike  the  true  saint  beside  tlie  image  set ; 
Of  both  their  besiuties  to  make  paragone 
And  triall,  whether  should  tlie  honor  get. 
Streightvvay,  so  soone  as  both  together  met. 
Th'  enchaunted  damzeil  vanisht  info  nought  : 
Her  snowy  substance  melted  as  with  heat, 
Ne  of  that  goodly  hew  remayned  ought. 
But  th'  einjitie  girdle  which  about  her  wast   was 
wrought. 


As  when  the  daughter  of  Thaumantes  faire 

Hath  in  a  watrv  cloud  dis]dayed  wide 

Her  goodly  bow,  which  paints  the  liquid  ayre  ; 

That  all  men  wonder  at  her  colours  })ride  ; 

All  suddenlv,  ere  one  can  looke  aside. 

The  glorious  picture  vanisheth  away, 

Ne  any  token  doth  thereof  abide  : 

So  did  this  ladies  goodly  forme  decay. 

And  into  nothing  goe,  ere  one  could  it  bewray. 


WHiicli  whenas  all  that  jtresent  were  beheld, 

They  stricken  were  with  great  astonishment, 

And  their  faint  harts  with  senselesse  horrour  queld, 

To  see  the  thing,  that  seem'd  so  excellent. 

So  stolen  from  their  fancies  wonderment ; 

'Jliat  what  of  it  became  none  understood  : 

And  Braggadocliio  selfe  witli  dreriment 

So  daunted  was  in  his  despeyring  mood. 

That  like  a  lifelesse  corse  immoveable  he  stood. 


Canto  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


251 


But  A.rtegall  tliat  golden  belt  uptooke, 
The  which  of  all  her  spovle  was  onelv  left; 
Which  was  not  hers,  as  many  it  iiiistoolie, 
But  Florimells  owne  girdle,  from  her  reft 
While  she  was  flyinj;-,  like  a  weary  weft, 
From  that  foule  monster  which  did  her  compell 
To  perils  great ;  which  he  unbuckling  eft 
Presented  to  the  fayresc  Floriniell ; 
Who  round  about  her  tender  wast  it  fitted  well. 


Full  many  ladies  often  liadassayd 

About  their  middles  that  faire  belt  to  knit; 

And  many  a  one  suppos'd  to  be  a  mayd  : 

Yet  it  to  none  of  all  their  loynes  would  fit, 

Till  Florimell  about  her  fastned  it. 

Such  power  it  had,  that  to  no  womans  wast 

By  any  skill  or  labour  it  would  fit, 

Unlesse  that  she  were  continent  and  chast ; 

But  it  would  lose  or  breake,  that  many  had  disgrast. 


Whilest  thus  they  busied  were  bout  Florimell, 
And  boastful!  Braggadochio  to  defame, 
Sir  Guyon,  as  bv  fortune  then  befell, 
Forth  from  the  thickest  preasse  of  people  came, 
His  owne  good  steetl,  which  he  had  stolne,  to  clame  ; 
And,  th'  one  hand  seizing  on  his  gulden  bit, 
W^ith  th'  other  drew  his  sword  ;  for  with  the  same 
He  meant  the  thiefe  there  deadly  to  have  smit : 
And,  had  he  not  bene  held,  he  nought  had  fayld  of  it. 


Thereof  great  hurlv  burly  moyed  was 
Throughout  the  hall  for  that  same  warlike  horse: 
For  Braggadochio  would  not  let  him  j)as  ; 
And  Guyon  would  him  algates  have  perforse. 
Or  it  approve  upon  his  carnon  corse. 
Which  troublous  stirre  when  Artegall  perceived, 
He  nigh  them  drew  to  stay  th' avengers  forse  ; 
And  gan  inquire  how  was  that  sieed  bereaved, 
Whether  by  might  extort,  or  else  by  slight  deceaved. 


Who  all  that  piteous  storie,  which  befell 
About  that  wofuU  couple  which  were  slaine, 
And  their  young  bloodie  babe  to  him  gan  tell ; 
With  whom  whdes  he  did  in  the  wood  remuine. 
His  horse  purloyned  was  by  subtill  traine; 
For  which  he  chalenged  the  thiefe  to  fight: 
But  he  for  nought  could  him  thereto  constraine  ; 
For  as  the  death  he  hated  such  despight. 
And  rather  had  to  lose  than  trie  in  armes  his  riaht. 


Which  Artegall  well  hearing,  (though  no  more 
By  law  of  armes  there  neede  ones  right  to  trie. 
As  was  the  wont  of  warlike  knights  of  yore. 
Then  that  his  toe  should  him  the  field  denie,) 
Yet  further  right  by  tokens  to  descrie, 
He  askt,  what  privie  tokens  he  did  beare. 
"  If  that,"  said  Guyon,  "  may  you  satii-tie. 
Within  his  mouth  a  blacke  jpotdoih  ajjjieare, 
Shapt  like  a  horses  shoe,  who  list  to  seeke  it  there.'' 


XXXIII, 

Whereof  to  make  due  trvall  one  did  take 
The  horse  in  hand  within  his  mouth  to  looke : 
But  with  his  lieeles  so  sorely  lie  him  strake, 
That  all  his  ribs  he  quite  in  peeces  broke, 
That  never  word  from  that  day  forth  he  spoke. 
Another,  that  would  seeme  to  have  more  wit. 
Him  by  the  bright  enibrodered  hedstall  tooke : 
But  by  the  shoulder  him  so  sore  he  bit, 
That  he  him  inaymed  quite,  and  all  his  shoulder  split. 


Ne  he  his  mouth  would  open  unto  w-ight, 
Untill  that  Guyon  selfe  unto  him  spake. 
And  called  Brigadore,  (so  was  he  hight,) 
Whose  voice  so  soone  as  he  did  undertake, 
F^ttsoones  he  stood  as  still  as  any  stake. 
And  suffred  all  his  secret  marke  to  see  ; 
And,  whenas  he  him  nam'd,  for  ioy  he  brake 
His  bands,  and  follow 'd  him  with  gladfull  glee. 
And  f'riskt,  and  flong  aloft,  and  louted  low  on  knee. 


Thereby  Sir  Artegall  did  plaine  areed, 

TJiat  unto  him  the  horse  belong'd:  and  sayd, 

"  Lo  there,  Sir  Guyon,  take  to  you  the  steed, 

As  he  with  golden  saddle  is  arayd  ; 

And  let  that  losell,  plainely  now  displayd, 

Hence  fare  on  foot,  till  he  an  horse  have  gayned." 

But  the  proud  boaster  gan  his  doome  upbrayd. 

And  him  revil'd,  and  rated,  and  disdayned, 

That  iudgement  so  uniust  against  him  had  ordayned. 

XXXVI. 

iMuch  was  the  knight  incenst  with  his  lewd  word. 

To  have  revenged  that  his  villeny  ; 

And  thrice  did  lay  his  hand  upon  his  sword. 

To  have  him  slaine,  or  dearely  doen  aby  : 

But  Guyon  did  his  choler  pacify, 

Saying,  "  Sir  knight,  it  would  dishonour  bee 

To  you  that  are  our  iudge  of  equity, 

Te  wreake  your  wrath  on  such  a  carle  as  hee  : 

It's  punishment  enough  that  all  his  shame  doe  see." 

XXXVII. 

So  did  he  mitigate  Sir  Artegall ; 
But  Talus  by  the  backe  the  boaster  hent. 
And  drawing  him  out  of  the  open  hall 
Upon  him  did  inflict  this  punishment: 
lirst  he  his  beard  did  shave,  and  fowly  shent ; 
Then  from  him  reft  his  shield,  and  it  renverst, 
And  blotted  out  his  amies  with  falshood  blent ; 
And  himselfe  bafiuld,  and  his  armes  unherst ; 
And  broke  his  sword  in  tuaine,  and  all  his  armour 
sperst. 

XXXVIII. 

The  whiles  his  guileful!  groome  was  fled  away; 
But  vaine  it  was  to  tlnnke  from  liim  to  file : 
Who  overtaking  him  did  disarav. 
And  all  his  face  deform 'd  with  iuilimie, 
And  out  of  court  him  scourged  openly. 
So  ought  all  faytours,  that  true  knighthood  shame, 
And  armes  dishonour  with  base  villanie. 
From  all  brave  knights  be  banisht  with  defame : 
For  oft  their  lewdness  bloiteth  good  deserts  with 
blame. 


S52 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V. 


XXXIX. 

Now  wl)en  these  counterfeits  were  thus  uncased 

Out  of  the  foveside  of  their  forgerie. 

And  ill  ilie  sii;ht  of  all  men  cleane  disgraced, 

All  s::\n  to  iest  and  gibe  full  merilie 

At  the  rememhrance  of  their  knaverie  : 

Ladies  can  laugh  at  ladies,  knights  at  knights. 

To  thinke  with  how  great  vaunt  of  braverie 

He  them  abused  through  his  subtill  slights, 

And  what  a  glorious  shew  he  made  in  all  their  sights. 


There  leave  we  them  in  pleasure  and  repast, 
Spending  their  ioyous  dayes  and  gladfull  nights. 
And  taking  usurie  of  time  forepast. 
With  all  deare  delices  and  rare  delights, 
Fit  for  such  ladies  and  such  lovely  knights : 
And  turne  we  here  to  this  faire  t'urrowes  end 
Our  wearie  j'okes,  to  gather  fresher  sprights, 
That,  whenas  time  to  Artegall  shall  tend, 
We  on  his  first  adventure  may  him  forward  send. 


CANTO  IV. 

Artegall  dealeth  right  betwixt 
Two  brethren  that  doe  strive: 

Saves  Terpine  from  tlie  gallow  tree. 
And  doth  from  death  reprive. 


W'hko  upon  himselfe  will  take  the  skill 

True  iustice  unto  people  to  divide. 

Had  need  have  mightie  hands  for  to  fulfill 

That  which  he  doth  with  righteous  doome  decide, 

And  for  to  maister  wrong  and  puissant  pride  : 

For  vaine  it  is  to  deenie  of  things  aright. 

And  makes  wrong  doers  iustice  to  deride, 

Unlesse  it  be  perform'd  with  dreadlesse  might : 

For  powre  is  the  right  hand  of  iustice  truely  hight. 


Therefore  whylome  to  knights  of  great  emprise 
'J  lie  charge  of  iustice  given  was  in  trust, 
That  they  might  execute  her  iudgements  wise, 
And  with  their  might  beat  downe  licentious  lust, 
Wliicii  proudly  di<l  iinpugne  lier  sentence  iust ; 
Whereof  no  braver  president  this  day 
Remaines  on  earth,  preserv'd  from  yron  rust 
Of  rude  oblivion  and  long  times  decay. 
Then  this  of  Artegall,  which  here  we  have  to  say. 


Who  having  lately  left  that  lovely  payre, 
Eiilincked  fast  in  wedlockes  loyall  bond, 
J}ol(l  Marinell  with  Florimell  the  fayre, 
With  whom  great  feast  and  goodly  "glee  he  fond. 
Departed  iVoni  the  castle  of  the  strond 
To  follow  his  adventures  first  intent, 
Whicli  long  agoe  he  taken  had  in  bond  : 
Ne  wight  with  him  for  his  assistance  went, 
but  that  great  yron   grooine,  his  gard  and  govern- 
ment : 


With  whom,  as  lie  did  passe  by  the  sea-shore, 
lie  chaunst  to  come  whereas  two  comely  squires, 
J5oth  brethren  whom  one  wombe  together  bore, 
But  stirred  up  with  different  desires, 
Together  strove,  and  kindled  wrathl'ull  fires  : 
And  them  beside  two  seemely  damzcls  stood, 
By  all  me  mes  seeking  to  asswage  tlioir  ires. 
Now  with  faire  words  ;  but  words  did  little  good  ; 
Now    with    sharpe    threats;    but  threats  the  more 
increasl  their  mood. 


And  there  before  them  stood  a  coffer  strong 
Fast  bound  on  every  side  with  iron  bands, 
}5ut  seeming  to  have  suffred  mickle  wrong. 
Either  by  being  wreckt  uppon  the  sands. 
Or  being  carried  farre  from  forraine  lands  : 
Seem'd  that  for  it  these  squires  at  ods  did  fall. 
And  bent  against  themselves  their  cruell  hands; 
But  evermore  those  damzels  did  forestall 
Their  furious  encounter,  and  their  fiercenesse  pall. 


But  firmely  fixt  they  were  with  dint  of  sword 

And  battailes  doubtfull  proofe  their  rights  to  try.: 

Ne  otlier  end  their  furv  would  afford, 

]5ut  what  to  them  fortune  would  iustify: 

So  stood  they  both  in  readinesse  tliereby 

To  ioyne  the  coinbate  with  cruell  intent: 

When  Artegall  arriving  happily 

Did  stay  awhile  their  greedy  bickerment. 

Till  he  had  questioned  the  cause  of  their  dissent. 


To  whom  the  elder  did  this  aunswere  frame; 
"  Then  weet  ye,  sir,  that  we  two  brethrea  be. 
To  whom  our  sire,  IMilesio  bv  name, 
Did  ecpiallv  be()ueath  his  lands  in  fee. 
Two  ishinds,  which  ve  there  before  you  see 
Not  farre  in  sea  ;  of  which  the  on<^  appeares 
But  like  a  lit;le  mount  of  small  degree  ; 
Yet  was  as  great  and  wide  ere  many  yeares. 
As  that  same  other  isle,  that   greater   bredth  now 
beares. 

VIII. 

"  But  tract  of  time,  that  all  things  doth  decay, 
And  this  devouring  sea,  that  nought  doth  spare. 
The  most  part  of  my  land  hath  washt  away. 
And  tlirowne  it  uji  unto  my  brothers  share: 
So  his  encreased,  but  mine  did  empaire. 
15efore  which  time  I  lov'd,  as  was  my  lot, 
'J'liat  further  mayd,  hight  Philtera  the  faire, 
\V  ith  whom  a  goodly  iloure  I  should  have  got. 
And  should  have   loyiied  bene  to   her   in  wedlock 
knot.. 


Canto  IV.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


253 


"  Then  did  my  younger  bretl)er  Amidas 

Love  that  same  otiier  damzell,  Lucy  bright, 

To  whom  but  little  dowre  allotted  was  : 

Her  vertue  was  the  dowre  that  did  deliglit : 

What  better  dowre  can  to  a  dame  be  hight? 

But  now,  when  Pliiltra  saw  my  lands  decay 

And  former  livel'od  favle,  she  left  me  (juight, 

And  to  my  brother  did  elope  streightway  : 

Who,  taking  her  from  me,  his  owiie  love  left  astray. 


"  She,  seeing  then  herselfe  forsaken  so, 
Through  dolorous  despaire  which  she  conceyved. 
Into  the  sea  herselfe  did  headlong  throw, 
Thinking  to  have  her  griefe  by  death  bereaved  ; 
But  see  how  much  her  purpose  was  deceived  ! 
Whilest  thus,  amidst  the  billowes  beating  of  her, 
'i'wixt  life  and  death  long  to  and  fro  she  weaved, 
She  chaunst  unwares  to  light  upon  this  coffer. 
Which  to  her  in  that  daunger  hope  of  life  did  offer. 


"  The  wretched  mayd,  that  earst  desir'd  to  die, 

W'nenas  the  paine  of  deatli  she  tasted  had. 

And  but  halfe  seene  his  ugly  visnoniie, 

Gan  to  repent  that  she  had  beene  so  mad 

For  any  death  to  chaunge  life,  though  most  bad  : 

And  catching  hold  of  this  sea-beaten  chest, 

Ci'he  lucky  pylot  of  her  passage  sad,) 

After  long  tossing  in  the  seas  distrest. 

Her  weary  barke  at  last  uppon  mine  isle  did  rest. 


"  Where  I  by  chaunce  then  wandring  on  the  shore 
Did  her  espy,  and  through  my  good  endevour 
From  dreadfull  mouth  of  death,  which  threatned  sore 
Tier  to  have  swallow'd  up,  did  helpe  to  save  her. 
She  then,  in  recompence  of  that  great  favour. 
Which  I  on  her  bestowed,  bestowed  on  me 
The  portion  of  that  good  which  fortune  gave  her, 
'iogether  with  Ijerselfe  in  dowry  free  ; 
]5oth  goodly  portions,  but  of  both  the  better  she. 


"  Yet  in  this  coffer  which  she  with  her  brought 
(ireat  threasure  sithence  we  did  finde  contained  ; 
Which  as  our  owne  we  tooke,  and  so  it  thought  j 
Hut  this  same  other  damzell  since  hath  fained 
'I'hat  to  herselfe  that  threasure  a|)pertained  ; 
And  that  she  did  transport  tlie  same  by  sea, 
'io  bring  it  to  her  husband  new  ordained, 
lUit  suftred  cruell  shipwracke  by  the  way  : 
Lut,  whether  it  be  so  or  no,  I  cannot  say. 


"  But,  whether  it  indeede  be  so  or  no, 

Tiiis  doe  I  say,  that  whatso  good  or  ill 

Or  God,  or  fortune,  unto  me  did  throw, 

(  Not  wronging  any  other  by  my  will,) 

1  hold  mine  owne,  and  so  will  hold  it  still. 

Ami  thougli  my  land  he  first  did  winne  away. 

And  then  my  love,  (tjiough  now  it  little  skill,) 

\  pt  my  good  lucke  he  shall  not  likewise  pray  ; 

But  I  will  It  defend  whilst  ever  that  I  may." 


So  havmg  snyd,  the  younger  did  ensew  ; 

"  Full  true  it  is  whatso  about  our  land 

Rly  brother  here  declared  hath  to  you  ■ 

But  not  for  it  this  ods  twixt  us  doth  stand, 

But  for  this  threasure  throwne  uppon  his  strand  ; 

Which  well  1  prove,  as  shall  appeare  by  triall. 

To  be  this  maides  with  whom  1  fastned  hand. 

Known  by  good  markes  and  perfect  good  espiall  : 

Therefore  it  ought  be  rendred  her  without  deniall." 


When  they  thus  ended  had,  the  knight  began  ; 
"  Certes  your  strife  were  easie  to  accord, 
Would  ye  remit  it  to  some  righteous  man." 
"  Unto  yourselfe,"  said  they,  "  we  give  our  woi'il. 
To  bide  that  iudgement  ye  shall  us  afford." 
"  Then  for  assurance  to  my  doome  to  stand, 
Under  my  foote  let  each  lay  downe  his  sword  ; 
And  then  you  shall  my  sentence  understand." 
So  each  of  them  layd  downe  his  sword   out   of  his 
band. 


Then  Artegall  thus  to  the  younger  sayd  ; 
"  Now  tell  me,  Amidiis,  if  that  ye  may. 
Your  brothers  land  the  which  the  sea  hath  layd 
Unto  your  part,  and  pluckt  from  his  away. 
By  what  good  right  doe  you  withhold  this  dav  ?" 
"  What  other  right,"  quoth  he,  "  should  you  esteeme, 
But  that  the  sea  it  to  my  share  did  lay  i" 
"  Your  right  is  good,  "  sayd  he,  "  and  so  I  deeme, 
1  hat  what  the  sea  unto  you  sent  your  owne  should 
seeme." 


Then  turning  to  the  elder,  thus  he  sayd  : 
"  Now,  Bracidas,  let  this  likewise  be  showne ; 
Your  brothers  threasure,  which  from  him  is  strayd, 
Being  the  dowry  of  his  wife  well  knowne. 
By  what  right  doe  you  clainie  to  be  your  owne?" 
"  What  other  right,"  quoth  he,  "should you  esteeme, 
But  that  the  sea  hath  it  unto  me  throwne?" 
"  Your  right  is  good,"  sayd  he,  "  and  so  I  deeme, 
That  what  the  sea  unto  you  sent  your  owne  should 
seeme. 


"  For  equall  right  in  equall  things  doth  stand : 
For  what  the  mighty  sea  hath  once  possest. 
And  plucked  quite  from  all  possessors  hand. 
Whether  by  rage  of  waves  that  never  rest. 
Or  else  by  wracke  that  wretches  hath  distrest. 
He  may  dispose  by  his  impenall  might, 
As  thing  at  randon  left,  to  whom  he  list. 
So,  Amidas,  the  land  was  yours  first  hight ; 
And  so  the  threasure  yours  is,  Bracidas,  by  right." 


^Vhen  he  his  sentence  thus  pronounced  had. 

Both  Amidas  and  Philtra  were  disjileased  ; 

But  Bracidas  and  Lucy  were  right  glad. 

And  on  the  threasure  by  that  iudgement  seased. 

So  was  their  discord  by  this  doome  appeased, 

And  each  one  had  his  right.     Then  Artegall, 

Whenas  their  sharpe  contention  he  liad  ceased, 

Departed  on  his  way,  as  did  befall. 

To  follow  his  old  quest,  the  which  him  forth  did  call. 


25  k 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


So,  as  lie  travelled  uppon  the  way, 

He  cliaunst  to  come,  \vl)ere  liappily  he  spide 

A  rout  of  many  people  farre  away  ; 

To  whom  his  course  he  hastily  applide. 

To  weete  the  cause  of  their  assemblaunce  wide  : 

To  whom  when  he  approched  neare  in  sight, 

CAn  uncouth  sight,)  he  plainely  then  descride 

To  he  a  troupe  of  women,  warlike  dight, 

With  weapons  in  their  hands,  as  ready  for  to  fight : 


And  in  the  midst  of  them  he  saw  a  knight, 

A\  ith  both  his  hands  hehinde  him  pinnoed  hard, 

And  round  about  his  necke  an  halter  tight, 

And  ready  for  the  gallow  tree  prepard  : 

His  face  was  covered,  and  his  head  was  bar'd, 

That  who  he  was  uneath  was  to  descry ; 

And  with  full  heavy  heart  with  them  he  far'd, 

Griev'd  to  the  soule,  and  groning  inwardly. 

That  he  of  womens  hands  so  base  a  death  should  dy. 


But  they,  like  tyrants  mercilesse,  the  more 

Reioyced  at  his  miserable  case, 

And  him  revded,  and  reproched  sore 

With  bitter  taunts  and  termes  of  vile  disgrace, 

Now  whenas  Artegall,  arriv'd  in  place, 

Did  aske  what  cause  brought  that  man  to  decay, 

They  round  about  him  gan  to  swarm  apace. 

Meaning  on  him  their  cruell  hands  to  lay, 

And  to  have  wrought  unwares  some  villanous  assay. 

XXIV. 

But  he  was  soon  aware  of  their  ill  minde. 

And  drawing  backe  deceived  their  intent : 

Yet,  though  hiniselfe  did  shame  on  womankinde 

His  mighty  hand  to  shend,  he  Talu-s  sent 

To  wrecke  on  them  their  follies  hardyment . 

Who  with  few  sowces  of  his  yron  flale 

Dispersed  all  their  troujie  incontinent, 

And  sent  them  home  to  tell  a  piteous  tale 

Of  their  vaine  prowesse  turned  to  their  proper  bale; 


But  that  same  wretched  man,  ordaynd  to  die, 
They  left  behind  them,  glad  to  be  so  quit: 
Him  Talus  tooke  out  of  jierplexitie, 
And  horror  of  fowle  death  for  knight  unfit, 
W'lio  more  than  losse  of  life  ydreaded  it ; 
And,  !)im  restoring  unto  living  light, 
So  brougiit  unto  his  lord,  where  he  did  sit 
J^eholding  all  that  womanish  weake  fight ; 
Whom  soone  as  he  beheld  he  knew,  and  thus  he- 
hight; 


"  Sir  Turpine,  haplesse  man,  what  make  you  here  ? 

Or  have  you  lost  yourselfe  and  your  discretion, 

'I'ljat  ever  in  this  wretched  cast  ye  were? 

Or  have  ye  veelded  vou  to  jiroude  o])pression 

Of  womens  powre,  that  boast  of  mens  subicction? 

Or  (l^e  w  hat  other  deadly  dismall  day 

Is  faliie  on  vou  by  henvens  hard  direction. 

That  ye  were  runne  so  fondlv  far  astray 

As  tor  to  lead  yourselfe  unto  3'our  owne  decay  1" 


Rluch  was  the  man  confounded  in  his  mind. 
Partly  with  shame,  and  partly  with  dismay. 
That  all  astonisht  he  himselfe  did  find. 
And  little  had  for  his  excuse  to  say. 
But  onely  thus ;  "JMost  haplesse  well  ye  may 
Me  iustly  terme,  that  to  this  shame  am  brought. 
And  made  the  scorne  of  knighthood  this  same  day  • 
But  who  can  scape  what  his  owne  fate  hath  wrought? 
The  worke    of  heavens  will    surpasseth   humaine 
thouo;ht." 


"  Right  true  :  but  faulty  men  use  oftentimes 

To  attribute  their  folly  unto  fate, 

And  lay  on  heaven  the  guilt  of  their  owne  crimes. 

But  tell,  Sir  Terpin,  ne  let  you  amate 

Your  misery,  how  fell  ye  in  this  state  1" 

"  'I'hensithye  needs,"  quoth  he,"willknowmyshame, 

And  all  the  ill  which  chaunst  to  me  of  late, 

I  shortly  will  to  you  rehearse  the  same, 

In  hope  ye  will  not  turne  misfortune  to  my  blame. 


"  Being  desirous  (as  all  knights  are  woont) 
Through  hard  adventures  deedes  of  amies  to  try. 
And  after  fame  and  honour  for  to  hunt, 
I  heard  report  that  farre  abrode  did  fly. 
That  a  proud  araazon  did  late  defy 
All  the  brave  knights  that  hold  of  Maidenliead, 
And  unto  them  wrought  all  the  villanv 
That  she  could  forge  in  her  malicious  head, 
Which  some  hath  put  to  shame,  and  many  done  be 
dead. 

XXX. 

"  The  cause,  they  say,  of  this  her  cruell  hate, 

Is  for  the  sake  of  Bellodant  the  bold. 

To  whom  she  bore  most  fervent  love  of  late, 

And  wooed  him  by  all  the  waies  she  could  : 

I5ut,  when  she  saw  at  last  that  he  ne  would 

For  ought  or  nought  be  wonne  unto  her  will, 

She  turn'd  her  love  to  hatred  manifold, 

And  for  his  sake  vow'd  to  due  all  the  ill  [fulfill. 

Which  she  could  doe  to  knights  ;  which  now  she  doth 


"  For  all  those  knights,  the  which  by  force  or  guile 
She  doth  subdue,  she  fowly  doth  entreate  : 
First,  she  doth  them  of  warhk«  amies  despoile. 
And  cloth  in  womens  weedes ;  and  then  with  threat 
Uoth  them  compell  to  worke,  to  earne  their  meat, 
To  spin,  to  card,  to  sew,  to  wash,  to  wring; 
Me  doth  she  give  them  other  thing  to  eat 
But  bread  and  water  or  like  feeble  thing ; 
Them  to  disable  from  revenge  adventuring. 

xxxir. 

"  But  if  through  stout  disdaine  of  manly  mind 

Any  her  proud  observaiince  will  withstand, 

Uppon  that  gibbet,  which  is  there  behind, 

She  causeth  them  be  hang'd  uj)  out  of  hand  ; 

In  whicl)  condition  I  right  now  did  stand  : 

For,  being  overcome  by  her  in  fight, 

And  {)ut  to  that  base  service  of  her  band, 

I  rather  chose  to  die  in  lives  des])ight. 

Then  lead  that  shamefull  life,  uuworiiiy  of  a  knighi." 


Canto  IV. "I 


THE  FAERTE  QUEENE. 


"  How  hig-lit  that  aniazon,"  sayd  Arteg-all, 
"  And  where  and  liow  fiir  hence  does  she  abide?" 
"  Her  name,"  quoth  he,  "  they  Radigund  doe  call, 
A  princesse  of  great  powre  and  greater  pride, 
•And  (jueene  of  amazons,  in  armes  well  tride 
And  sundry  battels,  which  she  hath  achieved 
With  great  successe,  that  her  hath  glorifide, 
And  made  her  famous,  more  then  is  believed ; 
Ne  would  I  it  have  ween'd  had  I  not  late  it  prieved." 


"  Now  sure,"  said  he,  "  and  by  the  faith  that  I 
To  Maydenhead  and  noble  knighthood  owe, 
1  will  not  rest  till  I  her  might  doe  trie. 
And  venge  the  shame  that  she  to  knights  doth  show. 
Therefore,  Sir  Terpin,  from  you  lightly  tlirow 
This  squalid  weede,  the  patterne  of  dispaire, 
And  wend  with  me,  that  ye  may  see  and  know 
How  fortune  will  your  ruin'd  name  repaire 
And  knightsof  Maidenhead,  whose  praise  she  would 
empaire." 

XXXV. 

With  that,  like  one  that  hopelesse  was  repryv'd 

From  deathes  dore  at  whicli  he  lately  lay, 

Those  yron  fetters  wherewith  he  was  gw'd. 

The  badges  of  reproch  he  threw  away. 

And  nimbly  did  him  dight  to  guide  the  way 

Unto  the  dwelling-  of  that  amazone  : 

Which  was  from  thence  not  past  a  mile  or  tway; 

A  goodly  citty  and  a  mighty  one, 

'lae  wDich,  of  her  owne  name,  she  called  Radegong. 


Where  they  arriving  by  the  watchmen  were 
Descried  streight ;  who  all  the  citty  warned 
How  that  three  warlike  persons  did  appeare. 
Of  which  the  one  him  seem'd  a  knight  all  armed. 
And  th' other  two  well  likely  to  have  harmed. 
Eftsoones  the  people  all  to  harnesse  ran. 
And  like  a  sort  of  bees  in  clusters  swarmed : 
Ere  long  their  queene  herselfe,  halfelike  a  man, 
Came  forth  into  the  rout,  and  them  t' array  began. 


And  now  the  knights,  being  arrived  neare, 
Did  beat  uppon  the  gates  to  enter  in ; 
And  at  the  porter,  skorning  them  so  few. 
Threw  many  threats,  if  they  the  towne  did  win, 
To  teare  his  flesh  in  jjieces  for  his  sin  : 
Which  whenas  Radigund  there  comming  heard, 
Her  heart  for  rage  did  grare,  and  teeth  did  grin  : 
She  bad  that  streight  the  gates  should  be  unbard, 
And  to  them  way  to  make  wiih  weapons  well  pre- 
pard. 

xxxviii. 

Soone  as  the  gates  were  open  to  them  set. 
They  pressed  forward,  entraunce  to  have  made  : 
Ijut  in  tLe  middle  way  they  were  ymet 
\\  ith  a  sharpe  showre  ot  arrowes,  which  them  staid, 
Ami  better  bad  advise,  ere  they  assaid 
Uiiknowenperill  of  bold  womens  pride. 
Then  all  that  rout  uppon  them  rudely  laid. 
And  ht  aped  strokes  so  fast  on  every  side, 
And  unowes  haild  so  thicke,  that  they  could  not 
abide. 


But  Radigund  herselfe,  wlien  she  espide 

Sir  Terpin  from  her  direfull  doome  acquit 

So  cruell  doale  amongst  her  maicles  divide, 

T'  avenge  that  shame  they  did  on  him  comm;t. 

All  sodainely  enflam'd  with  furious  fit 

Like  a  fell  lionesse  at  him  she  flew. 

And  on  his  head-piece  him  so  fiercely  smit,     * 

Tl>at  to  the  ground  him  quite  she  overthrew, 

Dismayd  so  with  the  stroke  that  he  no  colours  knew 


Soone  as  she  saw  him  on  the  ground  to  grovell, 
She  lightly  to  him  leapt ;  and,  in  his  necke 
Her  proud  foote  setting,  at  his  head  did  levell, 
Weening  at  once  her  wrath  on  him  to  wreake, 
And  his  contempt,  that  did  her  iudgment  breake . 
As  when  a  beare  hath  seiz'il  her  cruell  clawes 
Uppon  the  carkasse  of  some  beast  too  weake. 
Proudly  stands  over,  and  awhile  doth  pause 
To  heare  the  piteous  beast  pleading  lier  plaintiffe 
cause. 


Whom  whenas  Artegall  in  that  distresse 

By  chaunce  beheld,  he  left  the  bloudy  slaughter 

In  which  he  swam,  and  ranne  to  hisredresse  : 

There  her  assavling  fiercely  fresh  he  raught  her 

Such  an  huge  stroke,  that  it  of  sence  distraught  her  , 

And,  had  she  not  it  warded  warily, 

It  liad  depriv'd  her  mother  of  a  daughter  : 

Nathlesse  for  all  the  powre  she  did  apply 

It  made  her  stagger  oft,  and  stare  w  ith  ghastly  eye  ' 


Like  to  an  eagle,  in  his  kingly  pride 
Soring  through  his  wide  empire  of  the  aire. 
To  weather  his  brode  sailes,  by  chaunce  hath  spide 
A  goshauke,  which  hath  seized  for  her  share 
Uppon  some  fowle,  that  should  her  feast  prepare  , 
With  dreadfull  force  he  flies  at  her  bylive, 
I'hat  with  his  souce,  which  none  enduren  dare. 
Her  from  the  quarry  he  away  doth  drive, 
And  from  her  griping  pounce  the  greedy  prey  dotli 
rive. 

XLIII. 

But,  soone  as  she  her  sence  recover'dhad. 

She  fiercely  towards  him  herselfe  gan  dight,     [mad  ; 

Through  vengeful  wrath  and    sdeignfull   pride  half 

For  never  had  she  suflfred  such  de^])lgl]t: 

But,  ere  she  could  ioyne  hand  with  him  to  fight. 

Her  warlike  maides  about  her  floikt  so  fast, 

That  they  disparted  them,  maugre  their  might. 

And  with  their  troupes  did  far  asunder  cast  : 

But  mongst  the  rest  ihe  fight  did  untill  evening  last 


And  every  while  that  mighty  yron  man. 

With  his  strange  weapon,  never  wont  in  warre. 

Them  sorely  vext,  and  courst.  and  over-ran. 

And  broke  their  bowes,  and  diil  tlieir  shooting  marre 

That  none  of  all  the  many  once  did  darre 

Jlim  to  assault,  nor  once  approach  iiini  nie  ; 

But  like  a  sort  of  sheepe  dispersed  farre. 

For  dread  of  their  devouring  enemie. 

Through  all  the  fields  and  valUesdid  before  iiim  Hie 


2^G 


THE  FAERIE  (JUEENE. 


rB"0«-  V 


hut  wheims  daies  f;iire  sliinie  beanie,  yclowded 
AVitli  fearefull  shadowes  of  deformed  night, 
W  arn'd  man  and  beast  in  quiet  rest  be  slirowded, 
l>old  Hadigund  with  sound  of  trumpe  on  )iiglit, 
Causd  all  her  people  to  surcease  from  fight  ; 
And,  gathering  them  unto  her  citties  gate, 
Made  fhem  all  enter  in  before  her  sight; 
And  all  the  wounded,  and  the  weake  in  state, 
'lo  be  convaved  in,  ere  she  would  once  retrate. 


Wlien  thus  the  field  was  voided  all  away, 

And  all  things  quieted  ;  the  elfin  knight, 

Weary  of  toile  and  travell  of  that  day, 

Causd  his  pavilion  to  be  richly  pight, 

liefore  the  city-gate,  in  open  sight ; 

Where  he  bimselfe  did  rest  in  saftjty 

I  ogether  with  Sir  Terpin  all  that  night: 

]!iit  Talus  usde,  in  times  of  ieojjardy, 

'I'd  keepe  a  nightly  watch  for  dread  of  treachery. 


l?ut  Radigund,  full  of  heart-gnawing  griefe 
I'(,r  the  rebuke  wiiich  she  sustain'd  that  day, 
Could  take  no  rest,  ne  would  receive  reliefe  ; 
liut  tossed  in  her  troublous  minde  wlsit  way 
She  mote  revenge  that  blot  which  on  her  lay. 
There  she  resolv'd  herselfe  in  single  fight 
Til  try  her  fortune,  and  his  force  assay, 
Kather  than  see  her  people  Sf.oiled  quigbt, 
As  she  had  scene  that  day,  a  disadventerous  siglit. 


She  called  forth  to  her  a  trustv  mavd. 
Whom  she  thought  fittest  for  that  businesse  : 
Her  name  was  Clarin,  and  thus  to  her  sayd  ; 
"  Goe,  damzell,  quicklv,  doe  tliyselfe  addiesse 
To  doe  the  message  which  I  shall  expresse : 
Goe  thou  unto  that  stranger  faery  knight. 
Who  yesterday  drove  us  to  such  distresse ; 
Tell,  that  to-morrow  I  with  him  will  fight, 
And  try  in  equall  field  whether  hath  greater  might. 


"  15ut  these  conditions  doe  to  him  propound  ; 

That,  if  1  vanquishe  him,  he  shall  obay 

i\Iy  law,  and  ever  to  my  lore  be  bound  ; 

And  so  will  I,  if  me  he  vanquish  may ; 

Whatever  he  siiall  like  to  doe  or  say  : 

Go  streight,  and  take  with  thee  to  vritnesse  it 

Sixe  of  thy  fellowes  of  the  best  array, 

And  beare  with  you  both  wine  and  iuncates  fit. 

And  bid  him  eate:  henceforth  he  oft  shall  hungry  sit." 


The  damzell  streight  oba3'd  ;  and,  putting  all 
In  readinesse,  forth  to  the  town-gate  went  ; 
Where,  sounding  loud  u  trumpet  from  the  wall, 
Unto  those  warlike  knights  she  warning  sent. 
Then  Talus  forth  issuing  from  the  tent 
I    Unto  the  \\  \\\  his  way  did  fearlesse  take, 
j    To  weeten  what  that  trumpets  sounding  ment. 
j    Where  thi't  same  damzell  lovvdly  him  besijake, 
j   Aud  siiew'd  that  with  his  lord  she  would  emparlaunc* 
make. 


So  he  them  streight  conducted  to  his  lord  ; 
Who,  as  he  could,  them  goodly  well  did  greete. 
Till  they  had  told  their  message  word  by  word  ; 
Wlucli  he  accepting,  well  as  he  could  weete. 
Them  fairely  entertaynd  with  curt'sies  meete. 
And  gave  them  gifts  and  things  of  deaie  delight: 
So  backe  againe  they  homeward  turn'd  their  feete  ; 
But  Artegall  himselfe  to  rest  did  dight, 
That  he  mote  fresher  be  against  the  next  daies  fight 


CANTO  V. 

Artegall  fights  with  Radigund, 
And  is  subdew'd  by  guile  : 

He  is  by  her  emprisoned. 

But  wrought  by  Chains  wile. 


So  scone  as  day  forth  dawning  from  the  east 
Nights  iiumid  curtaine  from  the  heavens  withdrew. 
And  earely  calling  forth  both  man  and  beast 
(!otrimaunded  them  their  daily  workes  renew; 
I'hese  noble  warriors,  niindefull  to  pursew 
'1  lie  last  daies  purpc  e  of  their  vowed  fight, 
'Jhtmselves  thereto  ^reparde  in  order  dew  j 
'J  'le  Knigiit,  as  besi  tvas  seeming  for  a  knight, 
Aiul  th'  amazon,  as  best  it  lik-t  herselfe  to  dight, 


All  in  a  camis  light  of  purple  silke 
Woven  ujipon  with  silver,  subtly  wrought. 
And  quilted  uppon  suttin  white  as  milke ; 
Trayled  with  ribbands  diversly  distraught, 
Like  as  tlio  workeman  had  their  courses  taught  J 
Which  was  short  tucked  for  light  motion 
Up  to  her  ham  ;  hut,  when  she  list,  it  raught 
Downe  to  her  lowest  heele,  and  thereupjiou 
She  wore  for  her  defence  a  miyled  habergeon. 


Canto  V.] 


Till,  f  ^VRLE  QUKLNK. 


25" 


And  on  Iier  legs  she  painted  buskins  wore, 
Basted  with  bends  of  gold  on  every  side, 
And  mailes  betweene,  and  hiced  close  atbre ; 
Uppou  her  thigh  her  cemitare  was  tide 
With  an  embrodered  belt  of  mickell  pride  ; 
And  on  her  shoulder  hung  her  sliield,  bedeckt 
Uppon  the  bosse  with  stones  that  shined  wide, 
As  the  faire  moone  in  her  most  full  aspect ; 
That  to  the  moone  it  mote  be  like  in  each  respect. 


So  forth  she  came  out  of  the  citty-gate 

With  stately  port  and  proud  magnificence, 

Guarded  with  many  damzels  that  did  waits 

Uppon  her  person  for  her  sure  defence, 

Playing  on  shaumes  and  trumpets,  tliat  from  hence 

Theii  sound  did  reach  unto  the  heavens  liight : 

So  forth  into  the  field  she  marched  thence, 

Where  was  a  rich  pavilion  ready  piglit 

Her  to  receive,  till  time  they  should  begin  the  fight. 


Then  forth  came  Artegall  out  of  his  tent, 
All  arm'd  to  point,  and  first  the  lists  did  enter : 
Scone  after  eke  came  she  with  full  intent 
And  countenaunce  fierce,  as  having  fully  bent  her 
That  battels  utmost  triall  to  adventer. 
The  lists  were  closed  fast,  to  barre  the  rout 
From  rudely  pressing  on  the  middle  center  ; 
Which  in  great  heapes  them  circled  all  about, 
Wayting  how  fortune  would  resolve  that  dansrerous 
dout. 


The  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  field  began  ; 

With  bitter  strokes  it  both  began  and  ended. 

She  at  the  first  encounter  on  him  ran 

With  furious  rage,  as  if  she  had  intended 

Out  of  his  breast  the  very  heart  have  rended  : 

But  he,  that  had  like  tempests  often  tride, 

From  that  first  flaw  himselfe  right  well  defended. 

The  more  she  rag'd,  the  more  he  did  abide  ; 

She  hewd,  she  foyud,  she  lasht,  she  laid  on  every  side. 


Yet  still  her  blowes  he  bore,  and  her  forbore, 

Weening  at  last  to  win  advantage  new  ; 

let  still  her  crueltie  increased  more. 

And,  though  powre  faild,  lier  courage  did  accrew  j 

Which  fayling,  he  gan  fiercely  her  pursew  : 

Like  as  a  smith  that  to  his  cunning  feat 

The  stubborne  mettal  seeketh  to  subdew, 

Scone  as  he  feeles  it  mollifide  with  heat, 

With  his  great  yron  sledge  doth  strongly  on  it  beat. 


So  aid  Sir  Artegall  upon  l)er  lay. 

As  if  she  had  an  yrcn  andviie  beene. 

That  flakes  of  fire,  bright  as  the  sunny  ray, 

Out  of  her  steely  armes  were  flashing  seene, 

'J'hat  all  on  fire  ye  would  her  surely  weene  : 

But  with  her  shield  so  well  herselfe  she  warded 

1-rom  the  dread  daunger  of  his  weapon  keene, 

That  all  that  while  her  life  she  safely  garded  ; 

But  he  that  helpe  from  her  against  her  will  discarded : 


For  with  his  trenchant  blade  at  the  next  blow 
Halfe  of  her  shield  he  shared  quite  away, 
That  halfe  her  side  itselfe  did  naked  show, 
And  thenceforth  unto  daunger  opened  way 
i\Iuch  was  she  moved  with  the  mightie  swav 
Of  that  sad  stroke,  that  halfe  enrag'd  she  grew; 
And  like  a  greedie  beare  unto  her  pray 
\\'\U\  her  sharpe  cemitare  at  him  she  flew, 
That  glauncing  dovvne   his   thigh  the  purple  blo 
forth  drew. 


Thereat  she  gan  to  triumph  with  great  boast. 

And  to  upbrayd  that  chaunce  which  him  misfell. 

As  if  the  prize  she  gotten  had  almost. 

With  spightfull  speaches,  fitting  with  her  well ; 

That  his  great  hart  gan  inwardly  to  swell 

With  indignation  at  her  vaunting  vaine. 

And  at  her  strooke  with  puissaunce  fearefuU  fell ; 

Yet  with  her  shield  she  warded  it  againe. 

That  shattered  all  to  pieces  round  about  the  plaine. 


Having  her  thus  disarmed  of  her  shield, 
Upon  her  helmet  he  againe  her  strooke. 
That  dovi-ne  she  fell  upon  the  grassie  field 
In  sencelesse  swoune,  as  if  her  life  forsooke. 
And  pangs  of  death  her  spirit  overtooke: 
Whom  when  he  saw  before  his  foote  prostrated, 
He  to  her  lept  with  deadly  dreadfuU  looke. 
And  her  sun-shynie  helmet  soone  unlaced, 
Thinking  at  once  both  head  and  helmet  to  have  raced. 


But,  whenas  he  discovered  had  her  face, 
He  saw,  his  senses  straunge  astonishment, 
A  miracle  of  natures  goodly  grace 
In  her  faire  visage  voide  of  ornament. 
But  bath'd  in  bloud  and  sweat  together  ment ; 
AVhich,  in  the  rudenesse  of  that  evill  plight, 
Bewrayd  the  signes  of  feature  excellent : 
Like  as  the  moone,  in  foggie  winters  night, 
Doth  s'.eme  to  be  herselfe,  though  darined  be  hei 
lisht. 


At  sight  thereof  his  cruell  minded  hart 

Erapierced  was  with  pittifull  regard, 

That  his  sharpe  sword  he  threw  from  him  apart, 

Cursing  his  hand  that  had  that  visage  mard: 

No  hand  so  cruell,  nor  no  hart  so  hard. 

But  ruth  of  beautie  will  it  mollifie. 

]>y  this,  upstarting  from  her  swoune  she  star'd 

A  while  about  her  with  confused  eye ; 

Like  one  that  from  his  dreame  is  waked  suddenlye. 


Soone  as  the  knight  she  there  by  her  did  spy 
Standing  with  emptie  hands  all  weaponlesse, 
\Vith  fresh  assault  upon  him  she  did  fly, 
And  gan  renew  her  former  cruelnesse  : 
And  though  he  still  retyr'd,  yet  nathelesse 
\Vith  huge  redoubled  strokes  she  on  him  layd ; 
And  more  increast  her  outrage  mercilesse. 
The  more  that  he  with  meeke  intreatie  prayd 
Her  wrathful  hand  from  greedy  vengeance  to  have 
stayd.  s 


THE  F.4ERTE  QUEENE, 


[Book  V. 


Like  as  a  puttocke  liavinoj  spyde  in  sight 

A  gentle  ftuilcon  sitting-  on  an  Iiil], 

Whose  other  wing,  now  made  unmeete  for  flight, 

Wns  lately  broken  by  some  fortune  ill ; 

The  foolish  kyte,  let  with  licentious  will. 

Doth  beat  upon  the  gentle  bird  in  vaine, 

With  many  idle  stouj)s  her  troubling  still : 

Even  so  did  Radigund  with  bootlesse  paine 

Annoy  this  noble  knight,  and  sorely  him  constraine. 


Nought  could  he  do  but  shun  the  dred  despight 

Of  her  fierce  wrath,  and  backward  still  retyre  ; 

And  with  his  single  shield,  well  as  he  might, 

iieare  off  the  burden  of  lier  raging  yre  ; 

And  evermore  he  gently  did  desyre 

To  stay  her  strokes,  and  he  himselfe  would  yield ; 

Yet  noukl  she  hearke,  ne  let  him  once  respyre, 

Till  he  to  her  delivered  had  his  shield, 

And  to  her  mercie  him  submitted  in  plaine  field. 


So  was  he  overcome,  not  overcome  ; 

But  to  her  yeelded  of  his  owne  accord  ; 

Yet  was  he  iustly  damned  by  the  doonie 

Of  his  owne  mouth,  that  spake  so  warelesse  word, 

To  be  her  thrall  and  service  her  afford: 

For  though  that  he  first  victorie  obtayned, 

Yet  after,  by  abandoning  his  sword, 

He  wilfull  lost  that  he  before  attayned  : 

No  fayrer  conquest  then  that  with  goodwill  is  gayned. 


Tho  with  her  sword  on  him  she  flatling  strooke. 
In  signe  of  true  subiection  to  her  powre. 
And  as  her  vassall  him  to  thraldome  tooke : 
But  Terpine,  borne  to  a  more  unhappy  howre, 
As  he  on  whom  the  lucklesse  starres  did  lowre, 
She  causd  to  be  attacht  and  forthwith  led 
Unto  the  crooke,  t'  abide  the  baleful!  stowre 
i'Vom  which  he  lately  had  through  reskew  fled  : 
Where  he  full  shamefully  was  hanged  by  the  bed. 


But,  when  they  thought  on  Talus  liands  to  lay. 
He  with  his  yron  fiaile  amongst  them  thondre'd, 
That  they  were  fayne  to  let  him  scape  av.'ay. 
Glad  from  his  tompanie  to  be  so  sondred  ; 
Wliose  presence  all  their  troups  so  much  encombred, 
That  tii'heapes  of  those  which  be  did  wound  and  slay, 
Besides  the  rest  dismayd,  might  not  be  nombred : 
Yet  all  that  while  he  would  not  once  assay 
To  i.^skevv  his  owne  lord,  but  thought  it  iust  t'  obay. 


Tlien  tooke  the  amazon  tiiis  noble  kniglit, 

j^cit  to  her  will  by  his  owne  wilfull  blame, 

And  caused  him  to  be  disarmed  (plight 

Of  all  the  ornai  ents  of  knightlv  name, 

VViti)  which  whylome  he  godeii  had  great  fame; 

Instead  whereof  sue  made  him  to  be  dight 

In  woioans  weedes,  that  is  to  manhood  shame, 

And  put  before  his  lap  an  apron  white, 

Instead  of  curiets  and  bases  til  for  liglit. 


So  being  clad  she  brought  him  from  the  field. 
In  which  he  bad  bene  trayned  many  a  dav. 
Into  a  long  large  chamber,  which  was  sield 
With  moniments  of  many  knights  decay 
By  her  subdewed  in  victorious  fray : 
Amongst  the  which  she  caused  his  warlike  amies 
Be  liang'd  on  high,  that  mote  his  shame  bewray; 
And  broke  ids  sword  for  ftare  of  further  harmes, 
With  which  be  wont  to  stirre  up  battailous  alarmes. 


There  entred  in  he  round  about  him  saw 
Many  brave  knights  whose  names  right  well  he  knew 
'["here  bound  t'  obay  that  amnzons  proud  law, 
Spinning  and  carding  all  in  comely  rew, 
'i'hat  his  bigge  hart  loth'd  so  uncomely  vew  : 
Hut  they  were  forst,  through  jienurie  and  pyne 
To  doe  those  workes  to  them  appointed  dew  : 
For  noiii;ht  was  given  them  to  sup  or  dyne. 
But  what  their  hands  could  earne  by  twisting  linnen 
twyne. 

XXIII. 

Amongst  them  all  she  jdaced  him  most  low. 

And  in  his  hand  a  distafie  to  him  gave, 

That  he  thereon  should  spin  both  flax  and  tow  ; 

A  sordid  office  for  a  mind  so  brave: 

So  hard  it  is  to  be  a  woinans  slave  ! 

Yet  he  it  tooke  in  his  owne  selfes  despight, 

And  thereto  did  himselfe  right  well  behave 

Her  to  obay,  sith  he  his  faith  had  plight 

Her  vassall  to  become,  if  she  him  wonne  in  fight. 


Who  had  him  seene,  imagine  mote  thereby 
'J'hat  wliylome  hath  of  Hercules  bene  told, 
How  for  Jolas  sake  he  did  a]iply 
His  mightie  hands  the  distafie  vile  to  hold 
Foi  his  huge  club,  \\hich  had  subdevv'd  of  old 
So  many  monsters  which  the  world  annoyed; 
His  lyons  skin  chaungd  to  a  pall  of  gold. 
In  which,  forgetting  warres,  he  onely  ioyed 
In  combats  of  sweet  love,  and  with  his  mistresse 
toyed. 

XXV. 

Such  is  the  crueltie  of  womenkynd, 

\Vhen  they  have  shaken  off  the  shamefast  band. 

With  which  wise  nature  did  them  strongly  bynd 

T'  obay  the  beasts  of  mans  well-ruling  hand, 

That  thpii  all  rule  and  reason  tliey  withstand 

'J'o  purchase  a  licentious  libertie  : 

Hut  vertuous  women  wisely  understand, 

That  they  viere  borne  to  base  humilitie, 

Unlesse  the  heavens  them  lift  to  lawfuU  soveraiiilie. 


Thus  there  long  while  continu  d  Artegall, 
Serving  proud  lladigund  with  true  subiection : 
However  it  his  noble  heart  did  gall 
T'  (jhay  a  womans  tyrrannous  direction, 
'J'hat  might  have  had  of  life  or  death  election  : 
But,  having  chosen,  now  be  might  not  chaungft 
During  whicli  time  the  warlike  amazon. 
Whose  wandring  fancie  after  lust  did  raunge. 
Gun  cast  a  secret  liking  to  this  captive  straunge. 


('anto  v.] 


THE  FAERIE    QUEENE. 


259 


Which  long-  concealing  in  her  covert  brest, 
She  chaw'd  the  cud  ot"  lovers  carefull  j)light; 
Yet  could  it  not  so  thoroughly  digest, 
Being  fast  fixed  in  her  wounded  spright, 
But  it  tormented  her  both  day  and  night : 
Vet  would  she  not  thereto  yeeld  free  accord 
To  serve  the  lowly  vassall  of  her  might, 
And  of  her  servant  make  her  soverayne  lord  : 
So  great  her  pride  tliat  she  such  basenesse  much 
abhord. 


So  much  the  greater  still  her  anguish  grew. 
Through  stubborne  handling  of  her  love-sicke  hart ; 
And  still  the  more  she  strove  it  to  subdew. 
The  more  she  still  augmented  herowne  smart, 
And  wyder  made  the  wound  of  th'  hidden  dart. 
At  last,  when  long  she  struggled  had  in  vaine, 
She  gan  to  stoupe,  and  her  proud  mind  convert 
To  meeke  obeysance  ot  loves  niightie  raine, 
And  him   entreat  for  grace  that  had  procur'd  her 
paine. 


Unto  herselfe  in  secret  she  did  call 

Her  nearest  handmayd,  whom  she  most  did  trust, 

■Ynd  to  J;er  said  ;  "  Clarinda,  whom  of  all 

I  trust  alive,  sith  I  thee  fostred  first; 

Now  is  the  time  that  I  untimely  must 

Thereof  make  tryall,  in  my  greatest  need  ! 

It  is  so  hapned  that  the  heavens  uniust, 

Spighting  my  happie  freedome,  have  agreed 

To  thrall  my  looser  life,  or  my  last  bale  to  breed." 


With  that  she  turn'd  her  head,  as  halfe  abashed. 
To  hide  the  blush  which  in  her  visage  rose 
And  through  her  eyes  like  sudden  lightning  flashed, 
Decking  her  cheeke  with  a  vermilion  rose  : 
But  soone  she  did  her  countenance  compose, 
And,  to  her  turning,  thus  began  againe  : 
"  This  griefes  deepe  wound  1  would  to  thee  disclose, 
Thereto  compelled  through  hart-murdring  paine  ; 
But  dread  of  shame  my  doubtfuU   lips   doth  still 
restraine." 


"  Ah  !  my  deare  dread,"  said  then  the  fearefull  mayd, 
'  tan  dread  of  ought  your  dreadlesse  hart  withhold, 
That  many  hath  with  dread  of  death  dismayd, 
And  dare  even  deathes  most  dreadfuU  face  behold? 
Say  on,  my  soverayne  ladie,  and  be  bold: 
Doth  not  your  handmayds  life  at  your  foot  lie?" 
Therewith  much  comforted  she  gan  unfold 
1  he  cause  of  her  conceived  maladie  ; 
As  one  that  would  confesse,  yet  faine  would  it  denie. 


"  Bound  unto  me;  but  not  with  such  hard  bands. 

Of  strong  compulsion  and  streight  violence, 

As  now  in  miserable  state  ho  stands ; 

But  with  sweet  love  and  sure  benevolence, 

Voide  of  malitioi.s  mind  or  foule  offence : 

To  which  if  thou  canst  win  him  any  way 

Without  discoverie  of  my  thoughts  pretence. 

Both  goodly  meede  of  liim  it  purchase  may, 

And  eke  with  gratefuU  service  me  right  well  apay. 


"  Which  that  thou  mayst  the  better  bring  to  pass, 
Loe  !  here  this  ring,  which  shall  thy  warrant  bee 
And  token  true  to  old  Eumenias, 
From  time  to  time,  when  thou  it  best  shalt  see, 
That  in  and  out  thou  mayst  have  passage  free. 
Goe  now,  Clarinda  ,  well  thy  wits  advise. 
And  all  thy  forces  gather  unto  thee. 
Armies  of  lovely  lookes,  and  speeches  wise, 
With  which  thou  canst  even  love  himselfe  to  lovt 
entise." 


The  trustie  mayd,  conceiving  her  intent. 
Did  with  sure  promise  of  her  good  endevour 
Give  her  great  comfort  and  some  harts  content . 
So  from  her  parting  she  thenceforth  did  labour, 
By  all  the  meanes  she  mighte  to  curry  favour 
With  th'  elfin  knight,  her  ladies  best  beloved  : 
With  daily  shew  of  courteous  kind  behaviour. 
Even  at  the  marke-white  of  his  hart  she  roved, 
And  with  wide-glauncing  words  one  day  she  thus 
him  proved : 

xxxvr. 

"  Unhappie  knight,  upon  whose  hopelessa  state 
Fortune,  envj'ing  good,  hath  felly  frowned. 
And  cruell  heavens  have  heapt  an  lieavy  fate ; 
I  rew  that  thus  thy  better  dayes  are  drowned 
In  sad  despaire,  and  all  thy  senses  swowned 
In  stupid  sorow,  sith  thy  luster  merit 
Might  else  have  with  felicitie  bene  crowned: 
Looke  up  at  last,  and  wake  thy  dulled  spirit 
To  thinke  how  this  long  deatli  thou  mightest  disin- 
herit!" 


Much  did  he  marvell  at  her  uncouth  speach. 
Whose  hidden  drift  he  could  not  well  perceive ; 
And  gan  to  doubt  least  she  him  sought  t'a|)peach 
Of  treason,  or  some  guilefull  traine  did  weave, 
'J'hrough  which  she  might  his  wretched  life  bereave  , 
Both  which  to  barre  he  with  this  answere  met  her ; 
"  Faire  damzell,  that  vvath  ruth,  as  I  perceave. 
Of  my  mishaps  art  mov'd  to  wish  me  better. 
For  such  your  kind  regard  I  can  but  rest  your  detter 


"  Clarin,"  sayd  she,  "  thou  seest  yond  fayry  knight, 

Whom  not  my  valour,  but  his  owne  brava  mind 

Subiected  hath  to  my  unequall  might ! 

What  light  is  it,  that  he  should  thraldome  find 

For  lending  life  to  me  a  wretch  unkind. 

That  for  such  good  hiin  recompence  with  ill ! 

Therefore  1  cast  how  I  may  him  unbind, 

And  by  his  freedome  get  his  free  goodwill , 

Vet  so,  as  bound  to  me  he  may  continue  still  • 


"  Yet  weet  ye  well,  that  to  a  courage  great 

It  is  no  lesse  beseeming  well  to  beare 

The  storme  of  fortune's  frowne  or  heavens  threat, 

Then  in  the  sunshine  of  her  countenance  cleare 

Timely  to  ioy  and  carrie  comely  cheare : 

For  though  this  cloud  hath  now  me  overcast, 

Yet  doe  I  not  of  better  times  despeyre; 

And  though  (unlike")  they  should  for  ever  last, 

Yet  in  my  truthes  assurance  I  rest  fixed  fast," 


260 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


"  But  what  so  stonie  minde,"  she  then  replyde, 
"  But  if  in  his  owne  powre  occasion  lay. 
Would  to  his  hope  a  windowe  open  wyde, 
And  to  his  fortunes  helpe  make  readie  way?" 
"  Unworthy  sure,"  quoth  he,  "  of  better  day, 
That  will  not  take  the  oifer  of  good  hope. 
And  eke  juirsew,  if  he  attaiiie  it  may." 
Which  sjieaches  she  applying  to  the  scope 
Of  her  intent,  this  further  purpose  to  him  shope  : 


"  Then  why  dost  not,  thou  ill-advized  man. 
Make  meanes  to  win  thy  libertie  forlorne, 
And  trv  if  thou  by  faire  entreatie  can 
Move  Radigund]  who  though  she  still  have  worne 
Her  dayes  in  warre,  yet  (weet  thou)  was  not  borne 
Of  beares  and  tygres.  nor  so  salvage  mynded 
As  that,  albe  all  love  of  men  she  scorne. 
She  yet  forgets  that  slie  of  men  was  kynded  ; 
Aud  sooth  oft  seene  that  proudest  harts  base  love 
hath  blynded." 


"  Certes,  Clarinda,  not  of  cancred  will," 
Sayd  he,  "  nor  obstinate  disdainefull  mind, 
I  have  forbore  this  duetie  to  fulfill ; 
For  well  I  may  this  weene,  by  that  I  fynd, 
That  she  a  queene,  and  come  of  princely  kynd, 
15oih  worthie  is  for  to  be  sewd  unto, 
Chiefely  by  him  whose  life  her  law  doth  hynd. 
And  eke  of  powre  her  owne  doome  to  undo. 
And  als'  of  princely  grace  to  be  inclyn'd  thereto. 


"  But  want  of  meanes  hath  bene  mine  onely  let 

From  seeking  favour  where  it  doth  abound  ; 

Which  if  I  might  by  your  good  office  get, 

I  to  yourselfe  should  rest  for  ever  bound." 

And  ready  to  deserve  what  grace  I  found." 

She  feeling  him  thus  bite  upon  the  bayt. 

Yet  doubting  least  his  hold  was  but  unsound 

And  not  well  fastened,  would  not  strike  him  strayt. 

But  drew  him  on  with  hope,  fit  leasure  to  awayt. 


liut  foolish  mayd,  whylos  heedlesse  of  the  hooke 

Slie  thus  oft-times  was  beating  oft"  and  on, 

Tlirougli  slipperie  fooling  fell  into  the  brooke. 

And  there  "^as  caught  to  her  confusion; 

/'oTj  seekin;;  thus  to  salve  the  aniazon, 

She  wounded  was  with  her  deceijjts  owne  dart, 

And  gan  thenceforth  to  cast  affection, 

Conceived  close  in  her  beguiled  hart, 

io  Artegall,  through  pittie  of  his  causelesse  smart. 


Vet  durst  she  not  disclose  her  fancies  wound, 

IS'e  to  himselfe,  for  doubt  of  being  sdayned, 

IV  e  yet  to  any  other  wight  on  ground, 

For  feareher  mistresse  sliold  have  knowledge  gayned ; 

But  to  herselfe  it  secretly  retayned 

Within  the  closet  of  her  covert  brest : 

J'he  more  thereby  her  tender  hart  was  payned  ; 

Yet  to  awayt  fit  time  she  weened  best, 

Aud  fairely  did  dissemble  her  sad  thoughts  unrest 


One  day  her  ladie,  calling  her  apart, 
Gan  to  demaund  of  her  some  tydings  good, 
Touching  her  loves  successe,  her  lingring  smart; 
Therewith  she  gan  at  first  to  change  her  mood. 
As  one  adaw'd,  and  halfe  confused  stood  ; 
But  quickly  she  it  overpast,  so  soone 
As  she  her  face  had  wypt  to  fresh  her  blood ; 
Tho  gan  she  tell  her  all  that  she  had  donne, 
And  all  the  wayes  she  sought  his  love  for  to  have 
TTonne  : 


But  sayd,  that  he  was  obstinate  and  sterna. 
Scorning  her  offers  and  conditions  vaine  ; 
Ne  would  be  taught  with  any  termes  to  lerne 
So  fond  a  lesson  as  to  love  againe  : 
Die  rather  would  he  in  penurious  paine. 
And  his  abridged  dayes  in  dolour  wast, 
Then  his  foes  love  or  liking  entertaine  : 
His  resolution  was,  both  first  and  last, 
His  bodie  was  her  thrall,  his  hart  wasj'reely  plast. 


Which  when  the  cniell  amazon  perceived, 
She  gan  to  storme,  and  rage,  and  rend  her  gall. 
For  very  fell  despight,  which  she  conceived. 
To  be  so  scorned  of  a  base-borne  thrall. 
Whose  life  did  lie  in  her  least  eye-lids  fall ; 
Of  which  she  vovv'd,  with  many  a  cursed  threat. 
That  she  therefore  would  him  ere  long  forstall. 
Nathlesse,  when  calmed  was  her  furious  heat. 
She  chang'd  that  threatfull  mood,  and  mildly   gan 
entreat : 


"  What  now  is  left,  Clarinda  ?  what  remaines, 
That  we  may  compasse  this  our  enterprize  ? 
Great  shame  to  loi^e  so  long  employed  paines, 
And  greater  shame  t'abide  so  great  misprize, 
With  which  he  dares  our  offers  thus  despize: 
Yet  that  his  guilt  the  greater  may  appeare. 
And  more  my  gratious  mercie  by  this  wize, 
I  will  awhile  with  his  first  folly  beare. 
Till  thou  have  tride  againe,  and  tempted  him  more 
neare. 


"  Say  and  do  all  that  may  thereto  prevails  ; 
Leave  nought  unjjromist  that  may  him  perswade, 
Fife,  freedome,  grace,  and  gifts  of  great  availe, 
With  which  the  gods  themselves  are  mylder  made  : 
Thereto  adde  art,  even  womens  witty  trade, 
The  art  of  mightie  words  that  men  can  charme; 
AVilh  which  in  case  thou  canst  him  not  invade. 
Let  him  feele  hardnesse  of  thy  heavy  arme  : 
Who  will  not  stoupe  with  good  shall  be  made  stoupe 
with  harrae. 


"  Some  of  his  diet  doe  from  him  withdraw; 
For  I  him  find  to  be  too  proudly  fed: 
Give  liiin  more  labour,  and  with  streighter  law, 
lliat  he  with  worke  may  be  forwearied  : 
Let  him  lodge  hard,  and  lie  in  strawen  bed, 
That  may  puil  downe  the  courage  of  his  pride  : 
And  lay  upon  him,  for  his  greater  dread. 
Cold  yron  chaines  with  wliich  let  him  be  tide  ; 
And  let,  whatever  he  desires,  be  him  denide. 


Canto  VI.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


%1 


"  When  thou  hast  all  this  doen,  then  bring  ine  newes 

Of  his  deineane  ;  theiicet'orth  not  like  a  luver, 

But  like  a  rebell  stout,  I  will  him  use  : 

For  I  resolve  tiiis  j-iege  not  to  give  over. 

Till  1  the  conquest  of  my  will  recover." 

So  she  departed  full  of  griefe  and  sdaine, 

Which  inly  did  to  great  impatience  move  her : 

But  the  false  raayden  shortly  turn'd  againe 

Unto  the  prison,  where  her  hart  did  thrall  remaine. 


There  all  her  subtill  nets  she  did  unfold. 

And  all  the  engins  of  her  wit  display  ; 

In  which  she  meant  lain  warelesse  to  enfold. 

And  of  his  innocence  to  make  her  pray. 

So  cunningly  she  wrougiit  her  cratfs  assay, 

That  both  her  ladie,  and  herselfe  withall, 

And  eke  the  kmght  ..ttonce  she  did  betray  ; 

But  most  the  knight,  whom  slie  with  guilefull  call 

Did  cast  for  to  allure,  into  her  trap  to  fall. 


As  a  bad  nurse,  which,  fayning  to  receive 
In  her  owne  mouth  the  food  ment  for  her  chyld, 
Withholdes  it  to  herselfe,  and  doeth  deceive 
The  infant,  so  for  want  of  nouriure  spo^'ld  ; 
Even  so  Clarinda  her  owne  dame  beguvld, 
And  turn'd  the  trust,  which  was  in  her  affyde. 
To  feeding  of  her  private  tire,  which  boyld 
Her  inwarii  brest,  and  in  her  entrayles  fryde, 
'J "be  more  that  she  it  sought  to  cover  and  to  hyde. 


For,  comming  to  this  knight,  she  purpose  layned. 
How  earnest  suit  she  earst  for  him  had  made 
Unto  her  queene,  his  freedome  to  have  gayned ; 
But  by  no  meanes  could  her  thereto  perswade, 
But  that  instead  thereof  she  sternely  bade 
His  miserie  to  be  augmented  more. 
And  many  yron  bands  on  him  to  lade; 
All  which  nathlesse  she  for  his  love  forbore 
So  praying  him  t'accept  her  service  evermore. 


And,  more  then  that,  she  promist  that  she  would, 
In  case  she  migiit  finde  favour  in  his  eve, 
Devize  how  to  enlarge  him  out  of  hould. 
Tlift  fayrie,  glad  to  gaine  his  libertie. 
Can  yeeld  great  thankes  for  such  her  curtesie  ; 
And  with  faire  words,  fit  for  the  time  and  place. 
To  feede  the  humour  of  her  maladie, 
Promist,  if  she  would  free  him  from  that  case, 
He  wold  by  all  good  meaues  he  might  deserve  such 
grace. 


So  daily  he  faire  semblant  did  her  shew, 

Yet  never  meant  he  in  his  noble  mind 

To  his  owne  absent  love  to  be  untiew  : 

Ne  ever  did  deceiptfull  Clariii  find 

In  her  false  hart  his  bondage  to  unbind  ; 

But  rather  how  she  mote  him  faster  tye. 

Therefore  unto  her  mistresse  most  unkind 

She  daily  told  her  love  he  did  defye  ; 

And  him  she  told  her  dame  his  freedome  did  denve. 


Yet  thus  much  friendship  she  to  him  did  show. 
That  his  scarse  diet  somewhat  was  amended. 
And  his  worke  lessened,  that  his  love  mote  grow  : 
Yet  to  her  dame  him  still  she  discommended. 
That  she  with  him  mote  be  the  more  olfeiuled. 
riius  he  long  while  in  thraldome  there  lemayned, 
3f  both  beloved  well,  but  little  friended  ; 
Untill  liis  owne  true  love  his  freedome  gavned : 
Which  in  another  canto  will  be  best  coiuayned. 


CANTO  VI. 

Talus  brings  newes  to  Britoraart 

Of  Artegals  mishap  : 
She  goes  to  seeke  him  ;  Dolon  meetes, 

VV  ho  seekes  her  to  entrap. 


Some  men,  T  wote,  will  deeme  in  Artegall 
Grea:  weaknesse,  and  report  of  him  much  ill. 
For  yeelding  so  himselte  a  wretched  tljrall 
To  th'  insolent  commaund  of  womens  will ; 
That  all  his  former  praise  doth  fowly  spill; 
But  he  the  man,  that  say  or  doe  so  dare. 
Be  well  adviz'd  that  he  stand  stedfast  still; 
For  never  yet  was  wight  so  well  aware, 
But  Le  at  first  or  last  was  trapt  in  womens  snare. 


Yet  in  the  streightnesse  of  that  captive  state 
'1  his  gentle  knii;ht  himselle  so  well  behaved, 
'Ihat  notwithstanding  all  the  subtill  bait, 
\\  ith  which  tiiose  amazons  his  love  still  craved. 
To  his  owne  love  his  loialtie  he  saved  : 
Whose  character  in  th'  adamantine  mould 
Of  his  true  hart  so  firmely  was  engraved, 
1  hat  no  new  loves  imjiression  ever  could 
Bereave  it  thence:    suth  blot  his  honour  blemish 
should. 


262 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Hook  V 


Yet  his  owne  lore,  the  noble  Britomart, 
.Sc'.irse  so  conceived  in  hei'ieulous  thought, 
\\  hut  time  sad  tydings  of  his  baleful!  smart 
In  womans  bom'lage  Talus  to  her  bri;Ught; 
15iou"ht  in  untimely  houre,  ere  it  was  sought: 
For,  after  that  the  utmost  date  assynde 
For  his  returue  she  waited  had  for  nought, 
She  o-an  to  cast  in  her  misdoubtfull  mynde 
A  thousand   feares,  that  love-sicke  fancies  faine  to 
fynde. 

IV. 

Sometime  she  feared  least  some  bard  mishap 

Had  him  misfalne  in  his  adventurous  quest; 

Sometime  least  liis  false  foe  did  him  entrap 

In  craytrous  traine,  or  had  unwares  opprest ; 

Uut  most  she  did  her  troubled  mynd  molest, 

And  secretly  afflict  with  iealous  feare, 

Least  some  new  love  had  him  from  her  possest ; 

Yet  loth  she  was,  since  she  no  ill  did  heare, 

To  thinke  of  him  so  ill ;  yet  could  she  not  forbeare. 


One  while  she  blam'd  herselfe  ;  another  whyle 
She  him  condemn 'd  as  trustlesse  and  untrew  : 
And  then,  her  gnefe  with  errour  to  beguyle. 
She  fayn'd  to  count  the  time  againe  anew, 
As  if  before  she  had  not  counted  trew  : 
For  houres,  but  dayes  ;  for  weekes  that  passed  were, 
She  told  but  moneths  to  malce  them  seeme  more  few  : 
Yet,  when  she  reckned  them  still  drawing  neare, 
Each  hour  did  seeme  a  moueth,  and  every  moneth  a 
years. 

VI. 

But,  whenas  yet  she  saw  him  not  returne. 
She  thought  to  senil  some  one  to  seeke  him  out ; 
But  none  she  found  so  tit  to  serve  that  turne, 
As  her  owne  selle,  to  ease  herselfe  of  dout. 
Now  she  deviz'd,  amongst  the  warlike  rout 
Of  errant  knights,  to  seeke  her  errant  knight; 
And  then  againe  resolv'd  to  hunt  liim  out 
Amongst  loose  ladies  lapped  in  delight : 
And  then  both  knights  envide,  and  ladies  eke  did 
spight. 


One  day  whenas  she  long  had  sought  for  ease 
In  every  ])lace,  and  every  place  thought  best. 
Yet  found  no  place  that  could  her  lildng  please, 
She  to  a  window  came,  tlr.it  opened  west, 
Towaids  which  coast  her  love  his  way  addrest* 
There  looking  forth  shee  in  her  heart  did  lind 
Many  vain  fancies  working  her  unrest ; 
And  sent  her  winged  thoughts  more  swift  then  wind 
To  beare  unto  her  love  the  message  of  her  mind. 


There  as  she  looked  long,  at  last  she  spide 
One  comming  towards  her  vvitli  hasty  s])eede; 
Well  weend  she  then,  ere  him  she  phiine  descride, 
That  it  was  one  sent  fri  m  her  love  indeede: 
\V  ho  when  he  nigh  approacht,  shee  mote  arede 
'Jhat  it  was  Talus,  Artegall  his  groonie : 
\A  hereat  her  hart  was  tild  with  hope  and  drode; 
Ne  would  she  stay  tdl  he  in  place  could  come. 
But  ran  to  meete  him  forth  to  know  his  tidings 
summe. 


Even  in  the  dore  him  meeting,  she  begun  ; 

"  And  where  is  he  thy  lord,  and  how  iai-  honce'' 

Declare  at  once:  and  hath  he  lost  or  wun  !" 

The  yron  man,  albe  he  wanted  seiice 

And  sorrowes  feeling,  yet,  with  conscience 

Of  his  ill  newes,  did  inly  chill  and  (juake. 

And  stood  still  mute,  as  one  in  great  suspence; 

As  if  that  by  his  silence  he  would  make 

Her  rather  reade  his  meaning  then  himselfe  it  spake. 


Till  she  againe  thus  sayd  ;  "  Talus,  be  bold. 

And  tell  whatever  it  be,  good  or  bad. 

That  from  thy  tongue  thy  hearts  intent  doth  hold." 

To  whom  he  thus  at  length ;  "  The  tidings  sad. 

That  I  would  hide,  will  needs  I  see  be  rad. 

My  lord  (your  love)  by  hard  mishap  doth  lie 

In  wretched  bondage,  wofully  bestad." 

"  Ay  me,"  quoth  she,  "  what  wicked  destinie! 

And  is  he  vanquisht  by  his  tyrant  enemy  1 " 


"  Not  by  that  tyrant,  his  intended  foe; 

But  by  a  tyrannesse,"  he  then  replide, 

"  That  him  captived  hath  in  haplesse  woe." 

"  Ceasethou,  bad  newes-man  ;  badly  doest  thou  hide 

Thy  maisters  shame,  in  harlots  bondage  tide ; 

The  rest  myselfe  too  readily  can  sjiell." 

With  that  in  rage  she  turn'd  from  him  aside. 

Forcing  in  vaiiie  the  rest  to  lier  to  tell ; 

And  to  her  chamber  went  like  solitary  cell. 


There  she  began  to  make  her  moanefull  plaint 
Against  her  kniglit  for  being  so  untrew  ; 
And  him  to  touch  with  falshoods  fowie  attaint. 
That  all  Ids  other  honour  overthrew. 
Oft  did  she  blame  herselfe,  and  often  rew. 
For  yeelding  to  a  straungers  love  so  light. 
Whose  life  and  manners  straunge  she  never  knew; 
And  evermore  she  did  him  sharpeiy  twight 
For  breach  of  faith  to  her,   which  he  had   firmely 
plight, 

XIII. 

And  then  she  in  her  wrathfull  will  did  cast 
How  to  revenge  that  blot  of  honour  blent. 
To  figlit  with  him,  and  goodly  die  her  last: 
And  then  againe  she  did  herselfe  torment. 
Inflicting  on  herselfe  his  punishm-ent. 
Awhile  she  walkt,  and  chauft ;  awhile  she  threw 
Herselfe  ufipon  her  bed,  and  did  lament: 
Yet  did  she  not  lament  with  loude  alew, 
As  women  wont,  but  with  deepe  sigl>es  and  singulfs 
iew. 


Like  as  a  wavward  childe,  whose  sounder  sleepe 
Is  broken  with  some  fearelull  dreames  aftViglit, 
With  froward  will  doth  set  himselfe  to  weepe, 
Ne  can  be  stild  for  all  his  nurses  might, 
But  kicks,  and  sciuals,and  shriekes  for  fell  despight ; 
Now  scratching  lier,  and  her  loose  locks  misusing. 
Now  seeking  darkenesse,  and  now  seeking  light. 
Then  craving  sucke,  and  then  the  sucke  refusing: 
Such  was  this  ladies  lit  in  her  loves  fond  accusing. 


Canto  VI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


i62 


But  when  she  had  with  such  unquiet  fits 

Herself  there  close  attlicted  long  in  vaine. 

Vet  found  no  easement  in  her  troubled  wits, 

Slie  unto  Talus  forth  return'd  againe. 

By  change  of  place  seeking-  to  ease  her  paine ; 

And  gan  enquire  of  him  with  mylder  mood 

The  certaine  cause  of  Artegals  detaine, 

And  what  he  did,  and  in  what  state  he  stood, 

And  whether  he  did  woo,  or  whether  he  were  woo'd. 


"  Ah  wellaway  !"  said  then  the  yron  man, 

"That  he  is  not  the  while  in  stale  to  woo  ; 

But  lies  in  wretched  thraldome,  weake  and  wan, 

Not  by  strong  hand  compelled  thereunto, 

But  his  owne  doome,  that  none  can  now  undoo." 

"  Sayd  I  not  then,'"  quoth  she,  "  ere-while  aright. 

That  this  is  thinge  conipacte  betwixt  you  two 

JMe  to  deceive  of  faith  unto  me  plight, 

Since  that  he  was  not  forst,  nor  overcome  in  fight  ?" 


With  that  he  gaii  at  large  to  her  dilate 
The  whole  discourse  of  his  captivance  sad. 
In  sort  as  ye  have  heard  the  same  of  late  : 
All  which  when  she  with  hard  enduraunce  had 
Heard  to  the  end,  she  was  right  sore  bestad, 
\Vith  sodaine  stounds  of  wraih  and  grief  attone  ; 
N^e  would  abi  !e,  till  she  had  aunswere  made; 
But  streight  herselfe  did  dight,  and  armor  don. 
And  mounting  to  her  steede  bad  Talus  guide  her  on. 


So  forth  she  rode  uppon  her  ready  way, 

To  seeke  her  knight,  as  Talus  her  did  guide  : 

Sadly  she  rode  and  never  word  did  say 

Nor  good  nor  bad,  ne  ever  lookt  aside, 

But  still  right  downe  ;  and  in  her  thought  did  hide 

The  felnesse  of  her  heart,  right  fully  bent 

To  fierce  avengement  of  that  womans  pride. 

Which  had  her  lord  in  her  base  ])rison  pent. 

And  so  great  honour  with  so  fowie  reproch  had  blent. 


So  as  she  thus  melancholicke  did  ride, 
Chawing  the  cud  of  griefe  and  inward  paine, 
She  chaunstto  meete  toward  the  eventide 
A  knight,  that  softly  paced  on  the  plaine. 
As  if  hiniselfe  to  solace  he  were  faiiie  : 
Well  shot  in  yeares  he  seem'd,  and  rather  bent 
To  peace  then  needlesse  trouble  to  coiistraine  ; 
As  well  by  view  of  that  his  vestiment. 
As  by  his  modest  semblant,  that  no  evill  mert. 


For  little  lust  had  she  to  talke  of  ought, 
Or  ought  to  heare  that  mote  deliglittull  bee  ; 
Her  minde  was  whole  possessed  of  one  thought. 
That  gave  none  other  place.     Which  when  as  bee 
By  outward  signes  (as  well  he  might)  did  see. 
He  list  no  lenger  to  use  lothfuU  speach. 
But  her  besought  to  take  it  viell  in  gree, 
Sith  shady  dampe  had  dimd  the  heavens  reaeli, 
To  lodge  with  him  that  night,  unless  good  cause  em- 
peach. 


The  championesse,  now  seeing  night  at  dore, 
Was  glad  to  yeeld  unto  his  yood  request; 
And  with  him  went  without  gaine-saying  more. 
Not  farre  away,  but  little  wide  by  west. 
His  dwelling  was,  to  which  he  him  addrest ; 
Where  soone  arriving  they  receiveil  were 
In  seemely  wise,  as  them  beseemed  best ; 
For  he  their  host  them  goodly  well  did  cheare. 
And  talk't  of  pleasant  things  the  night  away  to  weare. 


Thus  passing  th'  evening  well,  till  time  of  rest. 
Then  Britomart  unto  a  bowre  was  brought ; 
Where  groomes  awayted  her  to  haveundrest: 
But  she  ne  would  undressed  be  for  ought, 
Ne  doft'e  her  armes,  though  he  her  much  besought: 
For  she  had  vow'd,  she  sayd,  not  to  forgo 
Those  warlike  weedes,  till  she  reven-e  had  wrought 
Of  a  late  wrong  uppon  a  mortall  foe  ; 
Which  she  would  sure  performe  betide  her  wele  or 
wo. 


Which  when  their  host  perceiv'd,  right  discontent 
In  minde  he  grew,  for  feare  least  by  that  art 
He  should  his  purpose  misse,  which  close  he  ment  • 
Yet  taking  leave  of  her  he  did  depart : 
There  all  that  night  remained  Britomart, 
Restlesse,  reconifortlesse,  with  heart  deepe-grievecl, 
Not  sufFe4'ing  the  least  twinckling  sltepe  to  start 
Into  her  eye,  which  th'  heart  mote  have  relieved  ; 
But  if  the  least  appear'd,  her  eyes  she  streight  re- 
prieved. 

XXV. 

"Ye  guilty  eyes,"  sayd  she,  "the  which  with  guvle 
My  heart  at  first  betrayd,  will  ye  betray 
My  life  now  too,  for  which  a  little  whyle 
Ye  will  not  watch  ?  false  watches,  wellaway! 
I  wote  when  ye  did  watch  both  night  and  day 
Unio  your  losse  ;  and  now  nei^des  will  ye  sleepe '.' 
Now  ye  have  msxde  my  heart  to  waive  alway, 
Now  will  ye  sleepe?  ah!  wake,  and  rather  weepe 
To  thinke  of  your  nights  want,  that  should  yee  wa- 
king keepe." 


He  coraming  neare  gan  gently  her  salute 
With  curteous  words,  in  the  most  comely  wize ; 
Who  though  desirous  rather  to  rest  mute, 
Then  termes  to  entertaine  of  common  guize. 
Vet  rather  then  she  kindnesse  would  despize. 
She  would  herselfe  displease,  so  him  requite. 
Then  gaij  the  other  further  to  devize 
Of  things  abrode,  as  next  to  hand  did  light. 
And  many  things  demaund,  to  which  she  answer'd 
liaht : 


Thus  did  she  watch,  and  weare  the  weary  night 
In  waylfull  plaints,  that  none  was  to  appease  ; 
Now  walking  soft,  now  sitt  ng  still  upright. 
As  sundry  chaunge  her  seemed  best  to  ease. 
Ne  lesse  did  '1  alus  sutler  sleepe  to  seaze 
His  eye-luls  sad,  but  watcht  continually, 
Lying  without  her  dore  in  great  disease; 
Like  to  a  spaniel  w^jyting  carefully 
Least  anv  should  betray  his  lady  treacherously. 


264 


THE  FA  Kill  P:  QuKKiVK. 


[Boc^  V 


AVhat  time  tlie  native  belnv.in  of  t'lie  night, 

The  bird  that  \v;irned  IVter  of'  liis  I'ldl, 

First  rings  his  silver  bell  t'  each  sleepy  wight. 

That  should  their  mindes  up  to  devotion  call, 

She  heard  a  wondrous  noise  below  the  hall  : 

All  sodainely  the  bed,  where  she  should  lie, 

IJy  a  false  trap  was  let  adowne  to  fall 

Irito  a  lower  roome,  and  by  and  by 

The  loft  was  raysd  againe,  that  no  man  could  it  spie. 


With  siofht  whereof  she  was  dismayd  right  sore, 
Perceiving  well  the  treason  which  was  ment : 
Yet  stirred  not  at  all  for  doubt  of  more. 
But  kept  her  place  with  courage  confident, 
Wayting  what  would  ensue  of  that  event. 
It  was  not  long  before  she  heard  the  sound 
Of  armed  men  comming  with  close  intent 
'J'owards  her  chamber;  at  which  dreadfull  stound 
She  quickly  caught  her  sword,  and  shield  about  her 
bound. 

XXIX. 

With  that  there  came  unto  her  chamber  dore 
Two  knights  all  armed  ready  ibr  to  fight  ; 
And  after  ihem  full  many  other  more, 
A  raskall  rout,  with  weapons  rudely  dight  : 
Whom  soone  as  'I'alus  spide  by  glims  of  niglit, 
He  started  u]),  theie  where  on  ground  he  lay, 
And  in  his  hand  his  thresher  ready  keigiit : 
"J'hey,  seeing  that,  let  drive  at  him  streightway. 
And  round  about  him  preace  in  riotous  aray. 


XXXIII. 

lie  had  three  sonnes,  all  three  like  fiithers  sonnes, 
Like  treacherous,  like  full  of  fraud  and  guile, 
Of  all  that  on  this  earthly  compasse  wonnes  : 
The  eldest  of  the  which  was  slaine  erewhile 
1    Hy  Aiteiiall,  through  his  owne  guilty  wile  ; 
His  name  was  Guizor  ;  whose  untimely  fate 
For  to  avengi^,  full  many  treasons  vile 
His  father  Dolon  had  deviz'd  of  late 
With  these  his  wicked  sons,  and  shewd  his  caiikred 
hate. 


For  sure  he  weend  that  this  his  present  guest 
^Vas  Artegall,  by  many  tokens  plaine  ; 
But  chiefly  by  that  yron  page  he  ghest, 
Wlicli  still  was  wont  with  Artegall  reraaine  ; 
And  therefore  ment  him  surely  to  have  slaine  : 
15ut  by  Gods  grace,  and  her  good  lieedinesse. 
She  was  preserved  from  their  traytrous  traine. 
Thus  she  all  night  wore  out  in  watchfulnesse. 
Ne  suft'red  slothfull  sleepe  her  eyelids  to  oppresse. 


The  morrow  next,  so  soone  as  dawning  houre 
Discovered  had  the  light  to  living  eye, 
She  forth  yssew'd  out  of  her  loathed  bowre. 
With  lull  intent  t'  avenge  that  villany 
On  that  vilde  man  and  all  his  family  : 
And,  comming  down  toseekethem  where  they  Avond, 
Nor  sire,  nor  sonnes,  nor  any  could  she  spie  ; 
Each  rovvme  she  sought,  but  them  all  empty  fond  : 
They  all  were  fled  for  feare ;    but  whether,  neither 
kond. 


But,  soone  as  he  began  to  lay  about 
With  his  rude  vron  tlaile,  they  gan  to  flie, 
Both  armed  knights  and  eke  unarmed  rout : 
Yet  Talus  after  them  apace  did  jdie, 
Wherever  in  the  darke  he  couUl  them  spie  ; 
That  here  and  there  like  scattred  sheei>e  they  lay, 
Then,  backe  returning  where  his  dame  did  lie, 
He  to  her  told  the  story  of  that  fray, 
And  all  that  treason  there  intended  did  bewray. 


W'herewith  though  wondrous  wroth,  and  inly  burn- 
To  be  avenged  for  so  fowle  a  deede,  [ing 
Yet  being  forst  t'  abide  the  dales  returning. 
She  there  remain'd  ;  but  with  right  warv  heede. 
Least  anv  more  such  ])ractise  should  ]iroceede. 
Now  mote  ye  know  (that  whidi  to  Britomart 
L'nknowen  was)  whence  all  this  did  proceede  ; 
And  for  what  cause  so  great  mischievous  smart 
Was  ment  to  her  that  never  evill  ment  in  hart. 


XXXII. 

The  ;:oodman  of  this  liouse  was  Dolon  bight  j 

A  man  of  subtill  wit  and  wicked  minde, 

That  whilome  in  his  youth  had  bene  a  knight. 

And  armes  had  borne,  Init  little  ^ood  could  fiiide, 

And  much  lesse  honour  by  that  wiirlike  kinde 

Of  lil'e  :    for  he  was  nothing  valorous, 

ISut  with  slie  shiftes  and  wiles  diu  uiiderminde 

All  noble  knights,  wh.ch  were  adventurous,  , 

And  manv  brought  to  shame  by  treason  treacherous. 


She  saw  it  vaine  to  make  there  lenger  stay. 
Hut  tooke  her  steede  ;  and  thereon  mounting  light 
Gan  her  addresse  unto  her  former  way. 
She  had  not  rid  the  mountenance  of  a  flight, 
J5ut  that  she  saw  there  present  in  her  sight 
1  hose  two  false  brethren  on  that  perillous  bridge, 
On  which  Pollente  with  Artegall  did  fight. 
Streight  was  the  passage,  like  a  ploughed  ridge, 
That,  if  two  met,  the  one  mute  needs  fall  o'er  the 
lidge. 

XXXVII. 

There  they  did  t.hinke  themselves  on  her  to  wreake  ; 
Who  as  she  nigh  unto  them  drew,  the  one 
'J'liese  vile  reproches  gan  unto  her  speake  ; 
"  Thou  recreant  false  traytor,  that  with  lone 
Of  armes  hast  knighthood  stolne,  yet  knight  art  none, 
No  more  shall  now  the  darkenesse  of  the  night 
Defend  tiiee  from  the  vengeance  of  thy  fone  ; 
15ut  with  thy  blond  thou  shalt  appease  the  spright 
Of  Guizor  by  thee  slaine  and  murdred  by  thy  slight." 


Strange  were  the  words  in  Britomartis  eare  ; 
Yet  stayd  she  not  for  them,  hut  forward  fared. 
Till  to  the  perillous  bridge  she  came  ;  and  there 
Talus  (U'-!r'd  that  he  might  have  prepared 
The  war  to  her,  and  those  two  losels  scared  : 
Bnit  she  thereat  was  wroth,  that  far  desjiight 
'J'lie  clauiicing  sparkles  through  her  bever  glared, 
And  li-um  her  cies  did  flash  out  fiery  light. 
Like  coles  that  through  a  silver  censer  sparkle  bright. 


Canto  VII. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


265 


She  stayd  not  to  advise  which  way  to  take  ; 
But,  putting-  spun-es  unto  her  fiery  beast, 
Tliorough  the  midst  of  them  she  way  did  make. 
The  one  of  them,  which  most  her  wrath  increast. 
Upon  her  spenre  slie  bore  before  her  breast. 
Till  to  the  bridg'es  further  end  she  past : 
Where  falling-  downe  his  challenge  he  releast : 
The  ether  over  side  tlie  bridge  she  cast 
Into  the  river,  where  he  drunke  his  deadly  last. 


As  when  the  flashing  levin  haps  to  light 

Uponn  two  stubborne  oakes,  which  stand  so  neare 

That  way  betwixt  them  none  appeares  in  sight ; 

Tiie  engin,  fiercely  flying-  fortli,  doth  teure 

Th'  one  from  the  earth,  and  through  the  aire  doth 

The  other  it  with  force  doth  overthrow  [beare  ; 

Ui)pon  one  side,  and  from  his  rootes  doth  re-are  . 

So  did  the  championesse  these  two  there  strow. 

And  to  there  sire  their  carcasses  left  to  bestow. 


CANTO  VII. 

Britomart  comes  to  Isis  church. 
Where  shee  strange  visions  sees: 

She  fights  with  R-ddigund,  her  slaies, 
And  Arte^all  thence  frees. 


Nour.iir  is  on  earth  more  sacred  or  divine, 
Tliiit  gods  and  men  doe  equally  adore, 
Then  this  same  vertue  that  doth  right  define  ; 
For  th'  hevens  themselves,  whence  mortal  men  im- 
plore 
Right  in  their  wrongs,  are  rul'd  by  righteous  lore 
Of  liighcst  love,  who  dot!)  true  iustice  deale 
To  his  iiifiriour  gods,  and  evermore 
I  lierewiih  containes  his  heavenly  commonweale  : 
The  skill  whereof  to  princes  hearts  he  doth  reveale. 

II. 

Well  therefore  did  the  antique  woi-ld  invent 

That  Justice  was  a  god  of  soveraiiie  grace, 

And  altars  unto  him  and  temples  lent, 

A  nd  heavenly  honours  in  the  highest  place ; 

Calling  him  great  Osyris,  of  the  race 

Of  th'  old  .Egyptian  kings  that  whylorae  were; 

With  fayned  colours  shading-  a  true  case  ; 

For  that  Osyris,  whilest  he  lived  here, 

The  iustest  man  alive  and  truest  did  appeare. 


His  wife  was  Isis  ;  whom  they  likewise  made 

A  goddesse  of  great  powre  and  soverainty. 

And  ill  her  person  cunningly  did  shade 

Th-at  part  of  iustice  which  is  equity, 

^^  hereof  I  have  to  treat  here  jiresently  : 

Unto  whose  temjile  whenas  lintoinart 

Arrived,  shee  with  great  humility 

Did  enter  in,  ne  would  that  night  depart, 

But  Talus  mote  not  be  admitted  to  her  part. 


There  she  received  was  in  goodly  wize 

Of  many  priests,  which  duelv  did  attend 

Uppon  the  riies  and  daily  sacrifize. 

All  clad  in  linnen  robes  with  silver  hemd  ; 

And  on  t'eir  heads  with  long  locks  comelv  kemd 

They  wore  rich  mitres  shaped  like  the  iiioone. 

To  shew  that  Isis  doth  the  inooiie  portend  ; 

Like  as  O.-^vris  signifies  the  sunne  : 

For  thill  they  both  like  race  ia  eijuall  iustice  runne. 


The  championesse  them  greeting,  as  she  could. 
Was  thence  by  them  into  the  temple  led  ; 
Whose  goodly  building  when  she  did  behould 
Borne  uppon  stately  jiillours,  all  dis])red 
With  shining  gold,  and  arched  over  bed, 
She  wondred  at  the  workmans  passi*ig  skill, 
Whose  like  before  she  never  saw  nor  red  ; 
And  thereuppon  long  while  stood  gazing  still, 
But  thought  that  she  thereon  could  never  g-aze  hei 
fill. 


Thenceforth  unto  the  idoll  they  her  brought ; 

The  which  was  framed  all  of  silver  fine. 

So  well  as  could  with  cunning  hand  be  wrought 

And  clothed  all  in  garments  made  of  line, 

Hemd  all  about  with  fringe  of  silver  twine: 

Uppon  her  head  she  wore  a  crowne  of  gold  ; 

To  shew  that  she  bad  powre  in  things  divine  : 

And  at  her  feete  a  crocodile  v\as  rold, 

That  with  her  wreathed  taile  her  middle  did  enfold. 


One  foote  was  set  uppon  the  crocodile. 
And  on  the  ground  the  other  fiist  did  stand  ; 
So  meaning  to  suppresse  both  forged  guile 
And  open  force  r  and  in  her  other  hand 
She  stretched  forth  a  long  white  sclender  wand. 
Such  was  the  goddesse:   whom  when  Britomarf 
Had  long  beheld,  herselfe  uppon  the  land 
She  did  jjrostrate,  and  with  right  humble  hart 
Unto  herselfe  her  silent  prayers  did  impart. 


To  which  the  idoll  as  it  were  inclining 

Her  wand  did  move  with  ami-able  looke, 

By  outward  shew  her  inward  seiice  desining : 

Who  well  perceiving  how  her  wand  she  shooke. 

It  as  a  token  of  good  fortune  tooke, 

By  this  the  d;iv  with  <ranii)e    vas  ovit-Ciist, 

And  loyous  light  the  hou>e  of  love  forsooke  ; 

Wliicli'when  she  saw,  her  helmet  she  unlasfe 

And  by  the  altars  side  herselfe  to  slumber  plaste. 


Z66 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[Book  V. 


For  other  beds  the  priests  there  used  none, 
But  on  their  mother  earths  deare  hip  did  lie, 
And  bake  their  sides  uppon  tlie  cold  hard  stone, 
T'  enure  tbemselces  to  suft'eraunce  thereby. 
And  proud  rebellious  flesh  to  mortify  : 
For,  by  the  vow  of  their  religion, 
They  tied  were  to  stedfast  chastity 
And  continence  of  life  ;  that,  all  forgon. 
The)'  mote  the  better  tend  to  their  devotion. 


Therefore  tliev  mote  not  taste  of  fleshly  food, 
Ne  feed  on  ought  the  which  doth  bloud  containe, 
Ne  drinke  of  wine  ;  for  wine  they  say  is  blood, 
Even  the  bloud  of  g^'ants,  which  were  slaine 
liy  thundring  love  in  the  Phlegrean  plaine : 
For  which  the  earth  (as  they  the  story  tell) 
AVroth  with  the  gods,  which  to  perpetuuU  paine 
Had  damn'd  hersonnes  wliich  gainst  them  didrebell, 
With  inward  oriefe  and  malice  did  against  them  swell : 


With  that  the  crocodile,  which  sleeping  lay 

Under  the  idols  feete  in  fearelesse  bowre, 

Seem'd  to  awake  in  horrible  dismay, 

As  being  troubled  n  itli  that  stormy  stowre  ; 

And  gaping  greedy  wide  did  streight  devours 

Both  flames  and  tempest ;  with  which  growen  great, 

And  swolne  with  pride  of  his  owne  peerelesse  j)owre. 

He  gan  to  threaten  lier  likewise  to  eat : 

But  that  the  goddesse  with  her  rod  Limbacke  did  beat. 


Tho,  turning  all  his  pride  to  liumblesse  meeke, 
Hiniselfe  before  her  feete  he  lowly  threw 
And  gan  for  grace  and  love  of  her  to  seeke  : 
Which  she  accepting,  he  so  neare  her  drew 
That  of  his  game  she  soone  enwombed  grew, 
And  forth  did  bring  a  lion  of  great  migiit, 
Tbat  shortly  did  all  other  beasts  subdew: 
With  that  she  waked  full  of  feareful  fright, 
And  doubtfully  dismayd   through  tbat   so  uncoutl 
si°ht. 


And  of  their  vitall  bloud,  the  which  was  shed 
Into  her  pregnant  bosome,  forth  she  brought 
The  fruitful!  vine;  whose  liquor  blouddy  red, 
Having  the  mindes  of  men  with  fury  fraught, 
Mote  in  them  stirre  up  old  rebellious  thought 
To  make  new  warre  against  the  gods  againe  : 
Such  is  the  powre  of  that  same  fruit,  that  nought 
Tlie  fell  contagion  may  thereof  restraine, 
Ne  within  reasons  rule  her  madding  mood  containe. 


There  did  the  warlike  maide  horselfe  repose, 
Under  the  wings  of  Isis  all  that  night ; 
And  with  sweete  rest  her  heavy  eyes  did  close, 
After  that  long  daies  toile  and  wearie  plight : 
W>ir.re  whilest  her  earthly  parts  with  soft  delight 
Of  sencelesse  sleepe  did  deeply  drowned  lie. 
There  did  appeare  unto  her  heavenly  spright 
A  wondrous  vision,  which  did  close  inii)lie 
The  course  of  all  her  fortune  and  posteritie. 


Her  seem'd  as  she  was  doing  sacrifize 

To  Isis,  deckt  with  mitre  on  her  lied 

And  linnen  stole  after  those  priestes  guize, 

All  sodainely  she  saw  transfigured 

Her  linnen  stole  to  robe  of  scarlet  red, 

And  moone-like  mitre  to  a  crowne  of  gold; 

That  even  she  herselfe  much  wondered 

At  such  a  chaunge,  and  ioyed  to  behold 

Herselfe  adorn 'd  with  gems  and  iewels  manifold. 


And,  in  the  midst  of  her  felicity, 

An  hideous  tpm])est  seemed  from  below 

To  rise  through  all  the  tem[)le  >()(lainely, 

'I'hat  from  the  altar  all  about  did  blow 

'1  he  holy  Are,  and  all  the  embers  strow 

Uppon  the  ground  ;  whicli,  kindled  privily, 

Into  outragious  flames  unwares  tlid  grow. 

That  ail  tlie  tem|>le  |iut  in  ieo])ar(lv 

Of  flaming,  and  herselfe  in  great  perplexity. 


So  thereuppon  long  while  she  musing  lay, 
^Vith  thousand  thoughts  feeding  her  fantasie 
Untill  she  s])ide  the  lanipe  of  lightsome  day 
Up-lifted  in  the  porch  of  heaven  hie  : 
Then  up  she  rose  fraught  with  melancholy. 
And  forth  into  the  lower  parts  did  pas, 
\Vhereas,  the  priestes  she  found  full  busilv 
About  their  holy  things  for  morrow  mas  ; 
Whom  she  saluting  faire,  faire  resaluted  was 


But,  by  the  change  of  her  unchearefull  looke. 
They  might  perceive  she  was  not  well  in  jilight. 
Or  that  some  pensiveness  to  heart  she  tooke  : 
Therefore  thus  one  of  them,  who  seem'd  in  sight 
To  be  the  greatest  and  the  gravest  wight. 
To  her  bespake  ;  "  Sir  knight,  it  seems  to  me 
That,  thorough  evill  rest  of  this  last  night. 
Or  ill  apayd  or  much  dismayd  ye  be; 
That  by  your  change  of  chearie  is  easie  for  to  see.' 


"  Certes,"  sayd  she,  "  sith  ye  so  well  liave  spide 

The  troublous  passion  of  my  pensive  mind, 

I  will  not  seeke  the  same  from  you  to  hide: 

But  will  my  cares  unfolde,  in  hope  to  find 

■^'our  aide  to  guide  me  out  of  errour  blind." 

"  Say  on,"  (|uoth  he,  "  the  secret  of  your  hart: 

For,  by  the  holy  vow  which  me  doth  bind, 

I  am  adiur'd  best  counsell  to  impart 

To  all  that  srhall  require  my  comfort  in  their  smart.' 


Then  gan  she  to  declare  the  whole  discourse 
Of  all  that  vision  which  to  her  appeared. 
As  well  as  to  her  minde  it  had  recourse. 
All  which  when  he  unto  the  end  liad  heard. 
Like  to  a  weake  faint-hearted  man  he  fared 
Through  great  astonishment  of  that  strange  sight, 
And,  with  long  locks  u])-standing  stifly.  slared 
Tike  one  adawed  with  some  dreadfull  spright: 
So  tild  with  heavenly  fury  thus  he  her  behight; 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


267 


"  Magnihcke  virgin,  that  in  queint  disguise 

Of  Jiritisli  armes  doest  maske  thy  royall  blood. 

So  to  pursue  a  perlUous  empiize  ;  [hood, 

How  couldst   tiiou  weene,   through   that  disguized 

To  hide  thv  state  from  being  understood  ! 

Can  from  tli'  immortall  gods  ought  hidden  bee  1 

Thev  doe  tliy  linage,  and  thy  lordly  brood, 

Thev  doe  thy  sire  lamenting  sore  for  thee, 

They  doe  thy  love  forlorne  in  womens  thruldome  see. 


"  The  end  whereof,  and  all  the  long  event, 
They  do  to  thee  in  this  same  dreame  discover : 
For  that  same  crocodile  doth  represent 
The  righteous  knight  that  is  thy  faithfull  lover, 
Like  to  Osyris  in  all  iust  endever ; 
For  that  same  crocodile  Osyris  is. 
That  under  Isis  feete  doth  sleepe  for  ever ; 
To  shew  that  clemence  oft,  in  things  amis, 
Restraines  those  sterne  behests  and  cruell  doomes  of 
bis. 


"  That  knight  shall  all  the  troublous  stormes  asswage 
And  raging  flames,  that  many  foes  shall  reare 
To  hinder  thee  from  the  iust  heritage 
Of  thy  sires  crowne,  and  from  thy  countrey  dears: 
Then  shah  thou  take  him  to  thy  loved  fere. 
And  ioyne  in  equall  portion  of  thy  realme  : 
And  afterwards  a  sonne  to  him  shall  beare. 
That  lion-like  shall  shew  his  povvre  extreame. 
So  blesse  thee  God,  and  give  thee  ioyance  of  thy 
dreame  !" 


All  which  when  she  unto  the  end  had  heard, 
She  much  was  eased  in  her  troublous  thought, 
And  on  those  priests  bestowed  rich  reward  ; 
And  royall  gifts  of  gold  and  silver  wrouglit 
She  for  a  present  to  their  goddesse  brought. 
Then  taking  leave  of  them  she  forward  went 
To  seeke  her  love,  where  he  was  to  be  sought, 
Ne  rested  till  she  came  without  relent 
Unto  the  land  of  amazons,  as  she  was  bent. 


Whereof  when  newes  to  Radigund  was  brought. 
Not  with  amaze,  as  women  won.ed  bee. 
She  was  confused  in  her  troublous  thought ; 
But  fild  with  courage  and  with  ioyous  glee. 
As  glad  to  heare  of  armes,  the  which  now  she 
Had  long  surceast,  she  bad  to  open  bold, 
That  she  the  face  of  her  new  foe  might  see : 
But  when  they  of  that  yron  man  had  told. 
Which  lute  her  lolke  had  slaine,  she  bad  them  forth 
to  hold. 


So  there  without  the  gate,  as  seemed  best. 
She  caused  her  pavilion  be  pight ; 
In  which  stout  Britcjmart  herselfe  did  rest, 
Whiles  Talus  watched  at  the  dore  all  nij^ht. 
All  night  likewise  they  of  the  towne  in  fright 
Uppon  ther  wall  good  watch  and  ward  did  keepe. 
The  morrow  next,  so  soone  as  dawning  light 
Bad  doe  away  the  dampe  of  drouzie  sleepe, 
The  warlike  jmazou  out  of  her  bowre  did  peepe  ; 


And  caused  streight  a  trumpet  loud  to  shrill. 
To  warne  her  foe  to  battfll  soone  be  prest  • 
Who,  long  before  awoke,  (for  she  full  ill 
Could  sleepe  all  night,  that  in  un(|uiet  brest 
Did  closely  harbour  such  a  iealous  guest,) 
Was  to  the  battell  whilome  ready  dight. 
Eftsoones  that  warriouresse  with  haughty  cres: 
Did  forth  issue  all  ready  for  the  fight ; 
On  th'  other  side  her  foe  appeared  soone  in  sight. 

xxTiir. 

But,  ere  they  reared  hand,  the  amazone 

Begun  the  streignt  conditions  to  ]iropound. 

With  which  she  used  still  to  tve  her  fune, 

To  serve  her  so,  as  she  the  rest  had  bound  : 

Whicii  when  the  other  heard,  she  sternly  frownd 

For  high  disdaine  of  such  indignity. 

And  would  no  lenger  treat,  but  bad  them  sound  : 

For  her  no  other  termes  should  ever  tie 

Then  what  prescribed  were  by  lawes  of  chevalrie. 


The  trumpets  sound,  and  they  together  run 
With  greedy  rage,  and  with  their  faulchins  smot; 
Ne  either  sought  the  others  strokes  to  shun, 
I3ut  through  great  fury  both  their  skill  forgot. 
And  practickeiise  in  armes  ;  ne  spared  not 
1  heir  dainty  parts,  which  nature  had  created 
So  faire  and  tender  without  staine  or  spot 
For  other  uses  then  they  them  translated  ; 
Which  they  now  hackt  and  hewd  as  if  such  use  they 
hated. 


As  when  a  tygre  and  a  lionesse 
Are  met  at  spoyling  of  some  hungry  pray, 
Botl)  challenge  it  with  etjuall  greedinesse  : 
But  first  the  tygre  ciawes  thereon  did  lay  ; 
And  therefore  loth  to  loose  her  right  away 
Doth  in  defence  thereof  full  stoutly  stond  : 
To  which  the  lion  strongly  doth  gainesay. 
That  she  to  hunt  the  beast  first  tooke  in  bond  ; 
And  therefore  ought  it  have  wherever  she  it  fond. 


Full  fiercely  layde  the  amazon  about. 
And  dealt  her  blowes  unmercifully  sore; 
Which  Biitomart  withstood  with  courage  stout, 
And  them  rejiaide  againe  with  double  more. 
So  long  they  fought,  that  all  the  grassie  flore 
Was  fild  with  bloud  which  from  their  sides  did  flow, 
And  gushed  through  their  armes,  that  all  in  gore 
They  troile,  and  on  the  ground  their  lives  did  strow, 
Like  fruitles  seede,  of  which  untimely  death  should 
grow. 

XXXII. 

At  last  proud  Radigund  with  fell  despight. 
Having  by  chaunce  es])ide  advantage  neare. 
Let  drive  at  her  with  all  her  dreadfuU  might. 
And  thus  ui)bruyding  said  ;  "  i  his  token  beare 
Unto  the  mun  whom  thou  doest  love  so  deare  ; 
And  tell  him  for  his  sake  thy  life  thou  gavest." 
Which  spiteful!  words  she  sore  engriev'd  to  lieare 
Thus  answer'd  ;  "  Lewdly  thou  my  love  depravest. 
Who  shortly  must  repent  that  now  so  vainely  bravest." 


^68 


THE  FAKUIE  QUEE>rE. 


[Book  V. 


Nath'lesse  tliat  stroke  so  cruell  passage  found, 
That  glauncing-  on  her  shoulder-plate  it  bit 
Unto  tlie  bone,  ami  made  a  griesly  wound, 
That  she  lier  shield  through  raging  smart  of  it 
Could  scnrsp  uphold;  yet  soone  she  it  requit: 
For,  having  force  increast  through  furious  paine. 
She  hrr  so  rudely  on  the  helmet  smit 
Tliat  it  enipierced  to  the  very  braine, 
And  her  proud  person  low  prostrated  on  the  plains. 

XXXIV. 

A\'lipre  heing  lavd,  the  wrothfull  Britonesse 
Stavd  iK.t  till  she  came  to  herslfe  againe; 
J>ut  ill  revenge  both  of  her  loves  distresse 
Ai'A  her  hite  vile  reproch  though  vaunted  vaine. 
And  also  of  her  wound  which  sore  did  paine, 
She  wiih  one  stroke  both  head  and  helmet  cleft: 
\\  liicli  dreadful  sight  when  all  her  warlike  traine 
'I'Jiere  [iresent  saw,  each  one  of  seiice  bereft 
Fled  fast  into  the  towne,  and  her  sole  victor  left. 


But  yet  so  fast  they  could  not  home  retrate, 
JUit  tiiat  swift  Talus  did  the  formost  win  ; 
And,  pressing  through  the  preace  unto  the  gate, 
Pelmell  with  them  attonce  did  enter  in: 
There  then  a  piteous  slaughter  did  begin  ; 
For  all  that  ever  came  wiiliin  his  reach 
He  witii  liis  yron  flale  did  thresh  so  tiiin, 
'I'liat  lie  no  worke  at  all  left  lor  the  leach  ; 
Like  to  an  hideous  storme,  wliich  nothing  may  em- 
peach. 

XXXVI. 

And  novi-  by  this  the  noble  conqueresse 

Herselfe  came  in,  her  glory  to  par'ake  ; 

Where  though  revengefull  vow  she  did  professe. 

Vet,  when  she  saw  the  heapes  which  he  did  make 

Of  slaughtred  carkasses,  her  heart  did  quake 

For  very  ruth,  which  did  it  almost  rive, 

Tliat  she  his  i'ury  willed  him  to  slake  : 

For  else  he  sure  had  left  not  one  alive  ; 

But  all,  in  his  revenge,  of  spirite  would  deprive. 


Thn,  when  she  had  his  execution  stayd. 

She  for  that  yron  jirison  did  enquire, 

In  which  her  wretched  love  was  ca])tive  layd  : 

Which  broaliing  Ofien  with  indignant  ire, 

She  oiitred  into  all  the  partes  entire  : 

Where  when  she  saw  that  lothly  uncoutii  sight 

Of  men  disf^uiz'd  in  womanishe  attire. 

Her  h^art  gan  grudge  for  very  deepe  despight 

Of  so  unmanly  maske  in  misery  misdight 


At  last  whenas  to  her  owne  love  she  came. 
Whom  like  disguize  no  lesse  deformed  had. 
At  sio'ht  thereof  abasht  with  secrete  shame 
She!  turnd  her  head  aside,  as  nolhing  glad 
To  have  beheld  a  sjiectacle  so  bad  ; 
And  tiien  too  well  believ'd  that  whicli  tofoie 
lealous  suspect  as  true  unfruely  drad  : 
Wlucli  vaine  concei])t  now  iiourishiug  no  more, 
She  sought  with  ruth  to  salve  his  sad  mislortunes 
son;. 


XXXIX. 

Not  so  great  wonder  and  astonishment 
Did  the  most  chast  Penelope  possesse, 
'J'o  see  her  lord,  that  was  reported  drent 
And  dead  long  since  in  dolorous  distresse. 
Come  home  to  her  in  piteous  wretchednesse, 
After  long  travell  of  full  twenty  yeares  ; 
That  she  knew  not  his  favours  likelynesse, 
F^or  many  scarres  and  many  hoary  heares  ; 
But  stood  long  staring  on  him  mongst  uncertaine 
feares. 


"  Ah  !  my  deare  lord,  what  sight  is  this,"  quoth  she, 
"  What  may-game  hath  misfortune  made  of  you? 
Wliere  is  that  dreadfuU  manly  looke?  where  be 
Those  mighty  palmes,  the  which  ye  wont  t'  embrew 
In  bloud  of  kings,  and  great  hoastes  to  subdew  1 
Could  ought  on    earth    so  wondrous   change    liavfl 
As  to  liave  robde  you  of  that  manly  hew  ?  [wrought 
Could  so  great  courage  stouped  liave  to  ought  ? 
Then  farevvell,   fleshly   force ;    I   see   thy  pride  is 
nouo;ht !" 


Thenceforth  she  streight  into  a  bowre  him  brought 
And  causd  him  those  uncomely  weedes  undight ; 
And  in  their  steede  for  other  rayment  sought, 
Whereof  there  was  great  store,  and  armors  bright, 
\Vliicli  had  bene  reft  from  many  a  noble  knight; 
Whom  that  ]iroud  amazon  subdewed  had, 
Whilest  ibrtune  favourd  her  successe  in  fight : 
In  which  whenas  she  him  anew  had  clad, 
She  was  reviv'd,  and  ioyd  much  in  his  semblance 
elad. 


So  there  awhile  they  afterwards  remained, 

Him  to  refresh,  and  her  late  wounds  to  heale  : 

During  which  space  she  there  as  princess  rained  ; 

And  changing  all  that  forme  of  common-weale 

'ihe  liberty  of  women  did  repeale, 

U'liich  they  had  long  usurpt  ;  and,  them  restoring 

To  mens  ^ubieelion,  did  true  iustice  deale  : 

i'hat  all  they,  as  a  goddesse,  her  adoring. 

Her  wisedome  did  admire,  and  liearkned  to  her  loring 


For  all  those  knights,  which  long  in  captive  shade 

Had  shrowded  bene,  she  did  from  thraldome  free  j 

And  magistrates  of  all  that  city  made. 

And  gave  to  them  great  living  and  large  fee: 

And,  that  they  should  for  ever  faithfull  bee, 

Made  them  sweare  fealty  to  Artegall : 

Who  wlieti  himselfe  now  well  record  did  see, 

He  purposd  lo  jiroceed,  whatso  befall, 

Uppon  his  iirst  adventure  which  him  forth  did  call. 


Full  sad  and  sorrowful!  was  Britomart 
For  his  departure,  her  new  cause  of  griefe; 
Yet  wisely  moderated  her  owne  smart, 
Seeing  his  honor,  which  she  teadred  chiefe. 
Consisted  much  in  that  adventures  priefe  : 
The  care  whereof,  and  ho])e  of  his  successe, 
Ciave  unto  her  great  comfort  and  reliefe  : 
That  womanish  complaints  she  did  rejiresse, 
And  teinpred  for  tlie  time  her  present  heavinesse. 


CamoVIII.] 


T[1K   FAKIIIK  QUKI-:.\E. 


269 


There  she  continu'd  for  a  certaine  space, 
Till  through  liis  want  her  woe  did  more  increase  : 
Then,  hoping  that  the  change  of  aire  and  place 
Would  change  her  paine  and  sorrow  somewhat  ease 
She  parted  thence,  her  anguish  to  appease. 
Meane  while  her  noble  lord  Sir  Artegall 
Went  on  his  way  ;   ne  ever  howre  did  cease, 
Till  he  redeemed  had  that  lady  thrall : 
That  for  another  canto  will  more  fitly  fall. 


CANTO  VIII. 

Prince  Arthure  and  Sir  Artegall 

Free  Samient  from  feare  : 
They  slay  the  soudan  ;  drive  his  wife, 

Adicia  to  despaire. 


Nought  under  heaven  so  strongly  doth  allure 
The  sence  of  man,  and  all  his  minde  possesse, 
As  beauties  lovely  baite,  that  doth  procure 
Great  warriours  oft  their  rigour  to  represse, 
And  mighty  hands  forget  their  manlinesse ; 
Drawne  with  the  powre  of  an  heart-robbing  eye. 
And  wrapt  in  fetters  of  a  golden  tresse, 
That  can  with  melting  pleasaunce  mollifye 
Their  hardned  hearts  enur'd  to  bloud  and  crueltv. 


So  wliylome  learnd  tliat  mighty  Tewish  swaine, 

Each  of  whose  lockes  did  match  a  man  in  might. 

To  lay  his  spoiles  befort  bis  lemans  traine  : 

So  also  did  that  great  Oetean  knight 

For  his  loves  sake  bis  lions  skin  undiglit ; 

And  so  did  warlike  Antony  neglect 

The  worlds  whole  rule  for  Cleojiatras  sight. 

.Sucli  wondrous  powre  hath  wemens  faire  aspect 

To  captive  men,  and  make  them  all  the  world  reiect. 


Yet  could  it  not  sterne  Artegall  retaine, 

Nor  hold  from  suite  of  his  avowed  quest, 

\Vhich  he  had  undertane  to  Gloriane  ; 

But  left  his  love  (albe  her  strong  request) 

Faire  Britomart  in  languor  and  unrest. 

And  rode  himselfe  uppon  his  first  intent : 

Ne  day  nor  night  did  ever  idly  rest ; 

Ne  wight  but  onelv  Talus  with  him  went, 

rise  true  guide  of  his  way  and  vertuous  government 


So  travelling,  he  chaunst  far  off  to  heed 

A  damzell  living  on  a  palfrey  fast 

I>f-fore  two  knights  that  after  her  did  speed 

With  all-their  powre,  and  her  full  fiercely  chast 

III  hope  to  have  her  overhent  at  last: 

Vet  fled  she  fast,  and  both  them  fnrre  outwent, 

(Juried  with  wings  of  feare,  like  fowle  aghast, 

Witi)  locks  all  loose,  and  rayment  all  to  rent ; 

And  ever  as  she  rode  her  eye  was  backeward  bent. 


Soone  after  these  he  saw  another  knight. 

That  after  those  two  former  rode  apace 

\Vith  speare  in  rest,  and  prickt  with  all  his  might: 

So  ran  they  all,  as  they  had  bene  at  bace, 

They  being  chased  that  did  others  chace. 

At  length  he  saw  the  hindmost  overtake 

One  of  those  two,  and  force  him  turne  his  face  ; 

However  lotli  he  were  his  way  to  slake. 

Yet  mote  he  algates  now  abide,  and  answere  make. 


But  th'  other  still  pursu'd  the  fearefull  mayd ; 
Who  still  from  him  as  fast  away  did  flie, 
Ne  once  for  ought  her  speedy  passage  stayd. 
Till  that  at  length  she  did  before  her  spie' 
Sir  Artegall,  to  whom  she  streight  did  hie 
With  gladfull  hast,  in  hope  of  him  to  get 
Succour  against  her  greedy  enimy  : 
Who  seeing  her  approch  gan  forward  set 
To  save  her  from  her  feare,  and  him  from  force  to 
let. 


But  he,  like  hound  full  greedy  of  his  pray. 
Being  impatient  of  impediment, 
Continu'd  still  his  course,  and  by  the  way 
Thought  with  his  speare  him  quight  have  overwent. 
So  both  together,  ylike  ftlly  bent, 
Like  fiercely  met :  but  Artegall  was  stronger. 
And  bf^tter  skild  in  tilt  and  turnament, 
And  bore  him  quite  out  of  his  saddle,  longer 
Then  two  speares  length  :    so  mischiefe  over-matciit 
the  wronger: 


And  in  his  fall  misfortune  him  mistooke  ; 

For  on  his  head  unhappily  he  pight. 

That  his  owne  waight  his  necke  asunder  broke. 

And  left  there  dead.     IMeane  while  the  other  knight 

Defeated  had  the  other  favtour  (juight. 

And  all  his  bowels  in  his  body  brast : 

Whom  leaving  there  in  that  dispiteous  plight. 

He  ran  still  on,  thinking  to  follow  fast 

His  other  fellow  pagan  which  before  him  past. 


570 


THE  FAERIE  QUEKXE. 


[POGK  V 


Instead  of  whom  finding  there  ready  prest 
Sir  Arten;all,  without  discretion 
He  at  him  ran  with  ready  speare  in  rest: 
AVho,  seeing-  him  come  still  so  fiercely  on, 
Against  him  made  againe  :   so  both  anon 
Together  met,  and  strongly  either  strooke 
And  broke  their  speares  ;  yet  neither  has  forgon 
His  horses  backe,  vet  to  and  fro  long  shooke 
And    tottred,    like   two    towres    which   through    a 
tempest  quooke. 


But,  when  againe  they  had  recovered  sence. 

They  drew  tiieir  swords,  in  mind  to  make  amends 

For  what  their  speares  had  foyld  of  their  pretence: 

W'liicli  when  the  damzell,  who  those  deadly  ends 

Of  both  her  foes  had  seene,  and  now  her  frends 

For  her  beginning  a  more  fearefuU  fray  ; 

She  to  them  runnes  in  hast,  and  her  haire  rends 

Crying  to  them  their  cruell  hands  to  stay, 

Untill  they  both  do  heare  what  she  to  them  will  say. 


They  stayd  their  hands  ;  when  she  thus  ganto  speake; 
"  Ah !  gentle  knights,  what  meane  ye  thus  unwise 
U])Oii  yourselves  anothers  wrong  to  wreake? 
I  am  the  wrong'd,  whom  ye  did  enterprise 
Both  to  redresse,  and  both  redrest  likewise: 
Witnesse  the  paynims  both,  whom  ye  may  see 
There  dead  on  ground  :  what  doe  ye  then  devise 
Of  more  revenge?  if  more,  then  I  am  shee 
Which  was  the  roote  of  all ;  end  your  revenge  on 
me." 


Whom  when  they  heard  so  say,  they  lookt  about 

To  weete  if  it  were  true  as  she  had  told  ; 

Where  when  they  saw  their  foes  dead  out  of  doubt, 

Eftsoones  they  gan  their  wrothfull  hands  to  hold, 

And  ventailes  reare  each  other  to  behold. 

Tho,  whenas  Artegall  did  Arthure  vew, 

So  faire  a  creature  and  so  wondrous  bold. 

He  much  admired  both  his  heart  and  hew. 

And  touched  with  intire  affection  nigh  him  drew  ; 


Saying,  "  sir  knight,  of  pardon  I  you  pray. 
That  ail  unweeting  have  you  wrong'd  thus  sore, 
Sutfring  my  hand  against  my  heart  to  stray: 
Which  if  ye  pleuse  forgive,  I  will  therefore 
\'eeid  for  amends  .myselfe  yours  evermore, 
Or  whutso  penaunce  shall  by  you  be  red." 
'Jo  wliorn  the  prince;  "  certes  me  needeth  more 
'I  o  crave  the  same;  whom  errour  so  misled, 
As  that  I  did  mistake  the  living  for  the  ded. 


"  But,  sith  ye  please  that  bith  our  blames  shall  die. 

Amends  m:iy  for  the  trespasse  soone  be  made, 

Since  neither  is  endamadg'd  much  thereby." 

So  can  they  both  themselves  full  eath  perswade 

To  faire  accordaunce,  and  both  faults  to  shade, 

Either  embracing  other  lovingly, 

And  swearing  faith  to  either  on  his  blade. 

Never  thenceforth  to  nourish  enmity, 

I'lUt  either  others  cause  to  maintaine  mutually. 


Then  Artegall  gan  of  the  prince  enquire,  [layd, 

What  were  those  knights  which  there  on  ground  were 
And  had  receiv'd  their  follies  worthy  hire. 
And  for  what  cause  they  chased  so  that  raay-d. 
"  Certes  I  wote  not  well,"  the  prince  then  sayd, 
"  But  by  adventure  found  them  faring  so. 
As  by  the  way  unweetingly  I  strayd. 
And  lo  !  the  damzell  selfe,  whence  all  did  grow. 
Of  whom  we  may  at  will  the  whole  occasion  know." 


Then  they  that  damzell  called  to  them  nie, 

And  asked  her,  what  were  those  two  her  fone. 

From  whom  she  earst  so  fast  away  did  flie ; 

And  what  was  she  herselfe  so  woe-begone, 

And  for  what  cause  pursu'd  of  them  attone. 

To  whom  she  thus  ;  "  Then  wote  ye  well,  that  I 

Doe  serve  a  queene  that  not  far  hence  doth  wone, 

A  princesse  of  great  powre  and  maiestie, 

Famous  through  all  the  world,  and  honor'd  far  and 


"  Her  name  Mercilla  most  men  use  to  call 

That  is  a  mayden  queene  of  high  renowne. 

For  her  great  bounty  knovven  over  all 

And  soveraine  grace,  with  which  her  rovall  crowne 

She  doth  sujiport,  and  strongly  beateth  downe 

The  malice  of  her  foes,  which  her  envy 

And  at  her  happinesse  do  fret  and  frowne ; 

Yet  she  herselfe  the  more  doth  magnify. 

And  even  to  her  foes  her  mercies  multiply. 


"  Mongst  many  which  maligne  her  happy  state. 
There  is  a  mighty  man,  which  wonnes  here  by. 
That  with  most  fell  despight  and  deadly  hate 
Seekes  to  subvert  her  crowne  and  dignity^ 
And  all  his  powre  doth  thereunto  apply: 
And  her  good  knights,  (of  which  so  brave  a  band 
Serves  her  as  any  princesse  under  sky,) 
He  either  spoiles,  if  they  against  him  siand, 
Or  to  his  part  allures,  and  bribeth  under  hand. 


"  Ne  him  sufficefh  all  the  wrong  and  ill, 

Which  he  unto  her  people  does  each  day; 

But  that  he  seekes  by  trayierous  traines  to  spill 

Her  i)erson,  and  her  sacred  selfe  to  slay  : 

That,  O  ye  heavens,  defend  !  and  turne  away 

From  her  vjnto  'lie  miscreant  himselfe; 

That  neither  hath  reli<>ion  nor  fay, 

15ut  makes  his  god  of  his  ungodly  pelfe, 

And  idoles  serves  :  so  let  his  idols  serve  the  elfe! 


"  To  all  which  cruell  tyranny,  they  say. 

He  is  provokt,  and  stird  up  day  and  night 

By  his  bad  wife  that  hight  Adicia; 

Who  counsels  him,  through  c  iifidence  of  might, 

'i'o  brcake  all  bonds  of  law  and  rules  of  right: 

For  she  herselfe  professeth  mortall  foe 

'I  o  Justice,  and  against  her  still  doth  fight, 

Working,  to  all  that  love  her,  deadly  woe, 

And  maiihig  all  her  knights  and  peojde  to  doe  so 


OANTO     \III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


2/1 


"  WliR-li  niv  liege  lady  seeing,  thought  it  best 

Witli  tliat  liis  wife  in  friendly  wise  to  deale 

For  stint  of  strife  and  stablishment  of  rest 

Jioiii  to  herselfe  and  to  her  common-weale, 

And  all  forepast  displeasures  to  repeale. 

So  nie  in  message  unto  her  she  sent, 

To  treat  with  her,  by  way  of  enterdeale, 

Of  finall  peace  and  faire  attonement 

Which  might  concluded  be  by  mutuall  consent. 


"  All  times  have  wont  safe  passage  to  afford 

To  messengers  that  come  for  causes  iust : 

J)Ut  tliis  ])roude  dame,  disdayning  all  accord, 

Not  onelv  into  bitter  termes  forth  brust. 

Reviling  me  and  rayling  as  she  lust, 

15ut  lastly,  to  miiice  proofe  of  utmost  shame, 

JNIe  like  a  dog  she  out  of  dores  did  thrust. 

Miscalling  me  by  man}-  a  bitter  name, 

That  never  did  her  ill,  ne  once  deserved  blame. 


"  And  lastly,  that  no  shame  might  wanting  be, 
^Vllen  I  was  gone,  soone  after  me  she  sent 
These  two  false  knights,  whom  there  ye  lying  see, 
'l"o  be  by  them  dishonoured  and  shent : 
But,  thankt  be  God,  and  your  good  hardiment ! 
'1  hey  have  the  price  of  their  owne  folly  payd." 
So  said  tliis  damzell,  that  higiit  Samient ; 
And  to  those  knights  for  their  so  noble  ayd 
Herselfe  most  gratefull  shew'd,  and  heaped  thanks 
repayd. 

XXIV. 

But  they  now  having  throughly  heard  and  seene 
All  those  great  wrongs,  the  which  that  mayd  com- 
plained 
To  have  bene  done  against  her  lady  queene 
By  that  proud  dame,  which  her  so  much  disdained, 
\\  ere  moved  much  thereat,  and  twixt  them  fained 
VVitli  all  tbeir  force  to  worke  avengement  strong, 
U]ipon  the  souldan  seife,  which  it  mayntained. 
And  on  his  lady,  th'  author  of  that  wrong. 
And  uppon  all  those  knights  that  did  to  her  belong. 

XXV. 

But,  thinking  best  by  counterfet  disguise 

To  tlieir  deseigne  to  make  the  easier  way, 

They  did  this  complot  twixt  themselves  devise : 

First,  that  Sir  Artegall  should  him  array 

Like  one  of  those  two  knights  which  dead  there  lay; 

And  tiiea  that  damzell,  the  sad  Samient, 

Should  as  his  purchast  prize  with  him  convay 

Unto  the  souldans  court,  her  to  present 

Unto  his  scornefull  lady  that  for  her  had  sent. 

xxvr. 

50  as  they  had  deviz'd.  Sir  Artegall 
Him  clad  in  th'  armour  of  a  pagan  knight, 
An<l  taking  with  him,  as  liis  vanquisht  thrall, 
Tiiat  damzell,  led  her  to  the  souldans  right  : 

V\  here  soone  as  his  proud  wife  of  her  had  sight. 
Forth  of  her  window  as  she  looking  lay, 

51  e  weened  streight  it  was  her  paynim  knight, 
Wliicli  brought  that  damzell  as  his  purchast  pray  ; 
And  sent  to  him  a  page  that  mote  direct  his  way  : 


Who,  bringing  them  to  their  appointed  place, 

Otfred  his  service  to  disarme  the  knight; 

But  he  refusing  him  to  let  unlace, 

For  doubt  to  be  discovered  by  his  sight, 

Kept  himselfe  still  in  his  straunge  armour  dight : 

Soone  after  whom  the  prince  arrived  there. 

And,  sending  to  the  souldan  in  despight 

A  bold  defyante,  did  of  him  requere 

That  damsell  whom  he  held  as  wrongfuU  prisoncre 


Wherewith  the  souldan  all  with  furie  fraught, 
Swearing  and  banning  most  blasphemously, 
Commaunded  straight  liis  armour  to  be  bi  ought ; 
And,  mounting  straight  upon  a  charret  hve, 
(With  yron  wheeles  and  hookes  arm'd  dreadfully, 
And  drawne  of  cruell  steedes  whiih  he  had  fed 
^Vith  flesh  of  men,  whom  through  fell  tyranny 
He  slaughtred  had,  and  ere  they  were  halte  ded 
Their  bodies  to  his  beastes  for  provender  did  spred  ; 


So  forth  he  came  all  in  a  cote  of  plate 

Burnisht  with  bloudie  rust;  whiles  on  the  greeue 

The  Briton  prince  liiin  readie  did  awayte 

In  glistering  armes  right  goodly  well  beseene. 

That  shone  as  bright  as  doth  the  heaven  sheene  , 

And  by  his  stirrup  Talus  did  attend. 

Playing  his  pages  part,  as  he  had  heene 

Before  directed  by  his  lord  ;  to  th'  end 

He  should  his  flaile  to  finall  execution  bend. 


Thus  goe  they  both  together  to  their  geare 
With  like  fierce  minds,  but  meanings  difi'erent: 
F"or  the  proud  souldan,  with  jiresumptuous  cheare 
And  countenance  sublime  and  insolent. 
Sought  onely  slaughter  and  avengtiment; 
But  the  brave  prince  for  honour  and  for  right. 
Gainst  tortious  powre  and  lawlesse  regiment. 
In  the  behalfe  of  wronged  weake  did  fight: 
More  in  his  causes  truth  he  trusted  then  in  might. 


Like  to  the  Thracian  tyrant,  who  they  say 
Unto  his  horses  gave  his  guests  for  meat. 
Till  he  himselfe  was  made  their  greedie  pray. 
And  torne  in  pieces  by  Alcides  great; 
So  thought  the  souldan,  in  his  follies  threat, 
F^ither  the  |>rince  in  peeces  to  have  torne 
With  his  sharpe  wheeles  in  his  first  rages  heat. 
Or  under  his  tierce  horses  feet  have  borne. 
And  trampled  downe  in  dust  his  thougiits  disdained 
scorne. 


But  the  bold  child  that  perill  well  espying. 

If  he  too  rashly  to  his  charret  drew. 

Gave  way  unto  his  horses  speedie  flying. 

And  their  resistlesse  rigour  did  eschew  : 

Yet,  as  he  passed  by,  the  jiagan  threw 

A  shivering  dart  witli  so  impetuous  force. 

That,  had  he  not  it  siiunn'd  with  heedful!  vew. 

It  had  himselfe  transfixed  or  his  horse. 

Or  made    them    both   one    masse    withouten    more 


THE  FAERIE  QUE^-NE. 


[Book  V 


Oft  drew  the  prince  unto  liis  cliarret  nigh, 

In  hojie  some  stroke  to  fasten  on  him  neare  ; 

But  he  was  mounted  in  his  seat  so  high, 

And  his  wing-footed  coursers  Iiim  did  beare 

So  fast  away,  that,  ere  his  readie  >peare 

He  could  advance,  he  farre  was  gone  and  past : 

Yet  still  he  him  did  follow  every  where, 

And  followed  was  of  liiia  likewi-se  full  fust, 

So  Ions  as  in  his  steedes  the  fiamin";  breath  did  last. 


Againe  the  pagan  threw  another  dart, 

Of  wliicli  he  had  with  him  abundant  store 

On  every  side  of  his  enibatteld  cart, 

And  of  all  other  weapons  lesse  or  more. 

Which  warlike  uses  had  deviz'd  of  yoi'e  : 

The  v.-icked  shaft,  guyded  through  ih'  ayrie  wyde 

By  some  bad  spirit  that  it  to  mischiefe  bore, 

Slayd  not,  till  through  his  curat  it  did  glyde. 

And  made  a  griesly  wound  in  his  enrivea  side. 


Much  was  he  grieved  with  that  haplesse  throe, 
'I  hat  opened  had  the  welspring  of  his  blood  ; 
But  much  the  more  that  to  his  hatefull  foe 
He  mote  not  come  to  wreake  his  wrathful!  mood  : 
That  made  him  rave,  like  to  a  lyon  wood, 
Whicli  being  wounded  of  the  liuntsmans  hand 
Cannot  come  neare  him  in  the  covert  wood. 
Where  he  with  boughes  hath  built  his  shady  stand. 
And  fenst  himselfe  about  with  many  a  flaming  brand. 


Still  when  he  sought  t'approch  unto  him  ny 
His  charret  wl)eeles  about  him  whirled  round, 
And  made  him  backe  againe  as  fast  to  fly ; 
And  eke  his  steedes,  like  to  an  hungry  hound 
That  hunting  after  game  hath  carrion  found, 
So  cruelly  did  him  pursew  and  thace. 
That  his  good  steed,  all  were  he  much  renound 
For  noble  courage  and  for  hardie  race, 
Durst  not  endure  their  sight,  hut  fled  from  place  to 
place. 

XXXVIl. 

Thus  long  they  trast  and  traverst  to  and  fro, 

Seeking  by  every  w^y  to  make  some  breach  ; 

Yet  could  the  prince  not  nigh  unto  him  goe. 

That  one  sure  stroke  he  might  unto  him  reach, 

Wherebv  his  strengthes  assay  he  might  him  teach: 

At  last,  from  his  victorious  shield  he  drew 

The  vaile,  which  did  liis  powrefull  light  empeach  j 

And  comming  full  before  his  horses  vew, 

As  they  upoii  him  prest,  it  plaine  to  tliem  did  shew. 

XXXVIII. 

Like  lightening  flash  that  hath  the  gazer  burned, 
So  did  the  sight  thereof  their  sense  dismay. 
That  backe  againe  uj)on  themselves  they  turned, 
And  with  their  rvder  ranne  perforce  away : 
Ne  could  the  souldan  them  from  flying  stay 
Witli  raynes  or  wonted  rule,  as  well  he  knew : 
Nought  feared  flicv  what  he  could  do  or  say, 
T?ut  th'  onclv  feare  that  was  bcfun'  their  vew  ; 
From  which  like  mazed  deere  dismayfully  they  flew. 


Fast  did  they  fly  as  them  there  feete  could  beare 
High  over  hilles,  and  lowly  over  dales. 
As  they  were  follow'd  of  their  former  feare  : 
In  value  the  pagan  bannes,  and  sweares,  and  rayles, 
And  backe  with  both  iiis  hands  unto  him  hayles 
The  resty  raynes,  regarded  now  no  more  : 
He  to  them  calles  and  speakes,  yet  nought  avayles  ; 
They  heare  him  not,  they  have  forgot  his  lore  ; 
But  go  which  way  they  list;  their  guide  ihey  have 
forlore. 


As  when  the  firie-mouthed  steedes,  which  drew 
The  sunnes  bright  wayne  to  Phaetons  decay, 
Soone  as  they  did  the  monstrous  scorpion  vew 
With  ugly  craples  crawling  in  their  way, 
The  dreadfuU  sight  did  them  so  sore  affray, 
That  their  well-knowen  courses  they  forwent; 
And,  leading  th'  ever  burning  lam])e  astray. 
This  lower  world  nigh  all  to  ashes  brent. 
And  left  their  scorched  path  yet  in  the  jirmameut. 


Such  was  the  furie  of  these  head-strong  steeds, 
Soone  as  the  infants  sunlike  shield  they  saw, 
That  all  obedience  both  to  words  and  deeds 
They  quite  forgot,  and  scornd  all  former  law 
Through  woods,  and  rocks,  and  mountaines  they  did 
The  yron  i  liaret,  and  the  wheeles  did  teare,     [draw 
And  tost  the  paynim  vi'ithout  feare  or  awe  ; 
From  side  to  side  they  tost  him  here  and  there, 
Crymg  to  them  in  value  that  nould  his  crying  heare. 


Yet  still  the  prince  pursew'd  him  close  behind. 
Oft  making  offer  him  to  smite,  but  found 
No  easie  meanes  according  to  his  mind  : 
At  last  they  have  all  overthrowne  to  ground 
Quite  topside  turvey,  and  the  pagan  hound 
Amongst  the  yron  hookes  and  gr^iples    keene 
Torne  all  to  rags,  and  rent  with  many  a  wound; 
That  no  whole  peece  of  him  was  to  be  seene. 
But  scattred  all  about,  and  strow'd  upon  the  greene. 

xi.iir. 

Like  as  the  cursed  sonne  of  Thesiius, 

That  following  his  chace  in  dewy  morne. 

To  fly  his  stepdames  love  outrageous. 

Of  his  owne  steedes  was  all  to  peeces  torne. 

And  his  faire  limbs  left  in  the  woods  forlorne; 

That  for  his  sake  Diana  did  lament. 

And  all  the  woody  nyniphes  did  wayle  and  mourne-: 

So  was  this  souldain  rapt  and  all  to  rent. 

That  of  his  shape,  appear'd  no  litle  moniment. 


Onely  his  shield  and  armour,  which  there  lay, 

'J  hough  nothing  wiiole,  but  all  to  briisd  and  brok&Oj 

He  u])  did  take,  and  with  him  brougiit  away. 

That  mote  reinaine  for  an  eternall  token 

To  all,  mongst  whom  this  storie  should  be  spoken, 

Mow  worthily,  by  Heavens  high  decree, 

luslice  that  day  of  wrong  herselfe  had  wroken  j 

Tliat  ail  men,  which  that  s[)uctacle  did  see. 

By  like  ensample  mote  for  ever  warned  bee. 


Canto  IX.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN E. 


273 


XLV. 

So  on  a  tree,  before  the  tyrants  dore, 

He  caused  tliem  be  hung-  in  all  mens  sight, 

To  be  a  moniment  for  evermore. 

Which  when  his  ladie  from  the  castles  hight 

Beheld,  it  much  appald  her  troubled  spright: 

Yet  not,  as  women  wont,  in  dolefull  lit 

She  was  dismavd,  or  faynted  through  affright, 

Hut  gathered  unto  her  her  troubled  wit. 

And  gan  eftsoones  devize  to  be  aveng'd  for  it. 


Streight  downe  she  ranne,  like  an  enrasjed  cow 

Tiiat  is  berobbed  of  her  youngling  dere, 

With  knife  in  hand,  and  fatally  did  vow 

To  wreake  her  on  that  may  den  messengere, 

Whom  she  liad  causd  be  kejst  as  prisonere 

By  Artega-il,  misween'd  for  her  owne  knight, 

That  brought  her  backe:  and.comming  present  there. 

She  at  her  ran  with  all  her  force  and  might, 

All  flaming  with  revenge  and  furious  despight. 


Like  raging  Ino,  when  with  knife  in  hand 

She  threw  her  husbands  murdred  infant  out ; 

Or  fell  jNIedea,  when  on  Colchicke  strand 

Her  brothers  bones  she  scattered  all  about; 

Or  as  that  madding  mother,  mongst  the  rout 

Of  Bacchus  priests,  her  owne  deare  flesh  did  tears : 

Yet  neither  Ino,  nor  Medea  stout, 

Nor  all  the  Mcenades  so  furious  were. 

As  tliis  bold  woman  when  she  saw  that  damzell  there. 


xi.yiii. 

But  Artegall  being  thereof  aware 

Did  stay  her  cruell  hand  ere  she  her  raught ; 

And,  as  she  did  herselfe  to  strike  prepare. 

Out  of  her  fist  the  wicked  weapon  caught: 

With  that,  like  one  enfelon'd  or  distraught, 

She  forth  did  rome  whether  her  rai^e  lier  bore, 

^Vith  franticke  passion  and  with  furie  frauglit ; 

And,  breaking  fordi  out  at  a  posterne  dore. 

Unto  the  wilde  wood  ranne,  her  dolours  to  deplore; 

XLIX. 

As  a  mad  bytch,  wlienas  the  franticke  fit 
Her  burning  tongue  with  rage  mflamed  hath, 
Doth  runne  at  randon,  and  with  furious  bit 
Snatching  at  every  thing  dolh  wreake  her  wrath 
On  man  and  beast  that  commeth  in  her  path. 
»There  they  doe  say  that  she  transformed  was 
Into  a  tigre,  and  tliut  tvgres  scath 
In  crueltie  and  outrage  she  did  pas, 
To  prove  her  surname  true,  that  she  imposed  has. 


Then  Artegall,  himselfe  discovering  plaine. 
Did  issue  forth  gainst  all  tliat  warlike  rout 
Of  knights  and  armed  men,  which  did  maintaine 
That  ladies  part  and  to  the  souldan  lout : 
All  which  he  did  assault  with  courage  stout. 
All  were  they  nigh  an  hundred  knights  of  name, 
And  like  wyld  goates  them  chaced  all  about, 
Flying  from  place  to  place  with  cowheard  shame; 
So  that  with  finall  force  them  all  he  overcame. 


Then  caused  he  the  gates  be  opened  wyde ; 

And  there  the  prince,  as  victour  of  that  day. 

With  tryumph  entertayn  )  and  glorifyde, 

Presenting  him  with  all  the  rich  array 

And  roiall  pompe,  which  there  long  hidden  lay, 

Purchast  through  lawlesse  powre  and  tortious  wrong 

Of  that  proud  souldan,  whom  he  earst  did  slay. 

So  both,  for  rest,  there  having  stavd  not  long, 

Marcht  with  that  mayd  :  fit  matter  for  another  song.     / 


CANTO  IX. 


Arthur  and  Artegall  catch  Guyle, 
Whom  Talus  doth  dismay; 

They  to  Mercillaes  pallace  come, 
And  see  her  rich  array. 


What  tygre,  or  what  other  salvage  wight, 
Is  so  exceeding  furious  and  fell 
As  wron;^,  when  it  hath  arm'd  itselfe  with  might? 
Not  fit  mongst  men  that  doe  with  reason  mell, 
"But  mongst  wyld  beasts,  and  salvage  woods,  to  dwell ; 
Where  still  the  stronger  doth  the  weake  devoure. 
And  the}'  that  most  in  boldnesse  doe  exeell 
Are  dreadded  most,  and  feared  for  their  powre, 
Fit  for  Adicia  there  to  build  her  wicked  bowre. 


There  let  her  wonne,  farre  from  resort  of  men, 
Where  righteous  Artegall  her  lato  exyled; 
There  let  her  ever  keepe  her  damned  den, 
AVhere  none  may  be  with  her  lewd  parts  defyled. 
Nor  none  but  beasts  may  be  of  her  despoyled : 
And  turnc  we  lo  the  noble  prince,  where  late 
We  did  him  leave,  after  that  he  had  foyled 
The  cruell  souldan,  and  with  dreadfull  fate 
Had  utterly  subverted  his  unrighteous  state. 


^7  J. 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boor 


Wiiere  having  witli  Sir  Artegall  a  space 

Well  solast  in  that  souUluns  late  delight, 

They  both,  resolving  now  to  leave  the  place, 

Both  it  and  all  the  wealth  therein  behight 

Unto  that  danizell  in  lier  ladies  right. 

And  so  would  have  departed  on  their  way  :    . 

But  she  tliem  woo'd,  by  all  the  nieanes  she  might, 

And  earnestly  besought  to  wend  that  day 

With  her,  to  see  her  ladie  thence  not  farre  away. 


By  whose  entreatie  both  they  overcommen 
Agree  to  goe  with  lier  ;  and  by  the  way. 
As  often  falles,  of  sundry  things  did  commen  ; 
Mongst  which  that  dainzell  did  to  tliem  bewray 
A  straunge  adventure  which  not  farre  thence  lay  ; 
To  weet,  a  wicked  villaine,  bold  and  stout, 
Which  wonned  in  a  rocke  not  farre  away. 
That  robbed  all  the  countiie  thereabout. 
And  brought  the  pillage  home,  whence  none  could 
o-et  it  out. 


Thereto  both  his  owne  wvlie  wit,  she  sayd. 
And  eke  the  fastnesse  of  his  dwelling  i>lace. 
Both  unassaylable,  gave  him  great  ayde  : 
For  he  so  crafty  was  to  forge  and  face. 
So  light  of  hand,  and  nymble  of  Lis  pace. 
So  smooth  of  tongue,  and  subtile  in  his  tale. 
That  could  deceive  one  looldng  in  his  face: 
Therefore  by  name  Malengin  tliey  him  call. 
Well  knowen  by  his  feates,  and  famous  over  all. 


Through  these  his  slights  he  many  doth  confound  : 

And  eke  the  rocke,  in  which  he  wonts  to  dwell, 

Is  wondrous  strong  and  hewn  farre  under  ground, 

A  dreadful!  depth,  how  deepe  no  man  can  tell  j 

But  some  doe  say  it  goeth  downe  to  hell : 

And,  all  within,  it  full  of  wyndings  is 

And  hidden  waj'es  that  scarse  an  hound  by  smell 

Can  follow  out  those  false  footsteps  of  his, 

Ne  none  can  backe  returne  that  once  are  o-one  amis. 


Which  when  those  knights  had  heard,  their  hearts  gan 

To  understand  that  villeins  dwelling  place,      [earne 

And  greatly  it  desir'd  of  her  to  learne. 

And  by  which  way  they  towards  it  should  trace. 

"  Were  not,"  sayd  she,  "  that  it  should  let  your  pace 

Towards  my  ladies  ])resence  by  you  ment; 

I  would  you  guyde  directly  to  the  place." 

"  Then  let  not  ihat,"  said  they,  "  stay  your  intent; 

For  neither  will  one  foot,  till  we  that  carle  have  hent." 


So  forth  they  past,  till  thev  approched  ny 
Unto  the  rocke  where  was  the  villains  won: 
Which  when  the  damzell  neare  at  hand  did  spy. 
She  warn'd  the  knights  thereof:  who  thereupou 
Gan  to  advize  what  best  were  to  be  done. 
So  both  agreed  to  send  that  mayd  afore, 
Where  she  might  sit  nigh  to  the  den  alone, 
Wayiing,  and  raysing  ])ittifull  uprore. 
As  if  she  did  some  great  calamitie  deplore. 


With  noyse  whereof  whenas  the  caytive  carle 
Should  issue  forth,  in  hope  to  find  some  spoyle. 
They  in  awayt  would  closely  him  ensnarle. 
Ere  to  his  den  he  backward  could  recoyle ; 
And  so  would  hope  him  easily  to  foyle. 
The  damzell  straight  went,  its  she  was  directed, 
Unto  the  rocke  ;  and  there,  upon  the  soyle 
Having  herselfe  in  wretched  wize  abiected, 
Ganweepeand  wayle  as  if  great  griefe  had  her  affected. 


The  cry  whereof  entring  the  hollow  cave 
Eftsoones  brought  forth  the  villaine,  as  they  ment, 
With  hope  of  her  some  wishfuU  boot  to  have  : 
Full  dreadfull  wight  he  was  as  ever  went 
Upon  the  earth,  with  hollow  eyes  deepe  pent, 
And  long  curkl  locks  that  downe  his  shoulders  shag- 
And  en  his  backe  an  uncouth  vestiment  [g'P'l* 

INIade  of  straunge  stuflie,  but  all  to  worne  and  ragged. 
And  underneath  his  breech  was  all  to  torne  and  lag- 
ged. 


And  in  his  hand  an  huge  long  staffe  he  held. 

Whose  top  was  arm'd  with  many  an  vron  hooke. 

Fit  to  catch  hold  of  all  that  he  could  weld, 

Or  in  the  compasse  of  his  cloutches  tooke  ; 

And  ever  round  about  he  cast  his  looke : 

Als  at  his  backe  a  great  wyde  net  he  bore. 

With  which  he  seldom  fished  at  the  hrooke. 

But  usd  to  fish  for  fooles  on    he  dry  shore> 

Of  which  he  in  faire  weather  wont  to  take  great  store 


Him  when  the  damzell  saw  fast  by  her  side, 

So  ugly  creature,  she  was  nigh  dismayd  : 

And  now  for  helpe  aloud  in  earnest  cride  : 

But,  when  the  villaine  saw  her  so  aft'rayd. 

He  gau  with  guilefull  words  her  to  perswade 

To  banish  fenre  :  and  with  Sardonian  smyle 

Laughing  on  her,  his  false  intent  to  shade, 

Gun  forth  to  lav  his  bavte  her  to  beguyle,      [w<jyie. 

That  from  herself  unwares  he  might  her  steale  the 


Like  as  the  fouler  on  his  guilefull  pype 
Charmes  to  the  birds  full  many  a  pleasant  lay, 
That  they  the  whiles  may  take  lesse  lieedie  keepe* 
How  he  his  nets  doth  for  their  ruuie  lay, 
So  did  the  villaine  to  her  prate  and  play. 
And  many  jdeasant  trickes  before  her  show. 
To  turne  her  eves  from  his  inteiit  away: 
For  lie  in  slights  and  iugling  feates  did  flow. 
And  of  legierdemayne  the  mysteries  did  know. 


To  which  whilest  she  lent  her  intentive  mind. 

He  suddenly  his  net  upon  her  threw, 

That  oversj)rad  her  like  a  puffe  of  wind  ; 

And  snatching  her  sonne  up,  ere  well  she  knew 

Kan  with  her  fast  away  unto  his  mew, 

Crying  for  helpe  aloud  .  but  whenas  ny 

He  came  unto  his  cave,  and  there  did  vew 

The  armed  knights  sto])ping  his  ])asage  by, 

He  threw  his  burden  downe  and  fast  away  did  flf. 


Canto  I  X.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


275 


But  Artegall  him  after  did  pursew  ; 

The  whiles  tlie  prince  tliere  kept  tlie  entrance  still : 

Up  to  the  rncke  he  ran,  and  thereon  flew 

Like  a  wyld  gote,  leaping-  from  hill  to  hill, 

And  dauncing  on  the  craggy  clift'es  at  will ; 

That  deadly  daunger  seem'd  in  all  mens  sight 

To  tempt  such  steps,  where  footing-  was  s'j  ill : 

Ne  ought  avayled  for  the  armed  knight 

To  thinke  to  follow  him  that  was  so  swift  and  liaht. 


Which  when  he  saw,  his  yron  man  he  sent 

To  follow  him  ;  for  he  was  swift  in  chace  : 

He  him  pursewd  wherever  that  he  went ; 

Both  over  rockes,  and  hilles,  and  every  place 

Whereso  he  fled,  he  follovvd  him  apace : 

So  that  he  shortly  forst  him  to  forsake 

The  hight,  and  downe  descend  unto  the  base  : 

There  he  him  courst  afresh,  and  soone  did  make 

To  leave  his  proper  forme,  and  other  shape  to  take. 


Into  a  foxe  himselfe  ho  first  did  tourne  ; 

But  he  him  hunted  like  a  foxe  full  fost : 

Then  to  a  bush  himselfe  he  did  transforme  ; 

But  he  the  bush  did  beat,  till  that  at  last 

Into  a  bird  it  chaung'd,  and  from  him  past, 

Flying  from  tree  to  tree,  from  wand  to  wand  . 

But  he  then  stones  at  it  so  long  did  cast, 

That  like  a  stone  it  fell  upon  the  land  ; 

But  he  then  tooke  it  up,  and  held  fast  in  his  hand. 


So  he  it  brought  with  him  unto  the  knights. 

And  to  his  lord  Sir  Artegall  it  lent. 

Warning  him  hold  it  fast  for  feare  of  slights  : 

\\  ho  whilest  in  hand  it  grvping  hard  he  hent, 

Into  a  hedgehogge  all  unwares  it  went. 

AT\d  prickt  him  so  that  he  away  it  threw  : 

Then  gan  it  runne  away  incontinent, 

I5eing  returned  to  his  former  hew  ; 

Hut  Talus  soone  him  overtooke,  and  backward  drew. 


But,  whenas  he  would  to  a  snake  againe 

Have  turn'd  himselfe,  he  with  his  yron  flayle 

Gan  drive  at  him  with  so  huge  might  and  maine, 

I  hat  all  his  bones  as  small  as  sandy  grayle 

He  broke,  and  did  his  bowels  disentrayle, 

Crying  in  vaine  for  helpe,  when  helpe  was  past ; 

So  did  deceipt  the  selfe-deceiver  fayle : 

Tliere  they  him  left  a  carrion  outcast 

For  beasts  and  foules  to  feede  upon  for  their  repast. 


Thence  forth  they  passed  with  that  gentle  mayd 

To  see  her  ladie,  as  they  did  agree  : 

To  which  when  she  approched,  thus  she  sayd ; 

"  Loe  now,  right  noble  knights,  arriv'd  ye  bee 

Nigh  to  the  pl-ace  which  ye  desir'd  to  see  : 

There  shall  ye  see  my  sovt-ravne  lady  queene. 

Most  sacred  wight,  most  debonavre  and  free, 

That  ever  yet  upon  this  earth  was  seene, 

Or  that  with  diademe  hath  ever  crowned  beene." 


The  gentle  knights  reioyced  much  to  heare 
The  piayses  of  that  prince  so  manifold  ; 
And,  passing  litle  further,  commen  were 
Where  they  a  stately  pallace  did  behold 
Of  pompous  show,  much  more  then  she  had  told, 
With  many  towres  and  tarras  mounted  hj^e. 
And  all  their  lops  bright  glistering  with  gold. 
That  seemed  to  out-shine  the  dimmed  skye. 
And  with  their  brightnesse  daz'd  the  straunge  be- 
holders eye. 

XXII. 

There  they  alighting,  by  that  damzell  were 
Directed  in,  and  shewed  all  the  sight ; 
Whose  ]jorch,  that  most  magnificke  did  appeare. 
Stood  open  wyde  to  all  men  day  and  night ; 
Yet  warded  well  by  one  of  mickle  might 
That  sate  thereby,  with  gyant-like  resemblance, 
To  keepe  out  guyle,  and  malice,  and  despight, 
That  under  shew  oft-times  of  favned  semblance 
Are  wont  in  princes  courts  to  worke  great  scath  and 
hindrance  : 


His  name  was  Awe  ;  by  whom  they  passing  in 
Went  up  the  hall,  that  was  a  large  wyde  roome, 
All  full  of  people  making  troublous  din 
And  wrondrous  noyse,  as  if  that  there  were  some 
Which  unto  them  was  dealing  righteous  doome  : 
By  whom  they  passing  through  the  thickest  pieasse, 
The  marshdU  of  the  hall  to  them  did  come. 
His  name  hight  Order ;  who,  commaunding  peace, 
Them   guyded  through   the  throng,   that  did  their 
clamours  ceasse. 


They  ceast  their  clamors  upon  them  to  gaze ; 
Whom  seeing  all  in  armour  bright  as  dav, 
Straunge  there  to  see,  it  did  them  much  amaze, 
And  with  unwonted  terror  halfe  aft'ray  : 
For  never  saw  they  there  the  like  array  ; 
Ne  ever  was  the  name  of  warre  there  spoken, 
But  ioyous  peace  and  quietnesse  alway 
Dealing  iust  iudgments,  that  mote  not  be  broken 
For  aiiy  brybes,  or  threates  of  any  to  be  wroken. 


There,  as  they  entred  at  the  scriene,  they  saw 
Some  one,  whose  tongue  was  for  his  trespasse  vj-le 
Nayld  to  a  post,  adiudged  so  by  law  ; 
For  that  therewith  he  falsely  did  revyle 
And  foule  blasphtme  that  queene  for  forged  guyle, 
Both  with  bold  speaches  which  he  blazed  had. 
And  with  lewd  poems  which  he  did  compyle; 
For  the  bold  title  of  a  poet  bad 

He   on  himselfe   had  ta'en,   and  rayling  rymes  had 
sprad. 

XXVI. 

Thus  there  he  stood,  whylest  high  over  his  head 

There  written  was  the  purport  of  his  sin, 

In  cyphers  strange,  that  few  could  rightly  read, 

Bt/i  Foiis;  but  lion,  that  once  had  written  bin, 

^Vas  raced  out,  and  Mai  was  now  put  in  : 

So  now  Malj'ont  was  plainely  to  be  red  ; 

F2yther  for  th'  evill  which  he  did  therein, 

Or  that  he  likened  was  to  a  welhed 

Of  evill  words,  and  wicked  sclaunders  by  him  shed. 

T52 


276 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENF. 


[Booi  V, 


Thev,  passing  by,  were  giiyiled  by  degree 
I'nto  ilie  pieseiice  of  tliat  gratious  queene  ;  " 
\Vho  s;ite  on  high,  that  she  might  all  men  see 
And  misht  of  all  men  royally  be  seene, 
Upon  a  throne  of  gold  full  bright  and  sheene. 
Adorned  all  with  gemmes  of  endlesse  price, 
As  either  might  for  wealth  have  gotten  beene, 
Or  could  be  fram'd  by  workmans  rare  device  ; 
And  all  euibost  with  lyons  and  with  flourdelice. 


A'i\  over  her  a  cloth  of  state  was  spred, 
Not  of  rich  tissew,  nor  of  cloth  of  gold. 
Nor  of  ought  else  that  may  bt  '•ichest  red, 
IJut  like  a  cloud,  as  likest  may  oe  told, 
'J'hat  her  brode-spreading  wings  did  wyde  unfold  ; 
^\  hose  skirts  were  bordred  with  bright  sunny  beames, 
Glistring  like  gold  among  the  plights  enrold. 
And  here  and  there  shooting  forth  silver  streames, 
Mongst  which  crept  litle  angels  through  the  glit- 
terins:  iileames. 


Seemed  tliose  litle  angels  did  uphold 
'I'lie  cloth  of  state,  and  on  tlieir  purpled  wings 
Did  beare  the  pendants  through  theirnimblesse  bold  ; 
liesides,  a  thousand  more  of  such  as  sinys 
Hymns  to  high  God,  and  carols  heavenly  things. 
Encompassed  the  throne  on  which  she  sate  ; 
She,  angel-like,  the  heyre  of  ancient  kings 
And  mightie  conquerors,  in  royall  state  ; 
Wiiylest  kings  and  kesars  at  her  feet  did  them  pros- 
trate. 


Thus  she  did  sit  in  soverayne  maiestie. 
Holding  a  scepter  in  her  royall  hand, 
'J  he  sacred  pledge  of  peace  and  clemencie, 
\\  ith  which  High  God  had  blest  her  hajipie  land, 
Maugre  so  many  foes  which  did  withsiand: 
But  at  her  feet  her  sword  was  likewise  layde, 
Whose  long  rest  rusted  the  bright  steely  brand  ; 
Yet  whenas  foes  enforst,  or  friends  sought  ayde. 
She  could  it  sternely  draw,  that  all  the  world  dis- 
mayde. 

XXXI. 

And  round  about  before  her  feet  there  sate 

A  hc'vio  of  faire  virgins  clad  in  white, 

'J'hat  goodly  seem'd  t'adorne  her  royall  state  ; 

All  hjvely  ilaughters  of  high  love,  that  bight 

Lit;L',  by  him  begot  in  loyes  delight 

L'])0n  the  righteous  Themis  ;  those  they  say 

Ujion  loves  iudgment-seat  wayt  day  and  night ; 

And,  when  in  wrath  he  threats  the  worlds  decay. 

They  doe  his  anger  cahne  and  cruell  vengeance  stay. 


'I'hey  also  doe,  by  his  divine  permission, 

L'pon  the  thrones  of  mortall  princes  tend. 

And  often  treat  for  pardon  and  remission 

To  suppliants,  through  frayltie  which  offend; 

Those  did  upon  lAlercillacs  throne  attend, 

lust  Dice,  wise  Eunomie,  myld  Eirene ; 

Antl  them  amongst,  her  glorie  to  commend, 

Sate  goodly  'J'emj)eritnco  in  garments  clone, 

And  sacred  Reverence  yborue  of  heavenly  strene. 


Thus  did  she  sit  in  royall  rich  estate, 

Admyr'd  of  many,  honoured  of  all  ; 

VVhylest  undernenth  her  feete,  there  as  she  sate, 

An  Jiuge  great  lyon  lay,  (that  mote  appall 

An  bardie  courage,)  like  captived  thrall 

With  a  strong  yron  chaine  and  coller  bound. 

That  once  he  could  not  move,  nor  quich  at  all ;. 

Yet  did  he  murmure  with  rebellious  sound. 

And  softly  royne,  when  salvage  choler  gan  redound. 


So  sitting  high  in  dreaded  soverayntie,       [brought ; 

Those   two   strange  knights  were  to   her  presence 

Who,  bowing  low  before  her  maiestie. 

Did  to  her  myld  obeysance,  as  they  ought. 

And  meekest  boone  that  they  imagine  mought : 

To  whom  she  eke  inclyning  her  withall, 

As  a  faire  stoupe  of  her  high-soaring  thought, 

A  chearefull  countenance  on  them  let  fall, 

Yet  tempred  with  some  maiestie  imperiall.  • 


As  the  bright  sunne,  what  time  bis  fierie  teme 

Towards  tlie  weslerne  brim  begins  to  draw. 

Gins  to  abate  the  brightnesse  of  his  heme. 

And  fervour  of  his  flames  somewhat  adaw 

So  did  this  mightie  ladie,  when  she  saw 

Those  two  strange  knights  such  homage  to  her  make, 

Bate  somewhat  of  that  maiestie  and  awe 

'ihat  whylome  wont  to  doe  so  many  quake. 

And  with  more  m^ld  aspect  those  two  entertake. 


Now  at  that  instant,  as  occasion  fell. 

When  these  two  stranger  knights  arriv'd  in  place, 

She  was  about  affaires  of  common-wele, 

Dealing  of  iustice  \\ith  indifterent  grace. 

And  hearing  pleas  of  peo])le  mean  and  base  : 

Mongst  which,  as  then,  there  was  for  to  be  heard 

'J'he  tryall  of  a  great  and  weightie  case. 

Which  on  both  sides  was  then  debating  hard  : 

But,  at  the  sight  of  these,  those  were  awhile  debard. 


But,  after  all  her  princely  entertayne, 

ri'o  th'  hearing  of  that  former  cause  in  hand 

Herselfe  eltsoones  she  gan  convert  againe  ; 

Wliich  that  those  knights  likewise  mote  understand, 

And  witnesse  forth  aright  in  fbrrain  land, 

Taking  them  il^>  unto  her  stately  throne, 

Where,  they  mote  heare  the  matter  throughly  scand 

On  either  ])art,  she  placed  th'  one  on  th'  one, 

Th'  other  on  lb'  other  side,  and  neare  them  none. 


XXXVIII. 

Then  was  there  brought,  as  prisoner  to  the  barre, 

A  ladie  of  great  countenance  and  place, 

J5ut  that  she  it  with  foule  ahuse  did  inarre ; 

Yet  did  aj)j)pare  rare  beautie  in  her  face, 

]3ut  blotted  with  condition  vile  and  base, 

That  all  her  other  honour  did  obscure. 

And  titles  of  nobilitie  deface  : 

Yet,  in  that  wretched  semhlant,  she  did  sure 

'1  he  peoples  great  compassion  unto  her  allure. 


Canto  IX.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN  E. 


ill 


Then  up  arose  a  person  of  deepe  reach, 

And  rare  ia-sight,  hard  matters  to  revele; 

'I'hat  well  could  cliarme  his  tongue,  and  time  his  spt-ach 

To  all  assayes ;  his  name  was  called  Zele  : 

He  gan  that  lady  strongly  to  appele 

Of  many  liavnous  crymes  by  her  enured ; 

And  with  sharp  reasons  rang  her  such  a  pele, 

That  those,  whom  she  to  pitie  had  allured, 

He  now  t'abhorreand  loath  her  person  had  procured. 


First  gan  he  tell  how  this,  that  seem'd  so  faire 
And  royally  arayd,  Due>sa  hight; 
That  false  buessa,  which  had  wrought  great  care 
And  niickle  mischiefe  unto  many  a  knight 
By  her  beguyled  and  confounded  <|uight: 
But  not  for  those  she  now  in  question  came. 
Though  also  those  mote  question 'd  be  aright. 
But  for  vvld  treasons  and  outrageous  shame. 
Which  slie  against  the  dred  Alercilla  oft  did  frame. 


For  she  whylome  (as  ye  mote  vet  right  well 
Remember)  had  her  counsels  false  consjiyred 
V\'itli  faithlesse  Hlandamour  and  Paridell, 
(Both  two  her  paramours,  both  by  her  hyred, 
And  both  with  iiope  of  shadowes  yaine  inspyred,) 
And  with  them  practiz'd,  how  for  to  depryve 
Mercilla  of  her  crowne,  by  her  aspyred. 
That  she  might  it  unto  herselfe  deryve. 
And  trvuniph  in  their  blood  whom  she  to  death  did 
dryve. 


But  through  high  heavens  grace,  which  favour  not 
The  wicked  dr.ftes  of  trayterous  desynes 
Gamst  loiall  princes  all  this  cursed  plot 
Ere  proofe  it  tooke  discovered  was  betymes, 
And  th'  actours  won  the  meede  meet  for  theircrymes : 
Such  be  the  meede  of  all  tliat  by  such  meane 
Unto  tlie  type  of  kingdomes  title  cKmes  ! 
But  false  Duessa,  now  untitled  queene. 
Was  brought  to  her  sad  doome,  as  here  was  to  be 
seene. 


But  then,  for  her,  on  the  contrarie  part, 
Rose  many  advocates  for  her  to  plead  : 
First  there  came  Pittio  with  full  tender  hart, 
And  with  her  ioyn'd  Regard  of  Womanhead  ; 
And  then  came  Daunger  threatning  hidden  dread 
And  high  alliance  unto  forren  powre  ; 
Then  came  Nobilitie  of  Birth,  that  bread 
Great  ruth  through  her  misfortunes  tragicke  stowre  ; 
And  lastly  Griefe  did  plead,  and  many  teares  forth 
powre. 

xvn. 

With  the  neare  touch  whereof  in  tender  liart 
Tlie  Briton  prince  was  sore  enipassionate. 
And  woxe  inclined  much  unto  her  part, 
Tlirough  the  sad  terror  of  so  dreadful  fate, 
And  wretched  ruine  of  so  high' estate  ; 
That  for  great  rutli  his  courage  gan  relent : 
Which  whenas  Zele  perceived  to  abate. 
He  gan  his  earnest  fervour  to  augment. 
And  manyvfearefull  obiects  to  them  to  present. 


He  gan  t'  efForce  the  evidence  anew. 

And  new  accusements  to  produce  in  place: 

He  brought  forth  that  old  hag  of  hellish  hew 

The  cursed  Ate,  brought  her  face  to  face, 

Who  privie  was  and  ])artie  in  the  case  : 

She,  glad  of  s])oyle  and  ruinous  decay. 

Did  her  appeach  ;  and,  to  her  more  disgrace. 

The  plot  of  all  her  practise  did  display, 

And  all  her  traynes  and  all  her  treasons  forth  did  lay 


Then  brought  he  forth  with  griesly  grim  aspect 
Abhorred  .Murder,  who  with  bloudie  knyfe 
Yet  dro|)ping  fresh  in  hand  did  her  detect. 
And  there  with  gxiltie  bloudshed  charged  ryfe  : 
Then  brought  he  forth  Sedition,  breeding-  stryfe 
In  troublous  wits  and  mutinous  uprore : 
Then  brought  he  fortli  Incontinence  of  l3'fe, 
Even  foule  Adulterie  her  face  before. 
And  lewd  Imjiietie,  that  her  accused  sore. 


Strongly  did  Zele  her  haynous  fact  enforce, 
And  many  other  crimes  of  foule  defame 
Against  her  brought,  to  banish  all  remorse. 
And  aggravate  tiie  horror  of  her  blame  : 
And  with  him,  to  make  jiart  against  her,  came 
3Iany  grave  persons  that  against  Jier  pled 
First  was  a  sage  old  syre,  that  had  to  name 
The  Kingdomes  Care,  with  a  white  silver  lied. 
That  many  high  regards  and  reasons  gainst  her  red. 


Then  gan  Authority  her  to  oppose 

With  ])eremptorie  powre,  that  made  all  mute  ; 

And  then  the  Law  of  \ations  gainst  her  rose, 

And  reasons  br<.ught,  that  no  man  could  refute  ; 

Xext  gan  Religion  gainst  her  to  impute 

High  Gods  belieast,  and  powie  of  holy  lawes  ; 

Then  gan  the  Peoples  Cry  and  Commons  Sute 

importune  care  of  rliei.  owne  publicke  cause; 

And  lastly  lustice  chars'ed  her  with  breach  of  lawcs. 


All  which  whenas  the  prince  had  heard  and  seene. 

His  former  fancies  ruth  he  gan  repent. 

And  from  her  partie  eftsoones  was  drawn  cleene 

But  Artegall,  with  constant  firme  intent 

For  zeale  of  iustice,  was  against  her  bent : 

So  was  she  guiltie  deemed  of  them  all. 

Then  Zele  began  to  urge  her  punishment. 

And  to  their  queene  for  iudgement  loudly  call. 

Unto  iMercilla  myld,  for  iustice  gainst  the  thraH. 


But  slie,  whose  princely  breast  was  touched  neare 
With  piteous  ruth  of  her  so  wretched  plight. 
Though  plaine  she  saw,  by  all  that  she  did  heare. 
That  she  of  death  was  guiltie  found  by  right. 
Yet  would  not  let  iust  vengeance  on  her  light ; 
But  ratlier  let,  instead  thereof,  to  fall 
Few  perling  drops  from  her  faire  lampes  of  light 
The  wh  ch  she  covering  with  her  purple  pall 
Would  have  the  passion  hid,  and  uj)  arose  withall. 


278 


THE  FAERLE  QUEENE. 


CANTO  X, 


Prince  Arthur  takes  the  enteipize 
For  Belgee  for  to  tight : 

Gerioneos  seneschall 

He  Slavs  in  Belires  risrht. 


Some  clarkes  doe  doiibt  in  their  devicefuU  art 
Whether  this  heavenly  tliintr  whereof  I  treat, 
To  weeten  mercie,  be  of  iustice  part, 
Or  drawne  forth  I'rom  her  bv  divine  extreate  : 
This  well  I  wote,  that  sure  she  is  as  great. 
And  meritet'h  to  have  as  high  a  place, 
Sith  in  th'  Almighties  everlasting  seat 
She  first  was  bred,  and  borne  of  heavenly  race  ; 
From  thence  pour'd  down  on  men  by  influence  of 
grace. 

II. 

For  if  that  vertue  be  of  so  great  might 
Which  from  iust  verdict  will  for  nothing  start, 
But,  to  preserve  inviolated  right, 
Oft  spilles  the  principall  to  save  the  part ; 
So  much  more  then  is  that  of  powre  and  art 
'J'hat  seekes  to  save  the  subiect  of  her  skill. 
Yet  never  doth  from  doome  of  right  depart ; 
As  it  is  greater  pvayse  to  save  then  spill, 
And  better  to  reforme  then  to  cut  oft"  the  ill. 


Who  then  can  thee,  INIercilla,  throughly  prayse. 
That  lierein  doest  all  earthly  ))rinces  pas? 
What  heavenly  muse  shall  thy  great  honour  rayse 
Up  to  the  skies,  whence  first  deriv'd  it  was. 
And  now  on  earth  itselfe  enlarged  has, 
From  th'  utmost  brinke  of  the  Armericke  shore. 
Unto  the  margent  of  the  JMolucas  ? 
Those  nations  farre  thy  iustice  doe  adore  ; 
But  thine  owne  people  do  thy  mercy  prayse  much 
more. 


iNIuch  more  it  praysed  was  of  those  two  knights, 

The  noble  prince  and  righteous  Artegull, 

When  they  had  scene  and  heard  her  doome  arights 

Against  Duessa,  damned  by  them  all  ; 

But  by  her  tem[)red  without  griefe  or  gall. 

Till  strong  constraint  did  her  thereto  enforre  : 

And  yet  even  then  ruing  her  wilfull  fall 

With  more  then  needfull  natnrall  remorse, 

And  yeelding  the  last  honour  to  her  wretched  corse. 


During  all  which,  those  knights  continu'd  there 
Both  doing  and  receiving  curtesies 
Of  that  great  ladie,  who  with  goodly  chere 
'J'hem  entertayn'd  fit  for  their  dignities, 
Api)roving  dayly  to  their  noble  eyes 
Royall  examples  of  her  mercies  rare 
And  worthie  paterns  of  her  clemencies; 
Which  till  this  day  mongst  many  living  are, 
Who  them  to  their  posterities  doe  still  declare. 


Amongst  the  rest  which  in  that  space  befell, 
'J'here  came  two  springalls  of  full  tender  yeares, 
Farre  thence  from  forrein  land  where  they  did  dwell 
J'o  seeke  for  succour  of  her  and  her  peares, 
Witli  humble  prayers  and  intreatfull  teares  ; 
Sent  by  their  mother  who,  a  widow,  was 
Wraj)!  in  great  dolours  and  in  deadly  feares 
By  a  strong  tyrant,  who  invaded  has 
Her  land,  and  slaine  her  children  ruefully,  alas! 


Her  name  was  Beige  ;  who,  in  former  age 

A  ladie  of  great  worth  and  wealth  had  beene. 

And  mother  of  a  fiutefuU  iieritage. 

Even  seventeene goodly  sonnes ;  which  who  had  scene 

In  their  first  flowre,  before  this  fatal  I  teene 

Them  overtooke  and  their  faire  blossomes  blasted. 

More  happie  mother  would  her  surely  weene 

Then  famous  Niobe,  before  she  tasted 

Latonaes  childrens  wrath  that  all  her  issue  wasted 


But  this  fell  tyrant,  through  his  tortious  powre, 

Had  left  her  now  but  five  of  all  that  brood  : 

For  twelve  of  them  he  did  by  times  devoure, 

And  to  his  idols  sacrifice  their  blood, 

Whylest  he  of  none  was  stopped  nor  withstonj 

For  soothly  he  was  one  of  matcblesse  mig'jt. 

Of  horrible  aspect  and  dreadfull  mood. 

And  had  three  bodies  in  one  wast  empight. 

And  ih'  anues  and  legs  of  three  to  succour  him  in 

fioht. 


And  sooth  they  say  that  lie  was  home  and  bred 

Of  g\ants  race,  the  sonne  of  Geryon  ; 

He  that  whylome  in  Spaine  so  sore  was  dred 

For  his  huge  powre  and  great  oppression. 

Which  brought  that  land  to  his  subiection. 

Through  his  three  bodies  powre  in  one  conibyn'd;- 

And  eke  all  strangers,  in  that  region 

Arryving,  to  his  kyne  for  food  assynd  ; 

The  iayrest  kyne  alive,  but  of  the  fiercest  kynd  : 


For  they  were  all,  they  say,  of  pnrple  hew. 

Kept  bv  a  cowheard,  hii;ht  Kurytion, 

A  crueil  carle,  tlie  which  all  strangers  slew, 

Ne  day  nor  night  did  sleepe  t'attend  them  on, 

]5ut  vvalkt  about  them  ever  and  anone 

With  his  two-headed  dogge  that  Orthrus  bight: 

Orthrns  begotten  by  great   lyphjinn 

And  ibule  Echidna  in  the  liou>e  of  Xigbt : 

But  Hercules  them  all  did  overcome  in  fi;;ht. 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


279 


His  Sonne  was  this  Geryoneo  hi2;ht ; 

Who,  after  that  his  monstrous  fiither  fell 

Under  Alcides  club,  streight  tooke  his  flight 

From  that  sad  land,  where  he  his  syre  did  quell, 

And  came  to  this,  where  Beige  then  did  dwell 

And  flourish  in  all  wealth  and  happinesse. 

Being  then  new  made  widow,  as  befell, 

After  her  noble  husbands  late  decesse  ; 

Which   oave  besjinning  to  her  woe  and  wretched- 


Then  this  bold  tyrant,  of  her  widowhed 
Taking  advantage  and  her  yet  fresh  woes, 
Himselfe  and  service  to  her  offered, 
Her  to  defend  against  all  forrein  foes 
That  should  their  powre  against  her  right  oppose  : 
Whereof  she  glad,  now  needing  strong  defence. 
Him  entertayn'd  and  did  her  champion  chose  ; 
Which  long  he  usd  with  carefull  diligence. 
The  better  to  confirme  her  fearelesse  confidence. 


Bv  meanes  whereof  she  did  at  last  commit 

All  to  his  hands,  and  gave  him  soveraine  powre 

To  doe  whatever  he  thought  good  or  fit : 

Whicii  having  got,  he  gan  fortli  from  that  howre 

To  stirre  up  strife  and  many  a  tragicke  stovvre ; 

Giving  her  dearest  children  one  by  one 

Unto  a  dreadfull  monster  to  devours, 

And  setting  up  an  idole  of  his  owne, 

The  image  of  his  monstrous  parent  Geryoue. 


So  tyrannizing  and  oppressing  all, 

The  woefuU  widow  had  no  meanes  now  left, 

But  unto  gratious  great  iMercilla  call 

For  avde  against  that  cruell  tyrants  theft, 

Eire  all  lier  children  he  from  her  had  reft : 

Therefore  these  two,  her  eldest  sonnes,  she  sent 

To  seeke  for  succour  of  this  ladies  gieft : 

To  whom  their  sute  they  humbly  did  present 

In  th'  hearing  of  full  many  knights  and  ladies  gent. 


Amongst  the  winch  then  fortuned  to  bee 
The  noble  Briton  prince  with  his  brave  peare ; 
Who  when  he  none  of  all  those  knights  did  see 
flasfiiv  bent  that  enterprise  to  heare, 
Nor  undertake  the  same  for  cowheard  feare, 
He  stejiped  forth  with  courage  bold  and  great, 
Admyr'd  of  all  the  rest  ni  presence  there, 
And  humbly  gan  that  mightie  <[ueene  entreat 
To  grauiit  him  that  adventure  lor  his  former  feat 


She  gladly  graunted  it:  then  he  straightway 

Himselfe  unto  his  iourney  gan  prepare. 

And  all  his  armours  readie  (light  that  day, 

'I'hat  nought  the  morrow  next  mote  stay  his  fare. 

The  morrow  next  appear'd  with  purjde  hayre 

Yet  dropping  fresh  out  of  the  Indian  fount, 

And  bringing  light  into  the  Leavens  favre. 

When  he  was  rea<iie  to  his  steeue  to  mount 

Unto  his  way,  which  now  was  all  his  care  and  count. 


'   Then  taking  humble  leave  of  that  great  queene, 
Who  gave  him  roial  giftes  and  riches  rare, 

.   As  tokens  of  her  thankefull  mind  beseene. 
And  leaving  Artegall  to  his  owne  care, 

I    Upon  his  voyage  forth  he  gan  to  fiire 
With  those  two  gentle  youthes,  which  him  did  guide 
And  all  his  way  before  him  still  prepare  : 
Ne  after  him  did  Artegall  abide. 
But  on  his  first  adventure  forward  fortli  did  ride.    ■ 


It  was  not  long  till  that  the  prince  arrived 

Within  the  land  where  dwelt  that  ladie  sad  j 

Whereof  that  tyrant  had  her  now  deprived. 

And  into  moores  and  marshes  banisht  had. 

Out  of  the  pleasant  soyle  and  citties  glad. 

In  which  she  wont  to  harbour  happily  : 

But  now  his  cruelty  so  sore  she  drad. 

"I'hat  to  those  fennes  for  fastnesse  she  did  fl^^ 

And  there  herselfe  did  hyde  from  his  hard  tyranny. 


There  he  her  found  in  sorrow  and  dismay, 

All  solitarie  without  living  wight ; 

For  all  her  other  children,  through  affray, 

Had  hid  themselves,  or  taken  further  flight: 

And  eke  herselfe  through  sudden  strange  affright, 

When  one  in  armes  she  saw,  began  to  fly  ; 

But,  when  her  owne  two  sonnes  she  had  in  sight. 

She  gan  take  hart  and  looke  up  ioyfully  ; 

For  well  she  wist  this  knight  came  succour  to  suppl 


And,  running  unto  them  with  greedy  ioyes. 
Fell  straight  about  their  neckes  as  they  did  kneele. 
And  bursting    forth    in    teares  ;    "Ah!    my    sweet 
Sayd  she,  "  yet  now  I  gin  new  life  to  feele  ;  [boyes," 
And  feeble  spirits,  that  gan  faint  and  reele, 
Now  rise  againe  at  this  your  ioyous  siglit. 
Alreadie  seemes  that  fortunes  headlong  wheele 
Begins  to  turne,  and  sunne  to  shine  more  bright 
Then  it  was  wont,  through   comfort  of  this   nobU 
knight." 


Then  turning  unto  him  ;  "  And  you,  sir  knight," 

Said  she,  "  that  taken  have  this  toylesome  paine 

For  wretched  woman,  miserable  wight, 

Ma)'  you  in  heaven  immortall  guerdon  gaine 

For  so  great  travell  as  you  doe  sustaine  ! 

For  other  meede  may  hope  for  none  of  mee. 

To  whom  nought  else  but  bare  life  doth  remaine  ; 

And  that  so  wretched  one,  as  ye  do  see 

Is  liker  lingrincf  death  then  loathed  life  to  bee." 


IMuch  was  he  moved  with  her  piteous  plight; 
And  low  dismounting  from  his  ioftie  steede 
Gan  to  recomfort  her  all  tliat  he  miglit. 
Seeking  to  drive  away  deepe-rooted  dreede 
With  hope  of  helpe  in  that  her  greatest  neede. 
So  thence  he  wished  her  witli  him  to  wend 
Unto  some  place  where  tiiey  mote  rest  and  feede, 
And  she  take  comfort  whuii  God  now  did  send  : 
Good  hart  in  evils  doth  the  evils  much  amend. 


280 


THE  FAERII-:  QUr^EXE. 


'"Bmok  V 


"  Ay  me  !"  savcl  she,  "and  wliitlier  shall  I  goe  ? 
Are  not  all  places  full  of  forraine  powres  ] 
My  pallaces  possessed  of  my  foe, 
INly  cities  sackt,  and  their  skv-threatning-  towres 
Kaced  and  made  smooth  fields  nou-  full  of  Howres? 
Onely  these  marishes  and  myi'ie  bogs, 
In  which  the  fearefuU  ewftes  do  build  their  bowres, 
Yeeld  me  an  Instry  mongst  the  croking  frogs. 
And   harbour  here   in   safety  from   those   ravenous 
doss." 


"  Nathlesse,"  said  he,  "  deare  ladie,  witli  me  goe ; 
Some  place  shall  us  receive  and  harbour  yield  ; 
If  not,  we  vi'ill  it  force,  maugre  your  foe, 
And  purchase  it  to  us  with  speare  and  shield  : 
And  if  all  fayle,  yet  farewell  open  field  ! 
The  earth  to  all  her  creatures  lodging  lends." 
AVith  such  his  chearefull  speaches  he  doth  wield 
Her  mind  so  well,  that  to  his  will  she  bends  ; 
And,  byuding  up  her  locks  and  weeds,  forth  with 
him  wends. 


They  came  unto  a  citie  farre  up  land, 
Tlie  which  whylome  tliat  ladies  owne  had  bene  ; 
But  now  by  force  extort  out  of  iier  hand 
By  lier  strong  foe,  who  had  defaced  cleene 
Her  stately  tovvres  and  buildings  sunny  sheene, 
Shut  up  her  haven,  raard  her  marchants  trade, 
Kobhed  her  people  that  full  rich  had  beene, 
And  in  her  necke  a  castle  huge  liad  made. 
The  which  did  her  commaund  without  needing-  per- 
swade. 


That  castle  was  the  strength  of  all  that  state, 
Untill  that  state  by  strength  was  j)ulled  downe  : 
And  tiiat  same  citie,  so  now  ruinate. 
Had  bene  the  keye  of  all  that  kingdomes  crowne ; 
Both  goodly  castle,  and  both  goodly  towne. 
Till  that  th'  offended  heavens  list  to  lowre 
Upon  their  blisse,  and  balefull  fortune  frowne. 
When  those  gainst  states  and  kingdomes  do  coniure, 
Who  then  can  thinke  their  liedlong  ruine  to  reci.re  ! 


XXVII. 

But  he  had  brought  it  now  in  servile  bond. 

And  made  it  beare  the  yoke  of  incpiisition, 

Stryving  long  time  in  vaine  it  to  withstond  ; 

Yet  glad  at  last  to  make  most  base  submission, 

And  life  enioy  for  any  composition  : 

So  now  he  hath  new  hiwes  and  ord(>rs  new 

Imposd  on  it  with  many  a  hard  condition, 

And  forced  it,  the  honour  that  is  dew 

'Jo  God,  to  doe  unto  his  idole  most  untrevf. 


To  him  he  hath  liefore  this  castle  greene 

Built  a  faire  chaj)])ell,  and  an  altar  framed 

Of  costly  ivory  full  rich  beseene, 

On  which  tiiat  cursed  idole,  farre  ])roclamed, 

He  hath  set  up,  and  him  his  god  hatii  named; 

Otlring  to  him  in  siiifuU  sacritice 

The  flesh  of  men,  to  (jods  owne  likenesse  framed, 

And  powring  forth  their  bloud  in  brutishe  wize. 

That  any  yron  eyes,  to  see,  it  would  agrize. 


And,  for  more  horror  and  more  crueltie. 

Under  that  cursed  idols  altar-stone 

An  hideous  monster  doth  in  darknesse  lie. 

Whose  dreadfull  shaj)e  was  never  seene  of  none 

Tljat  lives  on  earth  ;  but  unto  those  alone 

The  which  unto  him  sacrificed  bee  : 

Those  he  devoures,  they  say,  both  flesh  and  bone ; 

AVhat  else  they  have  is  all  the  tyrants  fee  : 

So  that  no  whit  of  them  remayning  one  may  see. 


There  eke  he  placed  a  strong  garrisone. 

And  set  a  seneschall  of  dreaded  might. 

That  by  his  powre  oppressed  every  one, 

And  vaiKjuislied  all  venturous  knights  in  fight ; 

To  whom  he  wont  shew  all  tlie  shame  he  miglit. 

After  that  them  in  hattell  he  had  wonne  : 

To  which  wlien  now  thev  gan  approch  in  siglit, 

The  ladie  counseld  him  the  plat-e  to  shonne. 

Whereas  so  many  knights  had  fouly  bene  fordonne. 


Her  fearefull  speaches  nought  he  did  regard  ; 
But,  ryding  streight  under  the  castle  wall. 
Called  aloud  unto  the  watchfull  ward 
Which  there  did  wayte,  willing  them  forth  to  call 
Into  the  field  tlieir  tyrants  seneschall : 
To  wliom  when  tydings  thereof  came,  he  streight 
Cals  for  his  armes,  and  arming  him  withall 
Eftsoones  forth  pricked  proudly  in  his  might. 
And  gan  with  courage  fierce   addresse  him  to  the 
fiVht. 


They  both  encounter  in  the  middle  plaine, 

And  their  sharpe  speares  doe  both  together  smite 

Amid  their  shields  with  so  huge  might  and  niaiiie 

'J'hat   seem'd   their  soules   they  would   have   ryven 

Out  of  their  breasts  with  furious  despight :     [(juight 

"\'et  could  the  seneschals  no  entrance  find 

Into  the  princes  shield  where  it  empight, 

(So  ])ure  the  metall  was  and  well  refynd,) 

But  shivered  all  about,  and  scattered  in  the  wynd 


Not  so  the  princes  ;  but  with  restlesse  force 

Into  his  shield  it  readie  passage  found, 

Both  through  his  haberieon  and  eke  his  corse  ; 

AVhich  tombling  downe  upon  the  senselesse  ground 

Gave  leave  unto  his  gliost  from  thraldome  bound 

To  wander  in  the  griesly  shades  of  night: 

There  did  the  prince  him  leave  in  deadly  swound, 

And  thence  unto  the  castle  marched  right, 

To  see  if  entrance  there  as  yet  obtaine  he  might. 


But,  as  he  nighcr  drew,  three  knights  he  spyde,. 

All  arin'd  to  ponit  issuing  forth  apace. 

Which  towards  him  with  all  their  powre  did  ryde. 

And  meeting  him  right  in  the  middle  race 

Did  all  their  speares  attonce  on  him  enchace. 

As  three  great  culverings  for  batterie  bent, 

And  leveld  all  against  one  certaine  place. 

Doe  all  attonce  their  thunders  rage  forthrent, 

That  makes  the  wals  to  staiiffer  witli  astonishment: 


Camu  XI.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


'28] 


So  all  attonce  thev  on  the  prince  did  thonder ; 

^Vho  from  Lis  saddle  swarved  nought  asyde, 

Ne  to  their  force  gave  wav.  that  was  great  wonder; 

But  like  a  bulwarke  firmely  did  abyde, 

Rebutting  him,  which  in  the  midst  did  ryde, 

With  so  liuge  rigour,  that  his  niortall  speare  [syde; 

Past  through   Ins  shit'd   and  pierst  through  either 

That  downe  he  fell  uppon  bis  mother  deaie, 

f^nd  powred  forth  his  wretched  life  in  deadly  dreare. 


Whom  when  his  other  fellowes  saw,  they  fled 

As  fast  as  feete  could  carry  them  away  ; 

And  after  them  the  prince  as  swiftly  sped. 

To  be  av-eng'd  of  their  unknightly  play. 

There,  wildest  they  entring  th'  one  did  th'  other  stay. 

The  hindmost  in  the  gate  he  overhent. 

And,  as  he  pressed  in,  liim  there  did  slay : 

His  carkasse  tumbling  on  the  threshold  sent 

His  groning  soule  unto  Lor  place  of  punishment. 


XXXVII. 

The  other  which  was  entred  laboured  fast 
To  sperre  the  gate  ;  but  that  same  lumpe  of  clay, 
Whose  grudging  gjiost  was  thereout  fled  and  past. 
Right  in  the  inidd^st  of  the  threshold  lay, 
That  it  the  posterne  did  *Vom  closing  stay: 
The  whiles  the  prince  liard  preased  m  be'tweene, 
And  entrannce  wonne  :  streight  th'  other  fled  away. 
And  ran  into  the  hall,  where  he  did  weene 
Himselfe  to   save  ;    but  he  there  slew  him  at  the 
skreene. 


Then  all  the  rest  which  in  that  castle  were. 
Seeing  that  sad  ensample  them  before, 
Durst  not  abide,  but  fled  away  for  feare. 
And  them  convayd  out  at  a  posterne  (lore. 
Long  sought  the  prince  ;  but,  when  he  found  no  more 
T'  oppose  against  his  powre,  he  forth  issued 
Unto  that  lady,  where  he  her  hail  lore. 
And  her  gan  cheare  with  what  she  there  had  vewed, 
And,    what  she   had  not   seene    within,   unto   her 
shewed : 


Who  with  right  humble  thankes  him  goodly  greeting 
For  so  great  prowesse  as  he  there  had  proved, 
IVluch  greater  then  was  ever  in  her  weeting. 
With  great  admiraunce  inwanUy  was  moved. 
And  honourd  him  with  all  that  lier  behoved. 
Thenceforth  into  that  castle  he  her  led 
With  her  two  sonnes  riglit  deare  of  her  beloved  ; 
Where  all  tliat  night  themselves  they  cherished, 
And  from  her  balefull  minde  all  care  he  banished. 


CANTO  XI. 

Prince  Arthure  overcomes  the  great, 

Gerioneo  in  fight : 
Doth  slay  the  monster,  and  restore 

Beige  unto  her  right. 


It  often  fals,  in  course  of  common  life, 
That  right  long  time  is  overborne  of  wrono- 
Through  avarice,  or  powre,  or  guile,  or  strife, 
'I'hat  weakiins  her,  and  makes  her  party  strong: 
But  iustice,  thoui^h  her  dome  she  doe  prolong. 
Vet  at  the  last  she  will  her  owne  cause  riohtl 
As  by  sad  Beige  seenies  ;  whose  wrongs  though  Ion" 
She  suft'red,  yet  at  length  she  did  leijuight, 
And    sent   redresse   thereof  by  this  brave    Briton 
knight. 

II. 

Whereof  when  newes  was  to  that  tyrant  brought. 

How  that  the  lady  Bolge  now  had  found 

A  champion,  that  had  with  his  champion  fought. 

And  laid  his  seneschall  low  on  the  ground, 

And  eke  himselfe  did  threaten  to  cou/'ound  ; 

He  gan  to  burne  in  raoe,  mui  irie-ie  m  feare, 

Doubting  sad  end  of  jjrinciple  un»oiind  : 

Yet,  sith  he  heard  but  one  that  did  apjieare. 

He  did  himselfe  encourage  and  take  better  cheare. 


Nathelesse  himselfe  he  armed  all  in  hast. 

And  forth  he  far'd  with  all  his  many  bad, 

Ne  stayed  step,  till  that  he  came  at  last 

Unto  the  castle  which  tliey  conquerd  had  : 

There  with  huge  terrour,  to  be  morej-drad. 

He  sternely  marclit  before  the  castle  gate. 

And,  with  bold  vaunts  and  ydle  tlireatning,  bad 

Deliver  him  his  owne,  ere  yet  too  late, 

To  which  they  had  no  right,  nor  any  wrongefull  state 


The  prince  staid  not  his  aunswere  to  devize. 

But  opening  streight  the  sparre  forth  to  him  came, 

Full  nobly  mounted  in  right  warlike  wize; 

And  asked  him,  if  that  he  were  the  same, 

Who  all  that  wroui;  unto  that  wofull  dame 

So  long  had  done,  and  from  her  native  land 

Exiled  her.  that  all  the  world  sjiake  shame. 

He  boldiv  aunsweni  him,  he  there  did  stand 

That  wouid  his  doiiisis  iustihe  with  his  owne  hand. 


282 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[Book 


Willi  that  so  furiously  at  liim  be  flew, 

As  if  he  would  have  over-run  him  strcight; 

And  with  his  huge  great  yron  axe  gan  hew 

So  hideously  uppon  his  armour  bright, 

As  he  to  peeces  would  have  chopt  it  quight ; 

That  tiie  bold  prince  was  forced  foote  to  give 

To  his  first  rage,  and  yeeld  to  his  despight; 

'Jlie  whilest  at  him  so  dreadfully  he  drive, 

That  seem'd  a  marble  rocke  asunder  could  have  rive. 


'I'hereto  a  great  advauntage  eke  he  has 
'i'hrough  liis  three  double  hands  thrise  nniltiplyde, 
Besides  the  double  strength  which  in  them  was: 
For  stil,  when  fit  occasion  did  betyde. 
He  could  his  weapon  shift  from  side  to  syde, 
From  hand  to  hand  ;  and  with  such  nimblesse  sly 
(^ould  wield  about,  that,  ere  it  were  espide. 
The  wicked  stroke  did  wound  his  enemy 
Behinde,  beside,  before,  as  he  it  list  apply. 


Which  uncouth  use  whenas  the  prince  perceived. 
He  gan  to  watch  the  wielduig  of  his  hand. 
Least  by  such  slight  he  were  unwares  deceived ; 
And  ever,  ere  he  saw  the  stroke  to  land. 
He  would  it  meete  and  warily  withstand. 
One  time  when  he  liis  weapon  faynd  to  shift, 
As  he  was  wont,  and  chang'd  from  hand  to  hand, 
Me  met  him  with  a  counter-stroke  so  swift. 
That  quite  smit  off  his  arme  as  he  it  up  did  lift. 


Therewith  all  fraught  with  fury  and  disdaine 

He  brayd  aloud  for  very  fell  despight; 

And  sodainely,  t' avenge  himselfe  againe 

Gan  into  one  assemble  all  the  might 

Of  all  his  hands,  and  heaved  them  on  hight, 

Thinking  to  ])ay  him  with  that  one  for  all: 

But  the  sad  Steele  seizd  not,  where  it  was  hight, 

Uppon  the  childe,  but  somewhat  short  did  fall. 

And  lighting  ou  his  horses  bead  him  quite  did  mall. 


Downe  streight  to  ground  fell  his  astonisht  steed. 
And  eke  to  th' earth  his  burden  with  him  bare  ; 
But  he  himselfe  full  lightly  from  him  freed. 
And  gan  himselfe  to  fight  on  foote  prepare : 
Whereof  whenas  the  gyant  was  aware, 
He  wox  right  blyth,  as  he  had  got  thereby, 
And  lauglit  so  loud,  that  all  his  teeth  wide  bare 
One  might  have  scene  enraung'd  disorderly. 
Like  to  a  rancke  of  piles  that  pitched  are  awry. 


ijftsoones  againe  his  axe  he  raught  on  hie, 
Ere  he  were  throughly  buckled  to  his  geare, 
And  can  let  drive  at  him  so  dreadfuliie. 
That  bad  he  chaunced  not  his  shield  to  reare, 
Ere  that  huge  stroke  arrived  on  limi  neare, 
He  had  him  surely  cloven  (|uite  in  tvvaiiie  : 
But  tir  adamantine  shield  which  bo  did  beare 
80  u-ell  was  tempred,  that  for  all  ids  niuine 
It  would  no  passage  yeeld  unto  his  j)urpose  vaine. 


Yet  was  the  stroke  so  forcibly  ap])lide. 

That  made  him  stagger  with  uncertaine  swav, 

As  if  he  would  have  tottered  to  one  side  : 

Wherewith  full  wroth  he  fiercely  gan  assay 

That  curt'sie  with  like  kinclnesse  to  repay, 

And  smote  at  him  with  so  importune  might, 

That  two  more  of  his  amies  did  fall  away, 

Like  fruitlesse  braunches,  which  the  hatchets  slight 

Hath  pruned  from  the  native  tree  and  cropped  quight. 


With  that  all  mad  and  furious  he  grew. 
Like  a  fell  mastifte  through  enraging  heat, 
And  curst,  and  band,  and  blasjihemies  forth  threw 
Against  his  gods,  and  fire  to  them  did  threat, 
And  hell  unto  himselfe  with  horrour  great : 
Thenceforth  he  car'd  no  more  which  way  he  sfrooke, 
Nor  vi'here  it  light ;  but  gan  to  chaufe  and  sweat, 
And  gnasht  his  teeth,  and  his  head  at  him  sliooke, 
And  sternely  him  beheld  with  grim  and  ghastly  looke 


Nought  fear'd  the  childe  his  lookes,  ne  yet  his  threats; 
But  onely  wexed  now  the  more  aware 
To  save  himselfe  from  those  his  furious  heats, 
And  watch  advauntage  how  to  worke  his  care, 
The  which  good  fortune  to  him  ofl'red  i'aire  : 
For  as  he  in  his  rage  him  overstrooke. 
He,  ere  he  could  his  weapon  backe  repairp. 
His  side  all  bare  and  naked  overtooke. 
And  with   his  mortal  steel  quite  through  the  body 
strooke. 


Through  all  three  bodies  he  him  strooke  attonce, 
That  all  the  three  attonce  fell  on  the  [daine, 
Else  should  he  thrise  have  needed  for  the  nonce 
Them  to  have  stricken,  and  thrise  to  have  slaine. 
So  now  all  three  one  sencelesse  luinpe  remaine, 
Enwallow'd  in  his  owiie  blacke  bloudy  gore, 
And  byting  th' earth  for  very  deaths  disdaine; 
Who,  with  a  cloud  of  night  him  covering,  bore 
Downe  to  the  house  of  dole,  his  dales  there  to 
deplore. 

XV. 

Which  when  the  lady  from  the  castle  saw. 
Where  she  with  her  two  sonnes  did  looking  stand, 
She  towards  him  in  hast  herselfe  did  draw- 
To  greet  him  the  good  fortune  of  his  hand: 
And  all  the  people  both  of  towne  and  land. 
Which  there  stood  gazing  from  the  citties  wall 
Uj)poii  these  warriours,  greedy  t' understand 
To  whether  should  the  victory  befall. 
Now  when  they  saw  it  falne,  they  eke  him   greeted 
all. 


But  Beige  with  lier  sonnes  prostrated  low 
Before  his  feete,  in  all  that  peo])les  sight,  [wo. 

Mongst  ioyes  mixing  some  tears,  mong>t  wele  some 
Him  thus  bespake  ;   "  O  most  redoubted  knight. 
The  which  hast  me,  of  all  most  wretched  wight, 
'Jhat  earst  was  dead,  restor'd  to  lift-  againe, 
And  these  weake  impes  re]ilanied  by  thy  might; 
What  guerdon  can  1  give  thee  for  thy  paine, 
But  ev'n  that  which  thou  savedst  thine  still  to  re- 
maine I" 


'anto  XI."] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


283 


He  tooke  lier  up  forbv  the  lilly  liand, 
And  her  recoiiitbited  the  best  he  might, 
Sayino; ;  "  Deare  lady,  deedes  ought  not  be  scand 
Bv  th'  autliors  manhood,  nor  the  doers  might, 
But  by  their  truetli  and  bv  the  causes  right : 
'/'liat  same  is  it  whicli  tbught  for  you  this  day. 
What  other  meed  tlien  need  me  to  requight, 
iiut  that  which  yeekieth  vertues  meed  alway? 
That  is,  the  vertue  selfe,  which  her  reward  dotli  pay." 


She  liumbly  thankt  him  for  that  wondrous  grace. 

And  further  say  ;  "  Ah  !   sir,  but  mote  ye  please, 

Siih  ye  thus  farre  have  tendred  my  poore  case,. 

As  from  my  chiefest  foe  me  to  release. 

That  your  victorious  arme  will  not  vet  cease, 

Till  ye  have  rooted  all  the  relickes  out 

Of  that  vilde  race,  and  stablished  my  peace." 

"  What  is  there  else,"  savd  he,  "  left  of  their  rout? 

Declare  it  boldly,  dame,  and  doe  not  stand  in  dout." 


"  Then  wote  you,  sir,  that  in  this  church  hereby 
Tliere  stands  an  idole  of  great  note  and  name. 
The  which  this  gyant  reared  lirst  on  iiie, 
And  of  his  owne  vaine  fancies  thought  did  frame  : 
To  whom,  for  endlesse  horrour  of  his  shame, 
He  oftVed  up  for  daily  sacrifize 
My  children  and  my  people,  burnt  in  flame 
With  all  the  tortures  that  he  could  devize, 
The  more  t'  aggrate  his  god  with  such  his  blouddy 
guize. 

XX. 

"  And  underneath  this  idoU  there  doth  lie 

An  hideous  monster,  that  doth  it  defend, 

And  feedes  on  all  the  carkasses  that  die 

In  sacrifize  unto  that  cursed  feend  : 

AVhose  ugly  slrape  none  ever  saw,  nor  kend. 

That  ever  scap'd  :   for  of  a  man  they  say 

It  has  the  voice,  tliat  speaches  forth  doth  send. 

Even  blasphemous  words,  which  she  doth  bray  « 

Outof  herpoysnous  entrails  fraught  with  dire  decay." 


Which  when  the  prince  heard   tell,  his   heart  gan 

For  great  desire  that  monster  to  assay  ;  [earne 

And  prayd  the  place  of  her  abode  to  learne  : 

W  Inch  being  shew'd,  he  gan  hiniselfe  streightway 

Thereto  addresse,  and  his  bright  shield  display. 

So  to  the  church  he  came,  where  it  was  told 

The  monster  underneath  the  altar  lay  ; 

There  he  that  idoll  saw  of  massy  gold 

Most  richly  made,  but  there  no  monster  did  behold. 


Upon  the  image  with  his  naked  blade 
Three  times,  as  in  defiance,  there  he  strooke ; 
And,  the  third  time,  out  of  an  hidden  shade 
J'here  forth  issewd  from  under  th'  altars  smooke 
A  dreadfuU  feend  with  fowle  deformed  looke, 
Tliat  stretclU  itselle  as  it  hud  long  lyen  still ; 
And  her  long  taile  and  fethers  strongly  shuoke, 
Thai  all  tlie  temple  did  witli  terrour  fill ; 
Vec  hnn  nought  ternlide  that  feared  nothing  ill. 


An  huge  great  beast  it  was,  when  it  m  length 

Was  stretched  forth  that  nigh  fild  all  the  place, 

And  seem'd  to  be  of  infinite  great  strengtli , 

Horrible,  hideous,  and  of  hellish  race. 

Borne  of  the  brooding  of  Echidna  base 

Or  other  like  infernall  furies  kinde  : 

For  of  a  mavd  she  had  the  outward  face, 

To  hide  the  horrour  which  did  lurkp  behinde. 

The  better  to  beguile  whom  she  so  fond  did  finrle. 


Thereto  the  body  of  a  dog  she  had, 
Full  of  fell  ravin  and  fierce  greedinesse  ; 
A  lions  clawes,  with  powre  and  rigour  clad, 
To  rend  and  teare  whatso  she  can  oppresse  ; 
A  dragons  taile,  whose  sting  without  redresse 
Full  deadly  wounds  whereso  it  is  empight  ; 
And  eagles  wings,  for  scope  and  speedinesse. 
That  nothing  may  escape  lier  reaching  miglit, 
Whereto  she  ever  list  to  make  her  hardy  fiight. 


]\Iuch  like  in  foulnesse  and  deformity 

Unto  that  monster,  whom  the  'Theban  knight. 

The  father  of  that  fatall  progeny. 

Made  kill  herselfe  for  very  hearts  despight 

'J'hat  he  had  red  her  riddle,  wliich  no  wight 

Could  ever  loose,  but  suftVed  deadly  doole- 

So  also  did  this  monster  use  like  slight 

To  many  a  one  which  came  unto  her  schoole, 

Whom  slie  did  put  to  death  deceived  like  a  foole. 


She  comming  forth,  v/henas  she  first  beheld 
The  armed  prince  with  shield  so  blazing  bright 
Her  ready  to  assaile,  was  greatly  queld. 
And  much  dismayd  with  that  dismayfull  sight. 
That  backe  she  would  have  turnd  for  great" afiVio-bt  ■ 
But  he  gan  her  with  courage  fierce  assay. 
That  forst  her  turne  againe  in  her  despight 
'J'o  save  herselfe,  least  that  he  did  her  slay  : 
And  sure  he  had  her  slaine,  had  she  not  turnd  Lei 
way. 


Tho,  when  she  saw  that  she  was  forst  to  fight, 

She  flew  at  him  like  to  an  hellish  feend. 

And  on  his  shield  tooke  hold  with  all  her  might. 

As  if  that  it  she  would  in  peeces  rend. 

Or  reeve  out  of  the  hand  that  did  it  hend  : 

Strongly  he  strove  out  of  her  greedy  gripe 

To  loose  his  shield,  and  long  while  did  contend  ; 

But,  when  he  could  not  quite  it,  with  one  stripe 

Her  lions  clawes  he  from  her  feete  awav  did  wipe. 


With  that  alcude  she  gan  to  bray  and  yell. 
And  fowle  blasphemous  speaches  forth  did  cast. 
And  bitter  curses,  horrible  to  tell ; 
That  even  the  temple,  wherein  she  was  plast, 
Did  ((uake  to  iieare,  and  nigh  asunder  brast ; 
Tho  w'ith  her  huge  long  taile  she  at  him  strooke. 
That  made  iiim  stagger  and  stand  halfe  aghast 
With  trembling  ioynts.  as  he  for  terrour  shooke  ; 
Who  nouglit  was  terntide,  but  greater  courage  tooko. 


284 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


As  when  tiie  mast  of  some  well-limbred  l)ulke 
Is  witli  the  blast  of  some  outiagious  storme 
Hlowne  (lowne,  it  sliakes  (he  bottoms  of  the  bulke, 
And  makes  her  ribs  to  cracke  as  tliev  were  torne  ; 
Whiles!  still  she  stands  as  stonisht  and  forlorne ; 
"^o  was  he  stound  with  stroke  of  her  huge  taile: 
Hut,  ere  that  it  she  backe  againe  had  borne, 
lie  vvitli  Ills  sword  it  strooke,  tliat  without  faile 
He  ioynted  it,  and  mard  the  swinging  of  her  flaile. 


Then  gan  she  crv  much  louder  than  afore, 
That  all  the  jieople,  there  without,  it  heard, 
And"  Beige  selfe  was  therewith  stonied  sore, 
As  if  the  onely  sound  thereof  she  feard. 
Hut  then  tiie  feend  herselfe  more  fiercely  reard 
Uppon  her  wide  great  wings,  and  strongly  flew 
With  all  her  body  at  his  head  and  beard, 
That  had  he  not  foreseene  with  heedfuU  vew, 
And  tlirown  his  shield  atween,  she  had  him  done  to 
rew : 


Hut,  as  she  prest  on  him  with  heavy  sway. 
Under  her  wombe  his  fatall  sword  he  thrust, 
And  for  her  entrailes  made  an  open  way 
'i'o  issue  forth  ;  the  which,  once  being  brust, 
Like  to  a  great  mill-damb  forth  fiercely  gusht. 
And  powred  out  of  her  infernall  sinks 
Most  iiglv  filth  ;  and  povson  therewith  rusht, 
'I'liat  liim  nigh  choked  with  tiis  deadly  stinke  : 
Such  loatlily  matter  were  small    lust   to  speake  or 
thinke. 


XXXV, 

There  be  with  Beige  did  awhile  remains 

JMaking  great  feast  and  iovous  merriment, 

IJntill  he  had  her  settled  in  lier  raiue 

^Vith  safe  assuraunce  and  establishment. 

Then  to  his  first  emprize  his  mind  he  lent, 

full  loath  to  Beige  and  to  all  the  rest ; 

Of  whom  vet  taking  leave  thenceforth  he  went. 

And  to  his  former  iourney  him  addrest ; 

On  which  long  way  he  rode,  ne  ever  day  did  rest. 


But  turne  we  now  to  noble  Artegall; 

Who,  having  left  IMercilla,  streightway  went 

On  Ms  first  rpiest,  tlie  whicli  him  forth  did  call, 

To  weet,  to  worke  Irenaes  franchisement. 

And  eke  Grantortoes  worthy  punishment. 

So  forth  he  fared,  as  his  manner  was, 

^\'ith  onely  Talus  wayting  diligent, 

Through  many  perils;  and  much  way  did  pas, 

Till  nigh  unto  the  place  at  length  apjirocht  he  has. 


There  as  he  traveld  by  the  way,  lie  met 

An  aged  wight  wayfaring  all  alone. 

Who  through  his  yeares  long  since  aside  had  set 

The  use  of  amies,  and  battel!  quite  forgone: 

To  whom  as  he  approcht,  he  knew  anone 

That  it  was  he  which  whilome  did  attend 

On  iUire  Irene  in  her  affliction, 

When  first  to  faery  court  he  saw  her  wend, 

Unto  his  soveraine  queene  her  suite  for  to  commend. 


The-:i  downe  to  ground  fell  that  deformed  masse, 
I'reathing  out  clouds  of  sulphurs  fowle  and  blacke. 
In  which  a  puddle  of  contagion  was, 
.More  loathd  then  Leriia,  or  then  Stygian  lake. 
That  any  man  would  nigh  awhajied  make: 
Whom  when  he  saw  on  ground,  he  \yas  full  glad. 
And  streight  went  forth  his  gladnesse  to  partake 
With  Beige,  who  v.'atcht  all  this  while  full  sad, 
Wayting  what  end  would  be  of  that  same  daunger 
drad. 

XXXIII. 

Whom  when  she  saw  so  ioyously  come  forth. 
She  gan  reioyce  and  shew  triumphant  chere, 
Lauding  and  jiraysing  bis  renowined  worth 
liy  all  the  names  that  iionorahle  were. 
'1  hen  in  he  brought  her,  and  her  shewed  there 
The  ])resent  of   his  paines,  that  monsters  sjiovle. 
And  eke  that  idoll  deem'd  so  costly  <lere  ; 
\\  hom  I  e  did  all  to  ]ieeces  breaks,  and  foyle 
In  filthy  durt,  and  left  so  in  the  loathely  soyle. 


I  hen  all  tiie  petijilc  which  beheld  that  day 
Ciau  siiout  aloiid,  that  unto  heaveri  it  roiig; ; 
And  all  tlie  dam/.els  of  that  towue  in  ray 
Came  <launcing  forth,  and  iovous  carrels  song  : 
So  him  they  led  tlirouuh  all  tlieir  srreefes  along 
("iown<!d  witli  girloiids  of  iinmortall  bales; 
And  all  the  vul^nr  diil  ahout  liiein  llirong 
I  o  see  the  man,  wliose  everlasliiig  praise. 
'Ihey  all  were  bound  to  all  posterities  to  raise. 


Whom  by  bis  name  saluting,  thus  he  gan  ; 
"  Haile,  good  Sir  Sergis,  truest  knight  alive. 
Well  tride  in  all  thy  ladies  troubles  than 
When  her  that  tyrant  did  of  crowne  deprive  ; 
What  new  occasion  doth  thee  hither  drive. 
Whiles  she  alone  is  left,  and  thou  here  found? 
Or  is  she  thrall,  or  doth  she  not  survive?" 
To  whom  he  thus  ;  "  She  liveth  sure  and  sound  ; 
But  by  that  tyrant  is  in  wretched  thraldoms  bound  ; 


"For  she  presuming  on  th'  appointed  tyde. 

In  which  ye  promist,  as  ye  were  a  knight. 

To  meete  her  at  tlie  salvage  lands  syde, 

And  then  and  there  for  triall  of  her  right 

With  her  unrighteous  enemy  to  fight, 

Did  tliiiher  come  ;  where  she,  afrayd  of  nought 

By  guilerull  treason  and  by  subtill  slight 

Sur]irized  was,  and  to  (irantorto  brought, 

Who  her  inij)rison'd  hath,  and  her  life  often  sought. 


"  And  now  he  hath  to  her  jirefixt  a  day. 

By  which  if  that  no  chamjiion  doe  appeare, 

Which  will  her  cause  in  battailous  army 

Against  him  iustilie,  and  jirove  her  clears 

(Jf  all  those  crimes  that  he  gainst  her  doth  reare. 

She  deatii  shall  sure  aby."     Those  tidings  sad 

Dill  much  abash  Sir  Artegall  to  hearo, 

And  grieved  sore,  tliat  ihrnugh  his  fault  she  bad 

lidieii  into  that  tyran's  hand  and  usage  bad^ 


Canto  XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


285 


'J  lien  thus  replide  :  "  Now  sure  and  by  my  life, 
']  00  niucli  am  I  to  blame  tor  that  f'aire  maide. 
That  have  her  drawne  to  all  this  troublous  strife, 
'i'lirough  promise  to  aftbrd  her  timely  aide, 
W  Inch  by  default  I  have  rot  yet  defraide  : 
But  witnesse  unto  me,  ye  heavens  !  that  know 
How  cleare  I  am  from  blame  of  this  upbraide  : 
For  ve  into  like  thraldome  me  did  throw, 
And'kept  from  complishingthe  faith  which  I  did  owe. 


"  But  now  aread,  Sir  Sergis,  how  long  space 

Hath  he  her  lent  a  champion  to  provide." 

"  Ten  dales,"  (juoth  he,  "  he  graunted  hath  of  grace, 

For  that  he  weeneth  well  before  that  tide 

None  can  have  tidings  to  assist  her  side  : 

For  all  the  shores,  which  to  the  sea  accoste. 

He  day  and  night  doth  ward  both  farre  and  wide. 

That  none  can  there  arrive  without  an  hoste  : 

So  her  he  deemes  already  but  a  damned  ghoste." 


'  Now  turne  againe,"  sir  Artegall  then  sayd; 

"For,  if  1  live  till  those  ten  daies  have  end, 

A  ssure  yourselfe,  sir  knight,  she  shall  have  ayd. 

Though  I  this  dearest  life  for  her  doe  sjjend." 

So  backeward  he  attone  with  him  did  wend. 

Tho,  as  they  rode  together  on  their  way, 

A  rout  of  people  they  before  them  kend. 

Flocking  together  in  ponfusde  array  ; 

As  if  that  there  were  some  tumultuous  afi'ray. 


To  which  as  they  approcht  the  cause  to  know, 
'I  hey  saw  a  knight  in  daungerous  distresse 
Of  a  rude  rcut  him  chasing  to  and  fro, 
Tliat  sought  with  lawlesse  powre  him  to  oppresse. 
And  bring  in  bondage  of  their  brutishnesse  . 
And  (arre  away,  amid  their  rakehell  bands. 
They  spide  a  lady  left  all  succourlesse. 
Crying,  and  holding  up  her  wretched  hands 
'Jo  him  for  aide,  who  long-  in  vaine  their  rage  with- 
stands. 


Yet  still  he  strives,  ne  any  perill  spares, 
Jo  reskue  her  from  their  rude  violence  1 
And  like  a  lion  wood  amongst  them  fares, 
Dealing  his  dreadfuU  blowes  with  large  dispence, 
(jainst  which  the  pallid  death  lindes  no  defence: 
15ut  all  in  vaine  :  their  numbers  are  so  great, 
'I'hat  naught  may  boot  to  banisiie  them  from  thence; 
1-  or,  sooue  as  he  their  outrage  backe  doth  beat, 
'i'hev  turne  alresh,  and  oft  renew  their  former  threat. 


And  now  they  doe  so  sharpely  him  assay, 

'1  hat  they  his  shield  in  peeces  battred  have, 

And  forced  him  to  throw  it  quite  away. 

Fro  dani'ers  dread  his  doubtfuU  life  to  save  ; 

Aloe  tliat  It  most  safely  to  him  gave, 

And  much  did  magniiie  bis  noble  name  : 

I'or.  from  the  uay  ttial  he  thus  did  it  leave, 

AmcDp-st  all  kiiiijhts  he  blotted  was  wiUi  blame. 

And  coULtedtjurarecieaLit  kiu."ht  wiUiendieastiume. 


Whom  when  they  thus  distressed  did  behold, 
They  drew  unto  his  aide  ;   but  that  rude  rout 
'i'liem  also  gan  assaile  with  outrage  bold, 
And  forced  them,  however  strong  and  stout 
They  were,  as  well  approv'd  in  many  a  doubt, 
Bacice  to  recule  ;  untill  that  yron  man 
With  his  huge  llaile  began  to  lay  about ; 
From  whose  sterne  presence  they  diffused  ran, 
Like  scattred  chafl'e,  the  which  the  wind  away  doth 
fan. 

XLVIII. 

So  when  that  knight  from  ])erill  cleare  was  freed, 

He  drawing  neare  began  to  greete  them  faire. 

And  yeeld  great  thankes  for  their  so  goodly  deed. 

In  saving-  him  from  daungerous  despaire 

Of  those  which  sought  his  life  for  to  empaire  : 

Of  whom  Sir  Artegall  gan  then  eniiuere 

The  vi-hole  occasion  of  his  late  misfare. 

And  who  he  was,  and  what  those  villaines  were. 

The  which  with  inortall  malice  him  pursu'd  so  nere. 


To  whom  he  thus;  "My  name  is  Burbon  hight, 
WeW  knowne,  and  far  renownied  heretofore, 
Untill  late  mischiefe  did  uppon  me  light. 
That  all  my  former  praise  hath  blemisht  sore  : 
And  that  faire  lady,  which  in  that  uprore 
Ye  with  those  caytives  saw,  Flourdelis  hight, 
Is  mine  owne  love,  though  me  she  have  foilore  ; 
Whether  withheld  from  me  by  wroiigfuU  might, 
Or  with  her  owne  good  will,  I  cannot  read  aright. 


"  But  sure  to  me  her  faith  she  first  did  plight 

To  be  my  love,  and  lake  me  for  her  lord  ; 

Till  that  a  tyrant,  which  Grandioito  hight, 

With  golden  giftes  and  nmny  a  guilefull  word 

Entvced  her  to  him  for  to  accord. 

0,  who  may  not  with  gifts  and  words  be  templed ! 

Sith  which  she  hatli  me  ever  since  abliord. 

And  to  my  foe  hath  guilefully  consented  : 

Ay  me,  that  ever  guyle  in  wemen  was  invented. 


"  And  now  he  Rath  this  troupe  of  villains  sent 

By  open  force  to  fetch  her  quite  away  : 

Gainst  whom  myselfe  1  long  in  vaine  have  bent 

'J"o  rescue  her,  and  daily  meanes  assay  ; 

Yet  rescue  her  thence  by  rio  meanes  1  may; 

For  they  doe  me  with  multitude  o])presse. 

And  with  unequall  might  doe  overlay. 

That  oft  1  driven  am  to  great  distresse, 

And  forced  to  forgoe  th'  attempt  remedilesse." 


"  But  why  have  ye,"  said  Artegall,  "  forborne 
Your  owne  good  shield  in  daungerous  dismay  '. 
That  is  the  greatest  shame  and  foulest  scorne, 
Wliich  unto  any  knight  behai)pen  may. 
To  loose  the  bad?;e  that  shouUl  his  deedes  disjilay." 
To  whom  su-  hiurhon,  blushintv  halle  for  shame  , 
"  That  sliall  f  ur'o  voii  ''  quoth  Jie,  "  bewray  ; 
Least  ye  therefore  mole  hu))]iiiyn'e  blame. 
And  d'eeme  it  Uoen  ui  «ill,  O.i'H  throu^li  inforn  nieui 
cauie. 


286 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[Book  V 


'■  True  is  that  I  at  first  was  clubbed  knight 
By  a  good  knight,  the  knight  of  the  Red-crosse  ; 
W'ho,  when  he  gave  me  annes  in  field  to  fight, 
Gave  me  a  shield,  in  which  he  did  endosse 
His  deare  Redeemers  badge  upon  the  bosse  : 
The  same  long  while  I  bore,  and  therewithall 
Fought  may  battels  without  wound  or  losse  ; 
Therewith  G rand torto  selte  I  did  appall, 
And  made  him  oftentimes  in  field  before  me  fall. 


But,  whenas  overblowen  was  that  brunt, 
Those  knights  began  afresh  them  to  assayle. 
And  all  about  the  fields  like  squirrels  hunt  j 
But  chiefly  Talus  with  his  yron  flayle, 
Gainst  which  no  flight  nor  rescue  mote  avayle, 
Made  cruell  havocke  of  ihe  baser  crew, 
And  chaced  them  both  over  hill  and  dale : 
The  raskall  manie  soone  they  overthrew ; 
But  the  two  knights  themselves  their  captains  d 
subdew. 


"  But  for  that  many  did  that  shield  envie. 
And  cruell  enemies  increased  more  ; 
To  stint  all  strife  and  troublous  enmitie. 
That  bloudie  scutchin  being  battred  sore 
1  layd  aside,  and  have  of  late  forbore  ; 
Hoping  thereby  to  have  my  love  obtayned  : 
Vet  can  I  not  my  love  have  nathemore; 
For  she  b\'  force  is  still  fro  me  detayned, 
And   with    corruptfuU    brybes  is  to  untruth    mis- 
trayned." 


To  whom  thus  Artegall ;  "  Certes,  sir  knight, 
Hiird  is  the  case  the  which  ye  doe  complaine  ; 
Yet  not  so  hard  (for  nought  so  hard  may  light 
That  it  to  such  a  streight  mote  you  constraine) 
As  to  abandon  that  which  doth  containe 
Your  honours  stile,  that  is,  your  warlike  shield. 
All  peril!  ought  be  lesse,  and  lesse  all  paine 
Then  losse  of  fame  in  disaventrous  field  : 
Dye,  rather   then  doe  ought  that  mote   dishonour 
yield !" 


"  Not  so,"  quoth  he  ;  "  for  yet,  when  time  doth  serve, 

My  former  shield  I  may  resume  againe  : 

To  temporize  is  not  from  truth  to  swerve, 

Ne  for  advantage  terme  to  entertaine, 

Whenas  necessitie  doth  it  constraine." 

"  Fie  on  such  forgerie,"  said  Artegall, 

*'  Under  one  hood  to  shadow  faces  twaine : 

Knights  ought  be  true,  and  truth  is  one  in  all ; 

Of  all  things,  to  dissemble,  fouly  may  befall ! " 


"  Yet  let  me  j-ou  of  courtesie  request," 
Said  Burbon,  "  to  assist  me  now  at  need 
Against  these  pcsants  which  have  me  opprest. 
And  forced  me  to  so  infamous  deed, 
Tliaf  yet  my  love  may  from  their  hands  be  freed." 
Sir  i'\rtfgall,  albe  he  earst  did  wyte 
His  wavering  mind,  yet  to  his  aide  agreed. 
And  buckling  him  eftsoones  unto  the  fight 
J)id  set  u])on  those  troupes  with  all  his  powre  and 
miuht. 


Who  flocking  round  about  them,  as  a  swarme 
Of  fives  upon  a  Ijirchcn  bnugli  doth  cluster, 
Did  ilicm  assault  with  terrible  allarine. 
And  over  all  the  fields  themselves  did  muster. 
With  bils  and  glavves  making  a  dreadfuil  luster; 
That  torst  at  first  those  knifjhls  backe  to  vptyre  ; 
As  when  the  viratlifull  ilotvas  dolb  blus'er. 
Nought  may  ahwio  the  leniliest  ot  his  vre, 
liotb   man   aid    beast  doe  flv,  and  succour  Hoe  in- 
ouvre. 


At  last  they  came  whereas  that  ladie  bode. 
Whom  now  her  keepers  had  forsaken  quight 
To  save  themselves,  and  scattered  were  abiode  : 
Her  halfe  dismayd  they  found  in  doubtfull  plight 
As  neither  glad  nor  sorie  for  their  sight ; 
Yet  wondrous  faire  she  was,  and  richly  clad 
In  roiall  robes,  and  many  iewels  dight ; 
But  that  those  villens  through  their  usage  bad 
Them  fouly  rent,  and  shamefully  defaced  had. 


But  Burbon,  streight  dismounting  from  his  steed 
Unto  her  ran  with  greedie  great  desyre. 
And  catching  her  fast  by  her  ragged  weed 
Would  have  embraced  her  with  hart  entyre  : 
But  she,  backstarting,  with  disdainefuU  yre 
Bad  him  avaunt,  ne  would  unto  his  lore 
Allured  be  for  prayer  nor  for  meed  : 
Whom  when  those  knights  so  froward  and  forlore 
Beheld,  they  her  rebuked  and  upbrayded  sore. 


Sayd  Artegall ;  "  What  foule  disgrace  is  this 
To  so  faire  ladie,  as  ye  seenie  in  sight. 
To  blot  your  beautie,  that  unblemisht  is, 
AVith  so  foule  blame  as  breach  of  iaith  once  plight, 
Or  change  of  love  for  any  worlds  delight  ? 
Is  ought  on  earth  so  pretious  or  deare 
As  piayse  and  honour?  or  is  ought  so  bright 
And  beautifull  as  glories  beames  appeare. 
Whose  goodly  light  then  Phabus  lampe  duili  shine 
more  cleare  ? 


"  Why  then  will  ye,  fond  dame,  attempted  bee 
Unto  a  strangers  love,  so  lightly  placed, 
For  guiftes  of  gold  or  any  worldly  glee, 
To  leave  the  love  that  ye  before  embraced. 
And  let  vour  fame  with  talshood  be  defaced  1 
¥ie  on  the  pell'e  for  which  good  name  is  sold. 
And  honour  with  indignitie  debased  ! 
Dearer  is  love  then  life,  and  fame  then  gold  , 
But  dearer  then  them  both  vour  faith  once  plighted 
hold." 

LXIV. 

IMucli  was  the  ladie  in  her  gentle  mind 
Abaslit  at  his  rebuke,  that  bit  her  neare  ; 
Ne  ought  to  ansvvere  thereunto  did  find  : 
But,  hanging  down  her  head  with  heavie  chearo, 
Stood  long  amnz'd  as  she  amated  weare  : 
Which  ]5uvbon  seeing;-,  ber  agr.iiie  a.ssayd  ; 
And,  claspinsr  twixt  his  armes,  her  up  <iid  reare 
Upon  nis  steede,  whiles  slie  no  wlat  siainesavu  : 
oo  bore  her  auite  away  nor  weil  i:or  ill  apayu. 


Caavo  XII.] 


T-  E  FAKRIE  QUEENE. 


2B7 


Nathlesse  the  yron  man  did  still  pursew 

That  raskall  many  with  unpittied  spoyle ; 

Ne  ceassed  not,  till  all  their  scattred  crew 

Into  the  sea  he  drove  quite  from  that  soyle, 

The  which  tliey  troubled  had  with  great  turmoyle . 

But  Artegall,  seeing-  his  cruell  deed, 

Commaunded  him  from  slaughter  to  recoyle. 

And  to  his  voyage  gan  againe  proceed  ,: 

lor  that  the  terme,  approching  fast,  required  speed. 


CANTO  XII. 

Artegnll  doth  Sir  Burbon  aide. 
And  blames  for  changing  shield  : 

Ht^  with  the  great  Grantorto  fights. 
And  slaieth  him  in  field. 


0  SACRED  hunger  cf  ambitious  mindes, 
And  ijnpotent  desire  of  men  to  raine  ! 
Whora  neither  dread  of  God,  that  devils  bindes, 
\or  lawes  cf  men,  that  common-weales  containe, 
Nor  bands  of  nature,  that  wilde  beastes  restraine, 
Can  Iceepe  from  outrage  and  from  doing  wrong, 
W  here  tliey  may  hope  a  kingdome  to  obtaine  : 
Xo  faith  so  firme,  no  trust  can  be  so  strong, 
X  o  love  so  lasting  then,  that  may  enduren  long. 


Witnesse  may  Burbon  be ;  whom  all  the  bands, 

Which  mav  a  knight  assure,  had  surely  bound, 

Uuntill  the  love  of  lordship  and  of  lands 

Made  him  become  most  iaiihless  and  unsound  : 

And  witnesse  be  Gerioneo  found, 

\\'\u,  for  like  cause  fai'e  Beige  did  oppresse, 

And  right  and  wrong  most  cruelly  confound  . 

And  so  be  now  Grantorto,  who  no  lesse 

Tluin  all  the  rest  burst  out  to  all  outragiousnesse. 


Gainst  whom  Sir  Artegall  long  having  since 
Taken  in  hand  th'  exploit,  (being  theretoc 
A]ipointed  by  that  migliiie  faerie  jirince, 
Grehc  Gloriane,  that  tyrant  to  fordoo,) 
Through  other  great  adventures  hethertoo 
Had  it  forslackt :  but  now  time  drawing  ny, 
Iv  him  assvnd  her  high  beheast  to  doo, 
To  tV)H  sea-shore  lie  gan  his  way  ajjply 
To  »\'eete  if  shipping  readie  he  mote  there  descry. 


rho,  when  thev  came  to  the  sea-coast,  they  found 

\  ship  all  readie,  as  good  fortune  fell, 

To  put  to  sea,  with  whom  they  did  compound 

Tn  n;>sse  tiiem  over  where  them  list  to  tell : 

'1  ne  wiiaie  and  weather  served  them  so  well, 

'J  hai  in  one  day  they  with  llie  coast  did  f\ill  ; 

\\  litreas  thev  readie  fcomd,  tliem  to  repel', 

Gre-'  ':o;-es  of  n.cn  ir  o'dor  ira''iad, 

V\  hich  tuem  torbad  to  land,  and  tooung  dirl  forslail. 


But  nathemore  would  they  from  land  refraine  : 
But,  whenas  nigh  unto  the  shore  Ihey  drew 
That  foot  of  man  might  sound  the  bottome  plaine, 
Talus  into  the  sea  did  forth  issew  [threw  ; 

'J'hoiigh  darts   from   shore  and   stones  tliey  at  him 
And  wading  through  the  waves  with  stedfast  sway, 
IMaugre  the  might  of  all  those  troupes  in  vev>-, 
Did  win  the  shore  ;  whence  he  them  chast  away 
And  made  to  fly  like  doves,  whom   th'  eagle  doth 
alfra)'. 


The  whyles  Sir  Artegall  with  that  old  knight 
Did  forth  descend,  there  being  none  them  iieare. 
And  forward  marched  to  a  towne  in  sii;lit. 
By  this  came  tydings  to  the  tyrants  eare. 
By  those  which  earst  did  fly  awav  for  feare. 
Of  their  arrivall :  wherewith  troubled  sore 
He  all  his  forces  streight  to  him  did  reare. 
And,  forth  issuing  with  his  scouts  afore, 
iNIeant  them  to  have  incountred   ere   they  left   the 
shore  : 


But  ere  he  marched  f\irre  he  M-itli  them  met. 

And  fiercely  charged  them  with  all  his  force ; 

But  Talus  sternely  did  upon  them  set. 

And  brusht  and  battred  them  withour  remorse, 

That  on  the  ground  he  left  full  many  a  corse  ; 

Ne  any  able  was  him  to  withstand. 

Hut  he  them  overthrew  both  man  and  horse. 

That  they  lay  scattred  over  all  the  land. 

As  thicke  as  doth  the  seede  after  the  sowers  hand 


Till  Artegall  him  seeing  so  to  rage 

Willd  him  to  stay,  and  signe  of  truce  di  1  mate; 

To  which  all  harkning  did  awhile  asswage 

Their  forces  furie,  and  their  terror  slake  ; 

Till  he  an  herauld  cakl,  and  to  him  sjvake. 

W  illiiig  him  wend  unto  the  tyrant  sfieijht, 

And  tell  (jim  that  nol  toi  such  slaui'hlers  sake 

He  ihelner  rauie    Lut  lor  lo  trie  lue  T\yhi 

Of  lavie  ileUJcS  cauie  v.itli  him  in  single  tight  r 


288 


THE  FAERIE  QUKENE. 


And  willed  him  for  to  reclavme  with  speed 

His  scuttred  people,  ere  they  all  were  slaine  ; 

And  tiine  and  place  convenient  to  areed, 

In  which  they  two  the  combat  mi^lit  darraine. 

Whicli  message  when  Grantirto  hear.i,  full  tiiyne 

And  glad  lie  was  the  slaughter  so  to  stay  : 

And  pointed  for  the  combat  twixt  them  twayne 

'J  he  morrow  next,  ne  gave  him  longer  day: 

rjo  sounded  the  retraite,  ani  drew  iiis  folke  away. 


That  night  Sir  Artegall  did  cause  his  tent 
There  to  be  pitched  on  the  open  ])laine ; 
For  he  had  given  streigi.t  commauiulement 
That  none  should  dare  liim  once  to  cntertaine  : 
Which  none  durst  breake,  though  many  would  right 
For  faire  Irena  whom  they  loved  deare  :  [faine 

But  yet  old  Sergis  did  so  well  him  paine. 
That  from  close  friends,  that  dar'd  not  to  appeare. 
He  all  things  did  purvay  which  for  them  needfuU 
vs-eare. 


The  morrow  nest  that  was  the  dismall  day 

Appointed  for  Ireuas  death  before. 

So  soone  as  it  did  to  the  world  display 

His  chearefull  face,  and  light  to  men  restore. 

The  heavy  mayd,  to  whom  none  tydings  bore 

Of  Artegals  airivall  her  to  free, 

J.ookt  up  with  eyes  full  sad  and  hart  full  sore, 

\Veening  her  lifes  last  howre  then  neare  to  bee ; 

Sith  no  redemption  nigh  she  did  nor  heare  nor  see. 


Then  up  she  rose,  and  on  herselfe  did  dight 

Most  squalid  garments,  fit  for  such  a  day  ; 

And  with  duil  countenance  and  with  doleful  spriglit 

She  forth  was  brought  in  sorrowfull  dismay 

For  to  receive  the  doome  of  her  decay  : 

But  comming  to  the  place,  and  finding  there 

Sir  Artegall  in  battailous  array 

Wayting  his  foe,  it  did  her  dead  hart  cheare, 

And  new  life  to  her  lent  in  midst  of  deadly  feare. 


Like  as  a  tender  rose  in  open  plaine, 

That  with  untimely  drought  nigh  withered  was, 

And  hung  the  head,  soone  as  few  drops  of  raine 

Thereon  distill  and  deaw  her  daintie  face. 

Gins  to  look  u]),  and  with  fresh  wonted  grace 

Hispreds  the  gloiie  of  lier  leaviis  gay  ; 

Such  was  Irenas  countenance,  such  her  case, 

\\  hen  Artegall  she  saw  in  that  array. 

There  wayting  for  the  tyrant  till  it  was  farre  day : 


Who  came  at  lengtli  with  proud  presumpteous  gate 

Into  the  field,  as  if  he  fearelesse  were. 

All  armed  in  a  cote  of  yron  ])late 

Of  great  defence  to  ward  the  deadly  feare, 

And  on  his  head  a  steele-cap  he  did  weare 

Of  colour  rustie-browne,  but  sure  and  strong  : 

And  ill  iim  hand  an  hu^e  polaxe  dul  beare, 

Whose  steaio  \.as  vron-stu'^dcil,  but  nor  lonp. 

Wilt;  vLicli  !  e  wor.t  V:  t^^l>X.  to  irisiiV'e  bis  wron^. 


Of  stature  huge  and  hideous  he  was, 
Like  to  a  giant  for  his  monstrous  bight. 
And  did  in  strength  most  sorts  of  men  surpas, 
Ne  ever  any  found  his  match  in  might ; 
'Ihereto  he  had  great  f kill  in  single  fight : 
His  face  was  ugly  and  his  countenance  Sterne, 
That  could  have  frayd  one  with  the  very  sight. 
And  gajied  like  a  gulto  when  be  did  gerne  ; 
That    whether  man   ov  monster   one    could    scarse 
discerne. 


Soone  as  he  did  ■p/ithin  the  listes  appeare, 
With  dreadfull  looke  he  Artegall  beheld, 
As  if  be  would  have  daunted  him  with  feare  ; 
And,  grinning  grieslv,  did  against  him  weld 
His  deadly  weajion  which  in  hand  he  held  : 
But  th'  elfin  swavne,  that  oft  had  seene  like  sight. 
Was  wi(l3  bii  ghastly  count'nance  nothing  queld  ; 
But  gan  i.nm  streight  to  buckle  to  the  fight, 
And  cast  L^s  shield  about  to  be  in  readie  plight. 


The  trompets  sound  ;  and  they  together  goe 
With  dreadfull  terror  and  with  fell  iaLeiit  ; 
And  their  huge  strokes  full  daungerousiy  bestow. 
To  doe  most  dammage  whereas  most  thej'  ment : 
But  with  such  force  and  furie  violent 
The  tyrant  I  hundred  his  thicke  blowes  so  fast. 
That  through  the  yron  walles  their  way  they  rent. 
And  even  to  the  vitall  |)arts  they  past, 
jS'e  ouglit  could  them  endure,  but  all  they  cleft  or 
brast. 


Which  cruell  outrage  whenas  Artegall 
Did  well  avise,  thenceforth  with  warie  heed 
He  shund  his  strokes,  where-ever  fhey  did  fall, 
And  way  did  give  unto  their  gracelesse  sjieed  : 
As  when  a  skilfull  niarriner  doth  reed 
A  storme  approching  that  doth  perill  'ihreat. 
He  will  not  bide  the  daunger  of  such  dread, 
But  strikes  his  sayles,  and  vereth  his  main-sheat. 
And  lends  unto  it  leave  the  emptie  ayre  to  beat. 


So  did  the  faerie  knight  himselfe  abeare. 
And  stouped  oft  his  head  from  shame  to  shield  : 
No  shame  to  stoupe,  one  head  more  high  to  reare 
And,  much  to  gaine,  a  litle  for  to  yield: 
So  stoutest  knights  doen  oftentimes  in  field. 
But  still  the  tyrant  sternely  at  him  layd. 
And  did  his  yron  axe  so  nimblv  wield. 
That  many  wounds  into  his  flesh  it  made, 
And    with    his    burdenous    blowes   him    soie   riia 
overlade. 


Yet  whenas  fit  advantage  lie  did  spy. 

The  whiles  the  cursed  felon  high  did  reare 

His  cruell  hand  to  smite  bira  mortally. 

Under  his  stroke  he  to  him  stepping  neare 

Right  in  the  flanke  him  strooke  with  ocadH'  unni«* 

'J'hat  the  gore-bloud  thence  gushing  grievousiy 

Did  underneatli  hini  like  a  pond  appeare 

And  all  Ins  urniour  did  with  purj)le  dve: 

Therft-U  be  braye'i  loui,  and  yelicd  dreailixi 


Canto  vtt  t 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


289 


Vet  the  hup.-e  stroke,  which  lie  hefore  intended, 
Kept  on  his  course,  as  he  did  it  direct. 
And  with  such  monstrous  ])oise  adowne  descended, 
That  seemed  nought  could  him  from  death  protect : 
Hut  he  it  well  did  w  ard  with  wise  respect, 
And  twixr  Iiiui  and  the  blow  his  shield  did  cast, 
Which  thereon  seizing-  tooke  no  great  effect; 
But,  bvting  deejie,  therein  did  sticke  so  fast 
That  bv  no  meanes  it  hacke  againe  he  forth  could 
wrast. 


Long  while  he  tug'd  and  strove  to  get  it  out. 
And  all  his  powre  applyed  thereunto, 
That  he  therewith  the  knight  drew  all  about: 
Kathlesse,  for  all  that  ever  he  could  doe, 
His  axe  he  could  not  from  his  shield  undoe. 
Which  Artegall  perceiving,  strooke  no  more. 
But  loosing  soone  his  shield  did  it  forgoe  ; 
And,  whiles  he  conibred  was  therewith  so  sore, 
He  gan  at  him  let  drive  more  fiercely  than  afore. 


So  well  he  him  pursew'd,  that  at  the  last 
He  stroke  him  with  Chrysaor  on  the  hed, 
'J'hat  with  the  souse  thereof  full  sore  aghast- 
He  staggered  lo  and  fro  in  doiibiFull  sted  : 
Againe,  whiles  he  him  saw  so  ill  bested. 
He  did  him  smite  with  all  his  might  and  maine. 
That,  falling,  on  his  mother  earth  he  fed  : 
Whom  when  he  saw  prostrated  on  the  plaine, 
He  lightly  reft  his  head  to  ease  him  of  his  paine. 


Which  when  the  people  round  about  him  saw, 
They  shouted  all  for  ioy  of  his  successe, 
Glad  to  be  quit  from  that  proud  tyrant's  awe. 
Which  with  strong  powre  did  them  long  time  op- 
And,  running  all  with  greedie  ioyfulnesse    [presse  ; 
To  faire  Irena,  at  her  feet  did  fall. 
And  her  adored  with  due  humhlenesse 
As  their  true  liege  and  princesse  naturall ; 
And  eke  her  champions  glorie  sounded  over  all : 


Who,  streight  her  leading  with  meete  maiestie 

Unto  the  pallace  where  their  kings  did  rayne. 

Did  her  therein  establish  peaceablie. 

And  to  her  kingdomes  seat  restore  agayne  ; 

And  all  such  persons,  as  did  late  maintayne 

'I'hat  t\  rants  part  with  close  or  open  ayde. 

He  sorely  punished  with  heavie  payne  ; 

That  in  short  space,  whiles  there  with  her  he  stayd. 

Not  one  was  left  that  durst  her  once  have  disobayd. 


During  which  time  that  he  did  there  remayne. 
His  studie  was  true  iustice  how  to  deals, 
And  day  and  niglit  employ 'd  his  busie  pame 
How  to  reforme  that  ratrged  common- weale  : 
And  that  same  yron  man,  which  could  reveale 
All  hidden  crimes,  through  all  that  realme  he  sent 
To  senrc'ii  out  those  that  usd  to  rob  and  steale, 
Or  did  rebell  gainst  lawfull  government; 
On  whom  he  did  inflict  most  grievous  punishment. 


But,  ere  he  could  reforme  it  thoroughly, 

He  through  occasion  called  was  away 

To  faerie  court,  that  of  necessity 

His  course  of  iustice  he  was  forst  to  stay, 

And  Talus  to  revoke  from  the  right  wav. 

In  which  he  was  that  realme  for  to  redresse : 

But  envies  cloud  still  dimmeth  vertues  ray  ! 

So,  having  freed  Irena  from  distresse, 

He  tooke  his  leave  of  her  there  left  in  heavinesse. 


Tho,  as  he  backe  retu-iied  from  that  land. 
And  there  arriv'd  asjai  le  whence  forth  he  set. 
He  had  not  passed  farre  upon  the  strand, 
\\  henas  two  old  ill-fa  vour'd  hags  he  met. 
By  the  way-side  being  together  set. 
Two  griesly  creatures  ;  and,  to  that  their  faces 
JNIost  foule  and  filthie  were,  their  garments  yet, 
Being  all  rag'd  and  tatter'd,  their  disgraces 
Did  much  the  more  augment,  and  made  most  ugly 
cases. 


The  one  of  them,  that  elder  did  appeare. 
With  her  dull  eyes  did  seeme  to  looke  askew. 
That  her  mis-shape  much  helpt ;  and  her  foule  heare 
Hung  loose  and  loathsomely  ;  thereto  her  hew 
Was  wan  and  leane,  that  all  her  teeth  arew 
And  all  her  bones  might  through  hercheekes  be  red, 
Her  lips  were,  like  raw  lether,  pale  and  blew: 
And  as  she  spake,  therewith  she  slavered  ; 
Yet  spake  she  seldom  ;  but  thought  more,  the  lesse 
she  sed  : 


Her  hands  were  foule  and  durtie,  never  washt 
In  all  her  life,  with  long  nayles  over-raught  [scratcht 
Like  puttocks  clawes  ;  with  th'  one  of  which   she 
Her  cursed  head,  although  it  itched  naught; 
The  other  held  a  snake  with  venime  fraught. 
On  which  she  fed  and  gnawed  hungrily. 
As  if  that  long  she  had  not  eaten  ou^ht ; 
That  round  about  her  iawes  one  might  descry 
The  bloudie  gore  and  poyson  dropping  lothsomely 


Her  name  was  Envie,  knowen  well  thereby  ; 
Whose  nature  is  to  grieve  and  grudge  at  all 
That  ever  she  sees  doen  prays- worthily; 
Whose  sight  to  her  is  greatest  crosse  may  fall 
And  vexeth  so,  that  makes  her  eat  her  gall: 
For,  when  she  wanteth  other  thing  to  eat. 
She  feedes  on  her  owne  maw  unnaturall, 
And  of  her  owne  foule  entrayles  makes  her  meat, 
Meat  fit  for  such  a  monsters  monsterous  dyeat : 


And  if  she  hapt  of  any  good  to  heare. 

That  had  to  any  happily  betid. 

Then  would  she  inly  fret,  and  grieve,  and  teare 

Her  flesh  for  felnesse,  which  she  inward  hid  ; 

But  if  she  heard  of  ill  that  any  did. 

Or  harnie  that  any  had,  then  would  she  make 

Great  cheare,  like  one  unto  a  banquet  bid  ; 

And  in  anothers  losse  great  pleasure  take, 

As  she  had  got  thereby  and  gayned  a  great  stake. 


290 


THE  FAERIE  QU^^NE. 


[Book  V 


XSXIII. 

The  other  nothing  better  was  then  shee; 
An-reeino-  in  bad  will  and  cancred  kynd, 
i'jiit  in  had  maner  they  did  disag-ree  : 
For  whatso  envie  good  or  bad  did  fynd 
She  did  couctale,  and  murder  her  owne  mynd  ; 
lint  this,  whatever  evill  she  conceived, 
Dill  spred  abroad  and  throw  in  th'  open  wynd  : 
\ct  this  ia  all  her  words  might  be  perceived, 
'I'hiit  all    she  sought  was  mens  good  name  to  have 
bereaved. 


For,  v.-hatsoever  good  by  any  sayd 

Or  doen  she  heard,  she  would  streightwayes  invent 

How  to  deprave  or  slaunderously  upbrayd. 

Or  to  misconstrue  of  a  mans  intent. 

And  turne  to  ill  the  thing  that  well  was  ment : 

'I'herefore  she  used  often  to  resort 

To  common  haunts,  and  companies  frequent, 

To  hearke  what  any  one  did  good  report, 

To  blot  the  same  with  blame,  or  wrest  in  wicked  sort : 


And  if  that  any  ill  she  heard  of  any. 

She  would  it  ceke,  and  make  much  worse  by  telling. 

And  lake  great  ioy  to  publish  it  to  many  . 

That  every  matter  worse  was  for  her  melling  : 

Her  name  was  bight  Detraction,  and  her  dwelling 

U  as  neare  to  Envie,  even  her  neighbour  next; 

A  wicked  hag,  and  Envy  selfe  excelling 

In  mischiefe;  for  herselfe  she  only  vext: 

But  this  same  both  herselfe  and  others  ekeperplext. 


Her  face  was  ugly,  and  her  mouth  distort, 

Fomiiig  with  poyson  round  about  her  gils. 

In  which  her  cursed  tongue  full  sharpe  and  short 

Appeard  like  aspis  sting,  that  closely  kils. 

Or  cruelly  does  wound  whomso  she  wils; 

A  (listaffe  in  her  otlier  hand  she  had. 

Upon  ihe  which  she  litle  spinnes,  but  spils  ; 

And  fayues  to  weave  false  tales  and  leasings  bad, 

To  throw  amongst  the  good,  which  others  had  disprad. 


These  two  now  had  themselves  combynd  in  one, 
And  linckt  together  gainst  Sir  Artegall  ; 
For  whom  they  wayted  as  his  mortall  fone, 
How  they  might  make  him  into  mischiefe  fall, 
For  freeing  from  their  snares  Irena  thrall: 
Besides,  unto  themselves  they  gotten  had 
A  monster  which  the  blatant  beast  men  call, 
A  dreadfuU  feend  of  i:ods  and  men  ydrad, 
Whom  they  by  slights  allur'd  and  to  their  purpose 
lad. 


XXXVIII. 

Such  were  these  hags,  and  so  unhandsome  drest- 
Who  when  they  nigh  approching  had  espyde 
Sir  Artegall  return'd  from  his  late  quest. 
They  both  arose,  and  at  him  loudly  cryde. 
As  it  bad  bene  two  shepheards  curres  bad  scryde 
A  ravenous  wolfe  amongst  the  scattered  flockes  ■ 
And  Envie  first,  as  she  that  first  him  eyed, 
Towardes  him  runs,  and  witii  rude  flaring  lockes 
About  her  eares  does  beat  her   brest  and  forehead 
knockes. 


Then  from  her  mouth  the  gobbet  she  does  take, 

The  which  whyleare  she  was  so  greedily 

Devouring,  even  that  halfe-gnawen  snake. 

And  at  him  throws  it  most  despightfully : 

The  cursed  serpent,  though  she  hungrily 

F2arst  chawed  thereon,  yet  was  not  all  so  dead, 

But  that  some  life  remayned  secretly ; 

And,  as  he  past  afore  withouten  dread. 

Bit  him  behind,  that  long  the  marke  was  to  be  read. 


Then  th' other  comming  neare  gan  him  rerilc, 

And  fouly  rayle,  with  all  she  could  invent; 

Saying  that  he  had,  with  unmanly  guile 

And  foule  ahusion,  both  his  honour  blent. 

And  that  bright  sword,  the  sword  of  lustice  lent 

Had  stayned  with  reprochfuU  crueltie 

In  guiltlesse  blood  of  many  an  innocent: 

As  for  Grantorto,  him  with  treacherie 

And  traynes  having  surpriz'd  he  fouly  did  to  die. 


Thereto  the  blatant  beast,  by  them  set  on, 
At  him  began  aloud  to  barke  and  bay 
With  bitter  rage  and  fell  contention  , 
That  all  the  woods  and  rockes  nigh  to  that  way 
Began  to  quake  and  tremble  with  dismay ; 
And  all  the  aire  rebellowed  againe; 
So  dreadfully  his  hundred  tongues  did  bray  : 
And  evermore  those  hags  themselves  did  paine 
To  sharpen  him,  and  their  owne  cursed  tongs  did 
straine. 

XI.Il 

And,  stdl  among,  most  bitter  wordes  they  spake, 
Most  shamefull,  most  unrighteous,  most  untrew, 
I'hat  they  the  mildest  man  alive  would  make 
Foro-et  his  patience,  and  yeeld  vengeaunce  dew 
To  her,  that  so  false  sclaunders  at  him  threw  : 
And  more   to  make  them  i)ierce   and  wound  more 

deepe. 
She,  with  the  sting  which  in  her  vile  tongue  grew 
Did  sharpen  them,  and  in  fresh  poyson  steepe  . 
Yet   he    past   on,  and   seem'd  of  them   to    take   no 

keepe. 


XMII. 

But  Talus,  hearing  her  so  lewdly  raile 
And  sjieak"  so  ill  of  him  that  well  deserved. 
Would  her  have  cl.astiz'd  with  his  yron  flaile. 
If  her  Sir  Artegall  had  not  preserved. 
And  him  forbidden,  who  his  beast  observed: 
So  much  the  more  at  him  still  did  she  scold. 
And  stones  did  cast  ;  yet  be  for  nought  would  swerve 
From  his  right  course,  but  still  the  way  did  hold 
To  Faerii^  court ;  where  what  him  fiill  shall  else  be 
told. 


THE  SIXTH  BOOKE 


THE    FAERIE    QUEENE, 


CONTAYNING 


THE  LEGEND  OF  SIR  CALIDORE,  OR  OF  COURTESIE. 


f  The  wiies,  through  which  my  weary  steps  I  guyde 
In  this  delightful  land  of  Faery, 
Are  so  exceeding  spacious  and  wyde, 
And  sprinckled  with  such  sweet  variety 
Of  all  that  pleasant  is  to  eare  or  eye, 
That  1,  nigh  ravisht  with  rare  thoughts  delight, 
My  tedious  travell  doe  forget  therehy  ; 
And,  when  I  gin  to  feele  decay  of  might; 
It  strength   to  me  supplies  and  chears  my  dulled 
spright. 

It. 

Such  secret  comfort  and  such  heavenlie  pleasures, 
Ye  sacred  imps,  that  on  Parnnsso  dwell. 
And  there  the  keeping  have  of  learnings  tlireasures 
Which  doe  all  worldly  riches  farre  excellj 
Into  the  mindes  of  raortall  men  doe  well, 
And  goodly  furv  into  them  infuse  ; 
Guvde  ye  my  footing,  and  conduct  me  well 
In  these  strange  waies  where  never  foote  did  use, 
Ne  none  can  tind  hut  who  was  taught  them  by  the 
muse : 


Bevele  to  me  the  sacred  noursery 

Of  vertue,  which  with  you  doth  there  remaine, 

Where  it  in  silver  howre  does  hidden  ly 

From  view  of  men  and  wicked  worlds  disdaine  ; 

Since  it  at  first  was  by  the  gods  with  pame 

Planted  in  earth,  being  deriv'd  at  furst 

From  heavenly  seedes  of  bounty  soveraine. 

And  by  them  long  with  careful!  labour  nur>t, 

Till  it  to  ripenesse  grew,  and  forth  to  honour  burst. 


Amongst  them  all  growes  not  a  fairer  flowre 
'I'hen  is  (he  bloosme  of  con\ely  courtesie  ; 
Which  though  it  on  a  lowly  stalke  doe  bowre. 
Yet  brancheth  forth  in  brave  nobilitie. 
And  spreds  it?elfe  throu-h  all  civilitie  : 
Of  which  though  present  age  doe  plenteous  seeme. 
Yet,  being  matclit  with  plaine  antiquitie. 
Ye  will  them  all  but  fayned  stiowes  esleeme, 
Which  carry  colours  faire  that  feeble  eies  misdeeme 


But,  in  the  trinll  of  true  curtesie. 
Its  now  so  farre  from  that  which  then  it  was, 
That  it  indeed  is  nought  but  forgerie. 
Fashioned  to  please  the  eies  of  them  that  pas, 
^Vhich  see  not  perfect  things  but  in  a  glas  : 
Yet  is  that  glasse  so  gay  that  it  can  blynd 
The  wisest  sight,  to  fhi'tike  gold  that  is  bras  : 
But  vertues  seat  is  deepe  within  the  mynd. 
And  not  in  outward  shows  but  inward  thoughts  d^ 
fynd. 

VI. 

But  where  shall  I  in  all  antiquity 

So  faire  a  patrerne  timle,  where  may  be  seene 

The  goodly  praise  of  princely  curtesie. 

As  in  yourselfe,  O  soveraine  lady  queene  ? 

In  whose  pure  minde,  as  in  a  mirrour  shcene. 

It  showes,  and  with  her  brightnesse  doth  inllame 

The  eyes  of  all  which  thereon  fixed  beene  ; 

But  meriteth  indeede  an  higher  name  : 

Vet  so  from  low  to  high,  uplifted  is  your  Dtm©^ 


Then  pardon  me,  most  dreaded  soveraine, 

'I'hat  from  yourselfe  I  doe  this  vertue  bring. 

And  to  yourselfe  doe  it  returne  againe  ; 

So  from  the  ocean  all  rivers  spring, 

And  tribute  backe  rejiay  as  to  their  king  : 

Right  so  from  you  all  goodly  vertues  well 

Into  the  rest  wliich  round  about  you  ring, 

I'aire  lords  and  ladies  which  about  you  dwell, 

And  doe  adorne  your  court  where  courtesies  excelL 


292 


THE  FALRIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  YI. 


CANTO  I. 

Calidore  saves  from  INIaleffort 

A  damzell  used  vylde  : 
Doth  vanquish  Cruder  ;  and  doth  make 

Briana  wexe  more  mylde. 


Of  court,  it  seemes,  men  courtesie  doe  call, 
For  tliat  it  tliere  most  useth  to  ahound ; 
And  well  heseemeth  tliat  in  princes  hall 
I'hat  vertue  should  be  plentituUy  found, 
Wliich  of  all  goodly  manners  is  the  ground, 
And  roote  of  civill  conversation: 
Riia:ht  so  in  faery  court  it  did  redound, 
Wiiere  curteous  knights  and  ladies  most  did  won 
Of  all  ou  earth,  and  made  a  matchlesse  paragon. 


But  mon^i^st  them  all  was  none  more  courteous  knight 

Then  Calidore,  beloved  over  all: 

In  whom  it  seemes  that  gentlenesse  of  spright 

And  manners  mvlde  were  planted  naturall ; 

To  which  he  adding  comely  guize  withalL 

And  gracious  speacli,  did  steale  mens  hearts  away! 

Nalhiesse  thereto  he  was  full  stout  and  tall, 

And  well  approv'd  in  batteilous  affray, 

That  him  did  much  renowme,  and  far  his  fame  display. 


Ne  was  there  knight  ne  was  there  lady  found 
In  faerie  court,  but  him  did  deare  embrace 
For  his  faire  usage  and  conditions  sound. 
The  which  in  all  mens  liking  gayned  place, 
And  with  the  greatest  purchast  greatest  grace; 
Which  he  could  wiselv  use,  and  well  apply. 
To  please  the  best,  and  th'  evill  to  embase  : 
For  he  loathd  leas>ing  and  base  flattery. 
And  loved  simple  truth  and  stedfast  honesty. 


And  now  he  was  in  travell  on  his  way, 

Uppon  an  hard  adventure  sore  bestad, 

VVhenas  by  chaunce  he  met  up]]on  a  day 

With  Artegall,  returning  yet  halfe  sad 

From  Ills  lute  concpiest  which  he  gotten  had: 

Who  wiienas  each  of  other  had  a  sight, 

Thev  knew  themselves,  and  both  their  persons  rad : 

When  Calidore  thus  first ;  "  haile,  noblest  knight 

Ol'all  this  day  on  ground  that  breathen  living  spriglit' 


"  Now  tell,  if  please  you,  of  the  good  successe 

Which  ve  have  had  in  your  late  enterprize." 

'o  whom  Sir  Artegall  gan  to  expresse 

Jlis  whole  exploite  and  v.dorous  emprize. 

In  order  as  it  ditl  to  him  arize. 

*•  \<)\v,  )i;ippy  man,"  said  then  Sir  Calidore, 

"  Wliich  have,  so  goodly  as  ye  can  devize, 

Atchit'v'd  so  hard  a  (]uest,  as  few  before  ; 

That  shall  you  most  renowmed  make  for  evermore. 


"  But  where  ye  ended  have,  now  I  begin 

To  tread  an  endlesse  trace  ;  withouten  guvde 

Or  good  direction  how  to  enter  in, 

Or  how  to  issue  forth  in  waies  untryde. 

In  perils  strange,  in  labours  long  and  wide  ; 

In  which  although  good  fortune  me  befall. 

Yet  shall  it  not  by  none  be  testifyde." 

"  What  is  that  quest,"  quoth  then  Sir  Artegall, 

"  That  you  into  such  perils  presently  doth  call?' 


"  The  blattant  beast,"  quoth  he,  "  I  doe  pursew, 

And  through  the  world  incessantly  doe  chase, 

Till  I  him  overt;ike,  or  else  subdew  : 

Yet  know  I  not  or  how  or  in  what  place 

To  find  him  out,  yet  still  I  forward  trace." 

"  What  is  that  blattant  beast  then?"  he  replide. 

"  It  is  a  monster  bred  of  hellishe  race," 

Then  answered  he,  "  which  often  hath  annoyd 

Good  knights  and  ladies  true,  and  many  else  destroyd. 


"  Of  Cerberus  whilome  he  was  begot 

And  fell  Chimajra,  in  her  darkesome  den, 

Thiough  fowle  commixture  of  his  filthy  blot; 

Where  he  was  fostred  long  in  Stygian  i\'n, 

Till  he  to  perfect  ripenesse  grew  ;  and  then 

Into  this  wicked  world  lie  forth  was  sent 

To  be  the  jtlague  and  scourge  of  wretched  men 

Whom  with  vile  tongue  and  venemous  intent 

He  sore  doth  wound,  and  bite,  and  cruelly  torment." 


"  Then,  since  the  Salvage  Island  I  did  leave," 

Sayd  Artegall,  "  I  such  a  beast  did  see, 

The  which  did  seeme  a  thousand  tongues  to  have. 

That  all  in  spight  and  malice  did  agree. 

With  which  he  bayd  and  loudly  barkt  at  mee. 

As  ifth-.it  he  attonce  would  me  devoure: 

But  I,  that  knew  myselfe  from  peril!  free. 

Did  nought  regard  his  malice  nor  liis  j)owre  ; 

But  he  the  more  his  wicked  poyson  forth  did  poure.' 


"  That  surely  is  that  beast,"  saide  Calidore, 
"  Wliich  I  pursue,  of  whom  1  am  right  glad 
To  heare  these  tidings  wliich  of  none  afore 
Through  all  my  weary  travell  1  have  had  : 
Yet  now  some  hojie  your  words  unto  me  add." 
"  Now  (jod  you  speed,"  ipiotli  then  Sir  Artegall, 
"  And  keepe  your  body  from  the  daunger  diad  ; 
For  ve  have  much  adoe  to  deale  withall  !" 
So  both  tooke  goodly  leave,  and  parted  several]. 


Canto  I.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


293 


Sir  Calidore  tlience  travelled  not  long, 
VVlioiias  b)^  cliaunce  a  comely  squire  he  found, 
That  tliorough  some  more  mighty  enemies  wrong 
Both  hand  and  foote  unto  a  tree  was  bound  ; 
Who,  seeing  him  from  farre,  with  piteous  sound 
Of  liis  shrill  cries  him  culled  to  his  aide  : 
To  w!)om  approching,  in  that  paincfull  stound 
When  he  him  saw,  for  no  demaunds  he  staide, 
But  first  him  losde,  and  afterwards  thus  to  him  said  ; 


"  Unhappy  squire,  what  hard  mishap  thee  brought 

Into  this  bay  of  perill  and  disgrace? 

What  cruell  hand  thy  wretched  thraldome  wrought. 

And  thee  captyved  in  this  shameful!  place?" 

To  whom  he  answered  thus;  "  My  haplesse  case 

Is  not  occasiond  through  my  misdesert, 

But  through  misfortune,  which  did  me  abase 

Unto  this  shame,  and  my  young  hope  subvert, 

Ere  that  I  in  her  guilefuli  traines  was  well  expert. 


"  Not  farre  from  hence,  uppon  yond  rocky  hill. 
Hard  by  a  streight  there  stands  a  castle  strong. 
Which  doth  observe  a  custome  lewd  and  ill. 
And  it  hath  long  mayntaind  with  mighty  wrong  : 
For  may  no  knight  nor  lady  passe  along 
That  way,  (and  yet  they  needs  must  passe  that  way. 
By  reason  of  the  streight,  and  rocks  among,) 
Bui  they  that  ladies  lockes  doe  shave  away. 
And  that  knights  beard,  for  toll  which  they  for  pas- 
sage pay." 

XIV. 

'  A  shamefull  use  as  ever  I  did  heare," 
Sayd  Calidore,  "  and  to  be  overthrowne. 
But  by  what  meanes  did  thev  at  lirst  it  reare. 
And  for  what  cause  ?  tell  if  thou  have  it  knowne." 
Sayd  then  that  squire ;     "  The   lady,    which   doth 
This  castle,  is  by  name  Briana  hight ;  [ovvne 

'1  hen  which  a  prouder  lady  liveth  none  : 
she  long  time  hath  deare  lov'd  a  doughty  knight, 
And  sought  to  win  his  love  by  all  the  meanes   she 
might. 

XV. 

"  His  name  is  Cruder ;  who,  through  high  disdaine 

And  proud  desjiight  of  his  selCe-pleasing  mynd, 

Refused  Iiath  to  veeld  her  love  againe, 

Untill  a  mantle  she  for  him  doe  fynd, 

With  beards  of  knights  and  locks  of  ladies  lynd; 

Which  to  provide,  she  hath  this  castle  dight. 

And  therein  hath  a  seneschall  assynd, 

Cald  Maletfort,  a  man  of  mickle  might, 

Who  executes  her  wicked  will  with  worse  despight. 


".  He,  this  same  day  as  I  that  way  did  come 

^\'ith  a  faire  damzell  my  beloved  dt-are, 

In  execution  of  her  lawlesse  doome 

Did  set  upon  us  flying  both  for  feare ; 

For  little  bootes  against  him  hand  to  reare: 

Me  first  he  tooke  unhable  to  withstond. 

And  whiles  he  her  pursued  every  where. 

Till  h-is  returne  unio  this  tree  he  bond  ; 

\e  wote  1  surely  whether  he  her  vet  have  fond." 


Thus  whiles  they  spake  they  heard  a  ruefull  sliriete 
Of  one  loud  crying,  which  they  streightwav  gliest 
That  it  was  she  the  which  for  helpe  did  seeke. 
The,  looking  up  unto  the  cry  to  lest, 
1  hey  saw  that  carle  from  farre  with  hand  unblest 
Haylina:  that  mayden  by  the  yellow  heare, 
That  all  her  garments  from  her  snowy  brest, 
And  from  her  head  her  lockes  he  nigh  did  teare, 
Ne  would  he  spare  for  pitty,  nor  refraine  for  feare. 


Which  haynous  sight  when  Calidore  beheld, 
Eftsoones  he  loosdthat  s(]uire,  and  so  him  left 
With  hearts  dismay  and  inward  dolour  queld. 
For  to  pussue  that  villaine ,  which  had  reft 
That  piteous  spoile  by  so  iniurious  theft  : 
Whom  overtaking   loude  to  him  he  cryde  ; 
"  Leave,  faytor,  quickely  that  misgotten  weft 
To  him  thai  hath  it  better  iustifyde, 
And  turne  thee  soone  to  him  of  whom  thou  art  de- 
fyde." 

XIX. 

Who,  hearkning  to  that  voice,  himselfe  unreard, 

And,  seeing  him  so  fiercely  towaraes  make. 

Against  him  stoutly  ran,  as  nought  ateard, 

But  rather  more  enrag'd  for  those  words  sake  ; 

And  with  Sterne  count'naunce  thus  unto  him  spake  ; 

"  Art  thou  the  caytive  that  defyest  me, 

And  for  this  mayd,  whose  party  thou  doest  take. 

Wilt  give  thy  beard,  though  it  but  little  bee? 

Yet  shall  it^  not  her  lockes  for  rauusome  fro  me  free.'^ 


With  that  he  fiercely  at  him  flew,  and  layd 
On  hideous  strokes  with  most  importune  might, 
That  oft  he  made  him  stagger  as  unstayd, 
And  oft  recuile  to  shunne  liis  sharpe  desjiight: 
But  Calidore,  that  was  well  skild  in  fight. 
Him  long  forbore,  and  still  his  spirite  spar'd. 
Lying  in  waite  how  him  he  daniadge  might: 
But  when  he  felt  him  shrinke,  and  come  to  ward. 
He  greater  grew,  and  gan  to  drive  at  him  more  hard. 


Like  as  a  water-streame,  whose  swelling  sourse 
Shall  drive  a  mill,  within  strong  bancks  is  pent, 
And  lung  restrayned  of  his  ready  course  ; 
So  soone  as  passage  is  unto  him  lent, 
Breakes  forth,  and  makes  his  way  more  violent ; 
Such  was  the  fury  of  bir  Calidore  : 
When  onco  he  felt  his  Ibe-man  to  relent. 
He  fiercely  him  pursu'd,  and  pressed  sore ; 
Who  as  he  still  decayd,  so  be  encreased  more. 


The  heavy  burden  of  whose  dreadfull  might 

^Vhellas  the  carle  no  longer  could  sustaine. 

His  heart  gan  faint,  and  streight  he  tooke  his  flight 

loward  the  castle,  where,  if  need  constraine, 

His  hope  of  refuge  used  to  remaiiie  : 

Whom  Calidore  ])erceiving  fast  to  flie, 

He  hiiu  pursu'd  and  ch-.iced  through  the  piaine, 

That  he  tor  dread  of  death  gan  loude  to  crie 

Unto  the  ward  to  open  to  him  iiastilie. 


294 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


They,  from  die  wall  him  seeing-  so  aghast, 
The  gate  soone  opened  to  receive  him  in  ; 
But  Ccilidore  did  follow  him  so  fast, 
That  even  in  the  porch  lie  him  did  win. 
And  cleft  his  Iiead  asunder  to  his  chin  : 
Ti'.e  carkasse  tumbling  downe  within  the  dore 
Did  choke  the  entraunce  witli  a  lumjie  of  sin, 
That  it  I'ould  not  he  shut;   wliilest  (Jalidore 
Did  enter  in,  and  slew  the  porter  on  the  flore. 


^Vith  that  the  rest  the  which  the  castle  kept 

About  hira  tiockt,  and  hard  at  him  did  lay  ; 

I5ut  he  them  all  from  him  full  lightly  swept, 

As  doth  a  steare,  in  heat  of  soinmers  day, 

With  his  long  taile  the  bryzes  brush  away. 

Thence  passing  forth  into  the  hall  he  came, 

Where  of  the  lady  selfe  in  sad  disniav 

He  was  vmett,  who  with  uncomely  shame 

Gan  liim  salute,  and  fowle  upbrayd  with  faulty  blame ; 


"  F'alse  traytor  knight,"  said  she,  "  no  knight  at  all, 
But  scorne  of  amies  !   that  hast  with  guiltv  hand 
Murdered  my  men,  and  slaine  my  seneschall ; 
Now  coraest  thou  to  rob  my  house  unmand, 
And  spoile  mvselfe,  that  cannot  thee  withstand  ? 
Vet  doubt  thou  not,  but  that  some  better  knight 
Then  thou,  that  shall  thy  treason  understand, 
Will  it  avenge,  and  pay  thee  with  thy  right : 
And  if  none  do,  yet  shame  shall  thee  with  shame  re- 
(juight." 

XXVI. 

IMuch  was  the  knight  abashed  at  that  word  ; 

Vet  answer'd  thus  ;  "  Not  unto  me  the  shame, 

But  to  the  shamefuU  doer  it  afford. 

Bloud  is  no  blemish  ;  for  it  is  no  blame 

To  punish  those  that  doe  deserve  the  same ; 

But  they  that  breake  bands  of  civilitie. 

And  wicki'd  customes  make,  those  doe  defame 

Both  noble  armes  and  gentle  curtesie : 

No  greater  shame  to  man  then  inhumanitie. 

xxvii. 

"Then  doe  yourselfe,  for  dread  of  shame,  forgoe 
This  evill  manner  which  ye  here  maintaine, 
And  doe  instead  thereof  mild  curt'sie  showe 
To  all  that  passe :  that  shall  you  glory  gaine 
JMore  then  his  love,  which  thus  ye  seeke  t'ohtaine." 
Wherewith  all  full  of  wrath  she 'thus  replyde  ; 
"Vile  recreant  !   know  that  J  doe  much  disdaine 
Thy  courteous  lore,  that  doest  my  love  deride, 
Wlio  scornes  thy  ydle  scoffe,  and  bids  thee  be  de- 
fyde." 


"  To  take  defiaunce  at  a  ladies  word," 
Quoth  he,  "  I  hold  it  no  indignitv  ; 
But  were  he  liere,  that  would  it  witli  his  sword 
Abett,  ]ierhaps  he  mote  it  deare  aby."  [fly 

"  Coivherd,"  (]uoth  she,  "  were  not  that  thou  wouldst 
Ere  he  doe  come,  he  should  be  soone  in  place." 
"  If  '  doe  so,"  sayd  he.  "  then  liberty 
1  leave  to  you  for  aye  me  to  disgrace 

it!i  all  tliose  shames,  tliat  erst  ye  spake  me  to  de- 
lace." 


With  that  a  dwarfe  she  cald  to  her  in  hast, 

And  taking  from  her  hand  a  ring  of  gould 

(A  privy  token  whicli  betweene  them  past) 

Bad  him  to  Hie  with  all  the  speed  he  could 

To  Crudor  ;  and  desire  him  that  he  would 

Vouchsafe  to  reskue  her  against  a  knight. 

Who  thnmgh  strong  powre  had  now  herself  in  hould, 

Having  late  slaine  her  seneschall  in  light, 

And  all  her  people  murdred  with  outragious  might: 


The  dwarfe  his  way  did  hast,  and  went  all  night: 

But  Calidore  did  with  her  there  abyde 

Tlie  comming  of  that  so  much  threatned  knight ; 

AVhere  that  discourteous  dame  with  scornfull  pryde 

And  fowle  entreaty  him  indignifyde. 

That  yron  heart  it  hardly  could  sustaine  : 

Vet  he,  that  could  his  wratli  full  wisely  guyde, 

Did  well  endure  her  womanish  disdaine, 

And  did  himselfe  from  fr^iiJe  imputieuce  refi'.nne. 


Tlie  morrow  next,  before  the  lampe  of  light 

Above  the  earth  ujjreard  liis  flaming  head. 

The  dwarfe,  which  bore  that  message  to  lier  knight, 

Brouglit  aunsvvere  backe,  that  ere  he  tasted  bread 

He  would  her  succour,  and  alive  or  dead 

Her  foe  deiaer  up  into  her  hand  : 

Therefore  he  wil'd  her  doe  away  all  dread  ; 

And,  that  of  him  she  mote  assured  stand, 

He  sent  to  her  his  basenet  as  a  faiihfuU  band. 


Thereof  full  blvth  the  lady  streight  became, 
And  gan  t'  augment  her  bitternesse  much  more  : 
Yet  no  whit  more  appalled  for  the  same, 
Ne  ought  dismayed  was  Sir  Calidore  ; 
But  rather  did  more  chearefull  seeme  therefore  : 
i\nd,  having  soone  his  armes  about  him  diglit, 
Did  issue  forth  to  meete  his  foe  afore  ; 
Where  long  he  stayed  not,  whenas  a  knight 
He  apide  come  pricking  on  with  all  his  powre  and 
might. 

XXXUI. 

Well  weend  lie  streight  that  he  should  be  the  same 

Which  tooke  in  hand  her  (juarrell  to  maintaine, 

Ne  stayd  to  aske  if  it  were  he  by  name. 

But  coucht  his  speare,  and  ran  at  him  amaine. 

They  bene  yinett  in  middest  of  the  ])laine 

With  so  fell  fury  and  despiteous  forse. 

That  neither  could  the  others  stroke  sustaine, 

But  rudely  rowld  to  ground  both  man  and  horse, 

Neither  of  other  taking  pitty  nor  remorse. 


But  Calidore  uprose  againe  full  light, 

\Vhiles  yet  his  foe  lay  fast  in  sencelesse  sound  , 

Vet  would  he  not  him  hurt  although  he  might  : 

J'or  shame  he  weend  a  sleeping  wight  to  wound. 

But  vvhen  Briana  saw  that  drery  stound, 

There  where  she  stood  uppon  the  castle  wall, 

She  dcem'd  him  sure  to  have  bene  dead  on  ground , 

And  made  such  jjiteous  mourning  therewithal!, 

'i'hat  from  the  battlements  she  ready  seem'd  to  fall. 


CAtnn  I.] 


THE  FAERTE  QUEENE. 


StrS 


Nathlesse  at  length  himselfe  he  did  upreare 

III  lustlesse  wise  ;  as  if  a(;ainsthis  will, 

Ere  he  had  slept  his  fill,  he  wakened  were, 

And  gan  to  stretch  his  liinhs;  which  feeling  ill 

Of  his  late  fall,  awhile  he  rested  still : 

But,  when  he  saw  his  foe  before  in  vew, 

He  shooke  ofFluskishnesse  ;  and,  courage  chill 

Kindling  afresh,  gan  battell  to  renew, 

To  prove  if  better  footethen  horsebacke  would  ensew. 


There  then  began  a  fearefull  cruell  fray 

Betwixt  them,  two  for  maystery  of  might : 

For  both  were  wondrous  prac-ticke  in  that  play. 

And  passing  well  expert  in  single  fight, 

And  both  inflam'd  with  furious  despight ; 

Which  as  it  still  encreast,  so  still  increast 

Their  cruell  strokes  and  terrible  affright  ; 

Ne  once  for  ruth  their  rigour  they  releast, 

Ne  once  to  breath  awhile  their  angers  tempest  ceast. 


Thus  long  they  trac'd  and  traverst  to  and  fro, 
And  tryde  all  waies  how  each  mote  entrance  make 
Into  the  life  of  his  malignant  foe  ; 
Thev  hew'd  their  helmes,  and  plates  asunder  brake, 
As  they  had  potshares  bene  ;  for  nought  mote  slake 
Their  greedy  yengeaunces  but  goary  blood  ; 
That  at  the  last  like  to  a  purple  lake 
Of  bloudy  gore  congeal'd  about  them  stood, 
Which  from  their  riven  sides  forth  gushed  like  a 
flood. 


At  length  it  chaunst  that  both  their  hands  on  hie 
At  once  did  heave  with  all  their  powre  and  might, 
Thinking  the  utmost  of  their  force  to  trie, 
And  prove  the  finall  fortune  of  the  fight ; 
But  Calidore,  that  was  more  quicke  of  sight 
And  nimbler-handed  then  his  enemie, 
Prevented  him  before  his  stroke  could  light, 
And  on  the  helmet  smote  him  formerlie, 
That  made  him  stoui^e  to  ground  with  meeke  humi- 
iitie : 


And,  ere  he  could  recover  foote  againe. 
He  following  that  faire  advantage  fast 
His  stroke  redoubled  with  such  might  and  maine, 
'I'hat  iiim  upon  the  ground  he  groveling  cast ; 
And  leaping  to  him  light  would  have  unlast 
His  helnie,  to  make  unto  his  vengeance  way  : 
Who,  seeing  in  what  daunger  he  was  plast, 
Cryde  out ;  "  Ah  mercie,  sir  !  doe  me  not  slav. 
But  save  my  life,  which  lot  before  your  foot  doth  lay." 


With  that  his  mortall  hand  awhile  he  stavd  ; 
And,  having  somewhat  calm'd  his  wrathfull  heat 
With  goodly  patience,  thus  he  to  him  sayd; 
"  And  is  the  boast  of  that  proud  ladies  threat. 
That  menaced  me  from  the  field  to  beat, 
Now  brought  to  this?   By  this  now  may  ye  learne 
Strangers  no  more  so  rudely  to  entreat: 
lUit  put  away  ])roud  looke  and  usage  sterne, 
The  which  shal  nought  to  you  but  foule  dishonor 
vearne. 


"  For  nothing  is  more  blameful5  to  a  knight, 
That  court'sie  doth  as  well  as  armes  professe. 
However  strong  and  fortunate  in  fight, 
Then  the  reproch  of  pride  and  cruelnesse: 
In  vain  he  seeketh  others  to  suppresse. 
Who  hath  not  learnd  himselfe  first  to  subdew : 
All  flesh  is  frayle  and  full  of  ficklenesse, 
Siibiect  to  fortunes  chance,  still  chaunging  new, 
What  haps  to  day  to  me  to  morrow  may  to  you. 


"  Who  will  not  mercie  unto  others  shew, 

How  can  he  mercy  ever  hope  to  have  ? 

To  pay  each  with  his  owne  is  right  and  dew  : 

Yet  since  ye  mercie  now  doe  need  to  crave, 

I  will  it  graunt,  3'our  hopelesse  life  to  save, 

With  these  conditions  which  I  will  propound  : 

First,  that  ye  better  shall  yourselfe  behave 

Unto  all  errant  knights,  whereso  on  ground  ; 

Next,  that  ye  ladies  ayde  in  every  stead  and  stound. 


The  wretched  man,  that  all  this  while  did  dwell 

In  dread  of  death,  his  beasts  did  gladly  heare, 

And  promist  to  performe  his  precept  well, 

And  whatsoever  else  he  would  requere. 

So,  suffring  him  to  rise,  he  made  him  sweare 

By  his  owne  sword,  and  by  the  crosse  thereon. 

To  take  Briana  for  his  loving  fere 

Withouten  dowro  or  composition : 

But  to  release  his  former  foule  condition. 


All  which  accepting,  and  with  faithfull  oth 

Bynding  himselfe  most  firmely  to  obay. 

He  up  arose,  however  liefe  01  loth. 

And  swore  to  him  true  ft^altie  for  aye. 

Then  forth  he  cald  from  sorrowfull  dismay 

The  sad  Briana  which  all  this  belield ; 

Who  comming  forth  j^et  full  of  late  affray 

Sir  Calidore  upcheard,  and  to  her  teld 

All  this  accord  to  which  he  Cruder  had  compeld. 


Whereof  she  now  more  glad  than  sory  earst, 

All  overcome  witli  infinite  affect 

For  his  exceeding  courtesie,  tliat  pearst 

Her  stubborne  hart  with  inward  deepe  effect, 

Before  his  feet  herselfe  she  did  proiect ; 

And  him  adoring  as  her  lives  deare  lord. 

With  all  due  thankes  and  dutifull  respect, 

Herselfe  acknowledg'd  bound  for  that  accord, 

By  which  he  had  to  her  both  life  and  love  restord. 


So  all  returning  to  the  castle  glad, 
Most  ioyfuUy  she  them  did  entertaine  ; 
Where  goodly  glee  and  feast  to  them  she  made. 
To  shew  her  thankefull  mind  and  meaning  faine. 
By  all  the  meanes  slie  mote  it  best  explaine 
And,  after  all,  unto  Sir  Calidore 
She  freely  gave  that  castle  for  his  paine. 
And  herselfe  bound  to  him  for  evermore  ; 
So  wondrously  now  ohaung'd   from  that  she  waa 
afore. 


896 


liIE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[V,:u,y    VI, 


But  Calidore  liiraselfe  would  not  retaine 
Nor  land  nor  fee  for  hyre  of  his  good  deede, 
But  gave  them  straight  unto  that  s(juire  againe, 
Whom  from  her  seneschall  he  lately  freed. 
And  to  his  damzell,  as  their  rightfull  meed 
For  recompence  of  all  their  former  wrong  : 
There  he  remaind  with  them  right  well  agreed, 
Till  of  his  wounds  he  wexed  hole  and  strong  ; 
And  then  to  his  first  quest  he  passed  forth  along. 


CANTO  II. 


Calidore  sees  young  Tristram  slay 
A  proud  discourteous  knight : 

He  makes  him  squire,  and  of  him  learnes 
His  state  and  present  plight. 


Whaf  vertue  is  so  fitting  for  a  knight. 

Or  for  a  ladie  whom  a  knight  should  love. 

As  curtesie  ;  to  beare  themselves  aright 

'i'o  all  of  each  degree  as  doth  behove  1 

For  whether  they  be  placed  high  above 

Or  low  beneath,  yet  ougiit  they  well  to  know 

'Jheir  good  ;  that  none  tiiem  rightly  may  reprove 

Of  rudenesse  for  not  yeelding  what  they  owe  : 

(Jreat  skill  it  is  such  duties  timely  to  bestow. 


Thereto  great  helpe  dame  Nature  selfe  doth  lend  : 
For  some  so  goodly  gratious  are  by  kind, 
That  every  action  doth  them  much  commend, 
And  in  the  eyes  of  men  great  hking  find  ; 
Whith  others  that  have  greater  skill  in  mind. 
Though  they  enforce  themselves,  cannot  attaine  : 
For  everie  thing,  to  which  one  is  inclin'd. 
Doth  best  become  and  greatest  grace  doth  gaine  : 
Yet  praise  likewise  deserve  good  thewes  enforst  with 
paine. 

III. 

That  well  in  courteous  Calidore  appeares  ; 

Whose  everie  act  and  deed,  that  he  did  say, 

Was"  like  enchantm.ent,  that  through  both  the  eyes 

And  both  the  eares  did  steale  the  hart  awa}% 

He  now  againe  is  on  his  former  way 

To  follow  his  first  quest,  whenas  he  spyde 

A  tall  young  man,  from  thence  not  (arre  away, 

Fighiing  on  foot,  as  well  he  him  descr\-de, 

Against  an  armed  knight  that  did  on  horsebacke  ryde. 


And  them  beside  a  ladie  faire  he  saw 
Standing  alone  on  foote  in  foule  array ; 
To  whom  himself'e  he  hastily  did  draw 
lo  weei  the  cause  of  so  uncomely  fray. 
And  to  depart  them,  if  so  be  he  may  : 
But,  ere  he  came  in  ])lace,  that  youth  had  kild 
That  armed  knight,  that  low  on  ground  he  lay ; 
Whicli  when  he  saw,  his  hart  was  inly  child 
With  great  amazement,  and  his  thought  with  won- 
der fild 


Him  stedfastly  he  markt,  and  saw  to  bee 

A  goodly  youth  of  amiable  grace, 

Yet  but  a  slender  slip,  that  scarse  did  see 

Yet  seventeene  yeares,  but  tall  and  faire  of  face, 

That  sure  he  deem'd  him  borne  of  noble  race  : 

All  in  a  woodmans  iacket  he  was  clad 

Of  Lincoliie  greene,  belayd  with  silver  lace  ; 

And  on  his  head  an    ood  with  aglets  sprad. 

And  by  his  side  his  hunters  borne  he  banging  bad. 


Buskins  he  wore  of  costliest  cordwayne, 

Pinckt  upon  gold,  and  paled  part  per  part. 

As  then  the  guize  was  lor  each  gentle  swayne. : 

In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  trembling  dart. 

Whose  fellow  he  before  had  sent  apart  ; 

And  in  his  left  he  held  a  sharpe  bore-speare, 

\\  ith  which  he  wont  to  launch  the  salvage  hart 

Of  many  a  lyon  and  of  many  a  beare, 

That  first  unto  his  hand  in  chase  did  happen  neare.- 


Whom  Calidore  awhile  well  having  vewed, 

At  length  besjiake;  "  what  meanes  this,  gentle  swaine' 

Why  hath  thy  hand  too  bold  itselfe  embrewed 

In  blood  of  knight,  the  which  by  thee  is  slaine. 

By  thee  no  knit  ht ;   which  armes  impugneth  plaine  !" 

"  Certes,"  said  he,  "  loth  were  1  to  have  broken 

The  law  of  armes  ;  yet  breake  it  should  againe. 

Rather  then  let  myselfe  of  wight  be  stroken, 

So  Ions  as  these  two  armes  were  able  to  be  wrokeu 


"  For  not  I  him,  as  this  his  ladie  here 
]\lay  witnesse  well,  did  oti'er  first  to  wrong, 
Ne  surely  thus  unarm'd  1  likely  were  ; 
But  he  me  first  through  pride  and  puissance  strong 
Assuyld,  .iOt  knowing  what  to  armes  doth  long." 
"  Perdie  great  blame,"  then  said  Sir  Calidore, 
' '  For  armed  knight  a  wight  unarm'd  to  wrong  : 
j    But  then  aread,  thou  gentle  chyld,  wherefore 
'   Betwixt  you  two  began  this  strife  and  sterne  uprore. 


Canto  II.] 


THE  FAF.RIE  QfJEENE. 


297 


'•■  That  sliall  I  sootb,"  said  lie,  "  to  you  declare. 

I,  whose  unryper  yeares  are  yet  unfit 

For  thing;  of  weight  or  worke  of  greater  care, 

Doe  spend  my  dayes  and  bend  my  carelesse  wit 

To  salvap^e  chace,  where  I  tliereon  may  hit 

In  all  this  forrest  and  wyld  woodie  raine ; 

Where,  as  this  day  I  was  enraunging-  it, 

I  chaunst  to  meete  this  knight  who  there  lyes  slaine, 

Together  with  this  ladie,  passing  on  the  pluine. 


"  The  knight,  as  ye  did  see,  on  horsebacke  was, 
And  this  his  ladie,  that  him  ill  became. 
On  her  faire  feet  by  his  horse-side  did  pas 
Through  tbicke  and  thin,  unfit  for  any  dame  : 
Yet  not  content,  more  to  increase  his  shame, 
Whenso  she  lagged,  as  shee  needs  mote  so, 
He  with  his  speare  (that  was  to  him  great  blame) 
AVould  thum])e  her  forward  and  inforce  to  goe. 
Weeping  to  him  in  vaine  and  making  piteous  woe. 


"  Which  when  I  saw,  as  they  me  passed  by, 
Much  was  I  moved  in  indignant  mind, 
And  gan  to  blame  him  for  such  cruelty 
Towards  a  ladie,  whom  with  usage  kind 
He  rather  should  have  taken  up  behind. 
Wherewith  he  wroth  and  full  of  proud  disdaine 
Tooke  in  foule  scorne  that  I  such  fault  did  find, 
And  me  in  lieu  thereof  revil'd  asjaine, 
Threatning  to  chastize  me,  as  doth  t'  achyld  pertaine. 


"  Which  I  no  lesse  disdayning,  backe  returned 
His  ?cornefull  taunts  unto  his  teeth  againe, 
That  he  streightway  with  haughtie  choler  burned. 
And  with  his  speare  strooke  me  one  stroke  or  twaine  ; 
Which  I,  enforst  to  beare  though  to  my  paine, 
(.'ast  to  requite;  and  with  a  slender  dart. 
Fellow  of  this  I  beare,  throwne  not  in  vaine, 
Strooke  him,  as  seemeth,  underneath  the  hart. 
Thai  through  the  wound  his  spirit  shortly  did  depart." 


Much  did  Sir  Calidore  admyre  his  speach 

Temjired  so  well,  but  move  admyr'd  the  stroke 

That  through  the  mayleshnd  made  so  strong  a  breach 

Into  his  Lart,  and  had  so  sternely  wroke 

His  wrath  on  him  that  first  occasion  broke  • 

Vet  rested  not,  but  further  gan  inquire 

Of  that  same  ladie,  wliether  what  he  spoke 

Were  soothly  so,  and  that  th'  unrighteous  ire 

Of  heroune  knight  had  given  him  his  owne  due  hire. 


Of  all  which  whenas  she  could  nought  deny. 
But  eleard  that  stripling  of  tli'  imputed  blame  ; 
Sayd  then  Sir  Calidore  :  "  Neiilier  will  I 
Him  chirge  with  guilt,  but  rather  doe  quite  clame  : 
For,  what  he  spake,  for  you  he  spake  it,  dame  ; 
And  what  he  did,  he  did  himselfe  to  save  :    [shame  : 
Against  both  which  that  knight  wrought  knightlesse 
For  knights  and  all  men  tliis  by  nature  have, 
Towards  uU  womenkind  them  kindly  to  behave. 


"  But,  sith  that  he  is  gone  irrevocable. 

Please  it  you,  ladie,  to  us  to  aread 

What  cause  could  make  him  so  dishonourable 

To  drive  you  so  on  foot,  unfit  to  tread 

And  lackey  by  him,  gainst  all  womanhead." 

"  Certes,  sir  knight,"  sayd  she,  "full  lotli  I  were 

To  rayse  a  lyving  blame  against  the  dead  : 

But,  since  it  me  concernes  myselfe  to  clere, 

I  will  the  truth  discover  as  it  chaunst  whylere 


"  This  day,  as  he  and  I  together  roade 

Upon  our  way  to  which  we  weren  bent, 

We  chaunst  to  come  foreby  a  covert  glade 

Within  a  wood,  whereas  a  ladie  gent 

Sate  with  a  knight  in  ioyous  iolliinent 

Of  their  franke  loves,  frte  from  all  gealous  spyes: 

Faire  was  the  ladie  sure,  that  mote  content 

An  hart  not  carried  with  too  curious  eves. 

And  unto  him  did  shew  all  loveij  curtesyes. 


"  Whom  when  my  knight  did  see  so  lovely  faire. 
He  inly  gan  her  lover  to  envy, 
And  wish  that  he  part  of  his  spoyle  might  share  : 
Whereto  whenas  my  presence  lie  did  spy 
To  be  a  let,  he  bad  me  by  and  by 
For  to  alight  :  but,  whenas  I  was  loth 
Wy  loves  owne  part  to  leave  so  suddenly, 
He  with  strong  hand  down  from  his  steed  me  throw'th. 
And  with  jn-esumpteous  powre  against  that  knight 
streio-ht  go'th. 


"  Unann'd  all  was  the  knight,  as  then  more  meete 

For  ladies  service  and  for  loves  delight, 

I  ben  fearing  any  foeman  there  to  meete- 

Whereof  he  taking  oddes,  streiglit  bids  him  djglit 

Himselfe  to  yeeld  his  love  or  else  to  fighc: 

Whereat  the  other  starting  up  dismayd. 

Yet  boldly  answer'd,  as  he  rightly  migiit, 

To  leave  his  love  he  should  be  ill  apayd, 

In  which  he  had  Rood  ri>;ht  gainst  all  that  it  jjaiae- 


"  Yet  since  he  was  not  presently  in  plight 

Her  to  defend,  or  Lis  to  iustifie. 

He  him  requested,  as  he  was  a  knight. 

To  lend  him  day  his  better  right  to  trie, 

Or  stay  till  he  his  amies,  which  were  thereby, 

INIight  lightly  fetch  :  but  he  was  fierce  and  whot 

Ne  time  would  give,  nor  any  termes  aby, 

But  at  him  flew,  and  with  his  speare  him  smot ; 

From  which  to  thinke  to  save  himselfe  it  booted  not. 


"  Meane  while  his  ladie,  which  this  outrage  saw, 
Wildest  they  together  for  the  quarrey  strove. 
Into  the  covert  did  herselfe  withdraw. 
Ami  closely  hid  herselfe  within  the  grove. 
Rly  knight  hers  soone,  as  seemes,  to  (Jaunger  drove 
And  left  sore  wounded:  but,  when  her  he  mist. 
He  woxf  lialfe  mad  :  and  in  that  rage  gan  rove 
And  range  through  all  the  wood,  whereso  he  wist 
She  hidden  was,  and  sought  her  so  long  as  him  list. 


208 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  tU 


"  But,  wlienas  ber  lie  bv  no  meanes  could  find, 
After  long-  searcb  and  cbauft'Le  turned  backe 
Unto  the  place  where  me  he  left  behind  : 
There  gun  he  me  to  curse  and  ban,  for  lacke 
Of  that  faire  bootie,  and  with  bitter  wracke 
To  wreake  on  me  the  guilt  of  his  owne  wrong  : 
Of  all  which  I  yet  glad  to  beare  the  packe 
Strove  to  appease  him,  and  perswaded  long- ; 
But  still  his  passion  grew  more  violent  and  strong. 


'  Then,  as  it  were  t'avenge  his  wratL  on  mee. 
When  forward  we  should  fare,  he  flat  refused 
To  take  me  up  (as  tliis  young  man  did  see) 
Upon  his  steed,  for  no  iust  cause  accused. 
But  forst  to  trot  on  foot,  and  foule  misused, 
Pounching  me  with  the  butt-end  of  his  speare, 
In  vaitie  complayning  to  be  so  abused  ; 
For  he  regarded  neither  playnt  nor  teare, 
But  more  enforst  my  paine,  the  more  my  plaints  to 
heare. 


*'  So  passed  we,  till  this  young  man  us  met : 

And  being  moov'd  with  pittie  of  my  plight 

Spake  as  was  meete,  for  ease  of  my  regret : 

Wliereof  befell  what  now  is  in  your  sight." 

"  Xow  sure,"  then  said  Sir  Calidore,  "and  right 

Rleseemes  that  him  befell  by  his  owne  fault  : 

\VhoeTer  thinkes  through  confidence  of  might, 

Or  through  support  of  count'nance  proud  and  hault. 

To  wrong-  the  weaker,  oft  falles  in  his  owne  assault." 


Then  turning  backe  unto  that  gentle  boy, 

Which  had  himselfe  so  stoutly  well  acquit ; 

Seeing  his  face  so  lovely  Sterne  and  coy. 

And  hearing  th'  answeres  of  his  pregnant  wit. 

He  jiraysd  it  much,  and  much  admyred  it ; 

Thar  sure  he  weendhim  born  of  noble  blood, 

^\  irh  whom  those  graces  did  so  goodly  fit : 

And,  when  he  long  had  liim  beholding  stood, 

He  burst  into  these  wordes,  as  to  him  seem3d  good ; 


"  Faire  gentle  swayne,  and  yet  as  stout  as  fayre. 

That  in  these  woods  amongst  the  nymphs  dost  wonne. 

Which  daily  may  to  thy  sweete  lookes  repayre. 

As  they  are  wont  unto  Latonaes  sonne 

After  his  chace  on  woodie  Cynthus  donne  ; 

AVell  may  I  certes  such  an  one  thee  read, 

As  by  thy  worth  thou  -worthily  liast  wonne. 

Or  surely  borne  of  some  heroicke  sead. 

That  iu  thy  face  appeares  and  gratious  goodly-liead. 


"  Bet,  should  it  not  disjilcase  thee  it  to  tell, 
(Unlesse  thou  in  these  woods  thvselfe  conceale 
For  love  amongst  the  woodie  gods  to  dwell,) 
I  would  thyselfe  recjuire  tliee  to  reveale  ; 
For  deare  affection  and  unfayned  zaele 
Wliich  to  thy  noble  personage  I  beare, 
And  wish  thee  grow  in  worslii[)  and  great  weale  ; 
For,  since  the  day  that  armes  1  first  did  reare, 
I  never  saw  iu  any  greater  h'.ipe  appeare." 


To  whom  then  thus  the  noble  youth  ;  "  May  be, 
Sir  knight,  that,  by  discovering  my  estate, 
Harme  may  arise  unweeting  unto  me : 
Nathelesse,  sith  ye  so  courteous  seemed  late, 
To  you  I  will  not  feare  it  to  relate. 
Then  wote  ye  that  I  am  a  Briton  borne, 
Sonne  of  a  king,  (however  tliorough  fate 
Or  fortune  I  my  countrie  have  forlone. 
And  lost  the  crowne  which  should  my  head  by  right 
adorne.) 


"And  Tristram  is  my  name  :  the  onely  heire 

Of  good  king  Meliogras  which  did  rayne 

In  Cornewale,  till  that  he  through  lives  despeire 

Untimely  dyde,  before  1  did  attaine 

Ripe  yeares  of  reason,  my  right  to  maintaine  : 

After  whose  death  his  brother,  seeing  mee 

An  infant,  weake  a  king-dome  to  sustaine, 

Upon  him  tooke  the  roiall  high  degree. 

And  sent  me,  where  him  list,  instructed  for  to  bee. 


"The  widow  queene  my  mother,  which  then  bight 

Faire  Emiline,  conceiving-  then  great  feare 

Of  my  fraile  safetie,  resting  in  the  might 

Of  him  that  did  the  kingly  scepter  beare. 

Whose  gealous  dread  induring  not  a  peare 

Is  wont  to  cut  off  all  that  doubt  may  breed  ; 

Thought  best  away  me  to  remove  somewhere 

Into  some  forrein  land,  whereas  no  need 

Of  dreaded  daunger  might  bis  doubtfuU  humor  feed, 


"  So,  taking  counsell  of  a  wise  man  red. 
She  was  by  him  adviz'd  to  send  me  quight 
Out  of  the  countrie  wherein  1  was  bred, 
Tlie  which  the  fertile  Lionesse  is  bight. 
Into  the  land  of  Faerie,  where  no  wight 
Should  weet  of  me,  nor  worke  me  any  -wrong  : 
To  vihose  wise  read  she  hearkning  sent  me  streight 
Into  this  land,  where  I  have  wond  thus  long 
Since  I  was  ten  yeares  old,  now  grown  to  stature 
strong-. 


"  All  which  my  daies  I  have  not  lewdly  spent. 
Nor  spilt  the  blossonie  of  my  tender  yeares 
In  ydleiiesse  ;  but,  as  was  convenient. 
Have  trayned  bene  witli  many  noble  feres 
In  gentle  thewes  and  such  like  seemly  leres: 
I\Iongst  which  my  most  delight  hath  alwaies  been 
To  hunt  the  salvage  chace,  amongst  my  peres. 
Of  all  that  raungeth  in  the  forrest  greene. 
Of  which  none  is  to  me  unknowne  that  ev'r  was 
seene. 


"  Ne  is  there  hauke  which  mantleth  her  on  pearch, 
Whether  high  towring  or  accoasting  low. 
But  1  the  measure  of  her  flight  doe  search, 
And  all  her  pray  and  all  her  diet  know  : 
Such  bn  our  ioyes  which  in  these  forrests  grow; 
Onely  the  use  of  armes,  which  most  I  ioy. 
And  fitteth  most  for  noble  swayne  to  know, 
I  have  not  tasted  yet;  yet  past  a  boy. 
And  being  now  high  time  thesie  strong  ioynts   to 
imploy. 


Cauto  II.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


299 


"  Therefore,  good  sir,  sith  now  occasion  fit 
Doth  fall,  wliose  like  hereafter  seldorae  may. 
Let  me  this  crave,  unwortliy  thou^-h  of  it, 
That  ye  will  make  me  squire  without  delay, 
That  from  henceforth  in  batteilous  array 
I  may  heare  armes,  and  learne  to  use  them  right} 
The  rather,  since  that  fortune  hath  this  day 
Given  to  me  the  spoile  of  this  dead  kniglit, 
These  .goodly  gildea  armes   which  I  have  woe  in 
fioiit." 


All  which  when  well  Sir  Calidore  had  heard, 
Him  much  more  now,  then  earst,  he  gan  admire 
For  the  rare  hope  which  in  his  yeares  appear'd, 
And  thus  replide  ;  "  Faire  chyld,  the  high  desire 
To  love  of  armes,  which  in  j-ou  doth  aspire, 
[  may  not  certes  without  blame  denie  ; 
But  rather  wish  that  some  more  noble  hire 
'Though  none  m-ore  noble  then  is  chevalrie) 
I  had,  you  to  reward  with  greater  dignitie." 


There  him  he  causd  to  kneele,  and  made  to  swears 
Faith  to  his  knight,  and  truth  to  ladies  all, 
And  never  to  be  recreant  for  feare 
Of  perill,  or  of  ought  that  might  befall : 
So  he  him  dubbed,  and  his  squire  did  call. 
Full  glad  and  ioyous  then  young  Tristram  grew  j 
Like  as  a  flowre,  whose  silken  leaves  small 
Long  shut  up  in  the  bud  from  heavens  vew, 
At  lengtli  breaks  forth,  and  brode  displayes  his  smyl- 
iua;  hew. 


Thus  when  they  long  had  treated  to  and  fro. 

And  Calidore  betooke  him  to  depart, 

Chyld  Tristram  prayd  that  he  with  him  might  goe 

On  his  adventure,  vowing  not  to  start, 

But  wayt  on  him  in  every  place  and  part : 

Whereat  Sir  Calidore  did  much  delight, 

And  greatly  ioy'd  at  his  so  noble  hart, 

In  hope  he  sure  would  prove  a  doughtie  knight : 

Vet  for  the  time  this  answere  he  to  him  hehight; 


"  Glad  would  I  surely  be,  thou  courteous  sqiiire, 
To  have  thy  presence  in  my  present  quest. 
That  mote  thy  kindled  courage  set  on  fire. 
And  flame  forth  honour  in  thy  noble  brest : 
But  I  am  bound  by  vow,  which  I  profest 
To  my  dread  soveraine,  when  I  it  assayd, 
That  in  atchievement  of  her  high  behest 
I  should  no  creature  ioyne  unto  mine  ayde ; 
Forthy  I  may  not  grauut  that  ye  so  greatly  prayde. 

XXXVIII. 

"  But  since  this  ladie  is  all  desolate, 
And  needeth  safegard  now  upon  her  way. 
Ye  may  doe  well  in  this  her  needfuU  state 
To  succour  her  from  daunger  of  dismay, 
1  hat  thankfuU  guerdon  may  to  you  repay." 
The  lioble  ympe,  of  such  new  service  fayne, 
It  gladly  did  accept,  as  l-.e  did  say  : 
So  taking  courteous  leave  they  parted  twayne  ; 
And  (Calidore  forth  passed  to  his  former  payne. 


But  Tristram,  then  despoyling  that  dead  knight 
i    Of  all  those  goodly  implements  of  pravse 
Long  fed  his  greedie  eyes  with  the  fayre  sight 
Of  the  bright  mettall  shyning  like  sunne  rayes  ^ 
Handling  and  turning  them  a  thousand  wayes 
And,  after  having  them  upon  him  diglit, 
He  tooke  that  ladie,  and  her  up  did  rayse 
Upon  the  steed  of  her  owne  late  dead  knight  : 
So  with  her  marched  forth,  as  she  did  him  behicjht. 


There  to  their  fortune  leave  we  them  awhile, 

And  turne  we  backe  to  good  Sir  Calidore  ; 

Who,  ere  he  thence  had  traveild  many  a  mile. 

Came  to  the  place  whereas  ye  heard  afore 

This  knight,  whom  Tristram  slew,  had  wounded  sore 

Another  knight  in  his  despiteous  pryde  ; 

There  he  that  knight  found  lying  on  the  flore 

With  many  wounds  full  perilous  and  wvde, 

That  all  his  garments  and  the  grasse  in  vermeill  dyde : 


And  there  beside  him  sate  upon  the  ground 
His  wofuU  ladie,  piteously  complayning 
With  loud  laments  that  most  unluckie  stound, 
And  her  sad  selfe  with  carefull  hand  constrayning 
To  wype  his  wounds,  and  ease  their  bitter  paynino 
Which  sorie  siglit  when  Calidore  did  vew, 
With  heavie  eyne  from  teares  uneath  refrayning, 
His  mightie  hart  their  mournefuU  case  can  rew, 
And  for  their  better  comfort  to  them  nii;her  drew 


Then,  speaking  to  the  ladie,  thus  he  said  ; 

"  Ye  dolefull  dame,  let  not  your  griefe  empeach 

To  tell  what  cruell  hand  hith  tlius  aravd 

This  knight  unarni'd  with  so  unknightly  breach 

Of  armes,  that,  if  I  yet  him  nigh  may  reach 

I  may  avenge  him  of  so  foule  despight." 

The  ladie,  hearing  his  so  courteous  speach, 

Gan  reare  her  eyes  as  to  the  chearefuU  light, 

And  from  her  sory  hart  few  heavie  words  forth  sigh't 


In  which  she  shew'd,  how  that  discourteous  kniglit. 
Whom  Tristram  slew,  them  in  that  shadow  found 
loying  together  in  unblam'd  delight ; 
And  him  unarm'd,  as  now  he  lay  on  ground, 
Charg'd  with  his  speare,  and  mortally  did  wound, 
Withouten  cause,  but  onely  her  to  reave 
From  him,  to  whom  she  was  for  ever  bound: 
Yet,  when  she  fled  into  that  covert  greave, 
He,  her  not  finding,  both  them  thus  niuli  dead  did 
leave. 

XLIT. 

When  Calidore  this  ruefull  storie  had 

Well  understood,  he  gan  of  her  demand. 

What  manner  wight  he  was,  and  how  yclad. 

Which  had  this  outrage  wrought  with  wicked  hand 

She  then,  like  as  she  best  could  understand, 

Him  thus  describ'd,  to  be  of  stature  large. 

Clad  all  in  gilden  armes,  with  azure  band 

Quartred  athwart,  and  bearing  in  his  targe 

A  ladie  on  rough  waves  row'd  in  a  sommer  barge. 


300 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  V 


I'hen  gan  Sir  Calidore  to  ghesse  streiglitway, 
By  manv  signos  which  she  described  had, 
Thai  this  was  lie  whom  Tristram  earst  did  slay. 
And  to  her  said  ;  "  Dame,  be  no  longer  sad ; 
For  he,  that  hath  your  knight  so  ill  bestad. 
Is  now  himselfe  in  much  more  wretched  plight; 
Tliese  eyes  him  saw  upon  the  cold  earth  sprad, 
The  meede  of  his  desert  for  that  despight, 
AVhicli  to  yourselfe  he  wrought  and  to  your  loved 
kuiofht. 


'  Therefore,  faire  ladie,  lay  aside  this  griefe, 
Which  yohave  gathered  to  vour  gentle  hart 
For  tliat  clisjjleasure  ;  and  thinke  what  reliefe 
Were  best  devi>e  for  this  your  lovers  smart : 
And  how  ye  may  him  hence,  and  to  what  part. 
Convay  to  be  recur'd."     She  thankt  him  deare, 
Both  for  that  newes  he  did  to  her  impart, 
And  for  the  courteous  care  which  he  did  beare 
Both  to  ner  love  ana  to  herselfe  in  that  sad  dreare. 


Yet  could  she  not  devise  by  any  wit. 

How  thence  she  might  convay  him  to  some  place  , 

For  him  to  trouble  she  it  thought  unfit, 

That  was  a  straunger  to  her  wretched  case  . 

And  him  to  beare,  she  thought  it  thing  too  base. 

Which  wlienas  he  perceiv'd  he  thus  bes]>ake ; 

"  Faire  lady,  let  it  not  you  seeme  disgrace 

To  beare  this  burden  on  your  dainty  backs  ; 

Myselfe  will  beare  a  part,  coportion  of  your  packe.' 


So  off  he  did  his  shield,  and  downeward  layd 

Upon  the  ground,  like  to  an  hollow  beare  ; 

And  powring  balme,  which  he  had  long  purvayd. 

Into  his  wounds,  him  up  thereon  did  reare, 

And  tvvixt  them  both  with  parted  paines  did  beare, 

Twixt  life  and  death,  not  knowing  what  was  donne 

Theuce  they  him  carried  to  a  castle  neare. 

In  which  a  worthy  auncient  knight  did  vvonne  : 

Where  what  ensu'd  shall  in  next  canto  be  begonne. 


CANTO  III. 

Calidore  brings  Priscilla  home ; 

Pursues  the  blatant  beast : 
Saves  Serena,  whilest  Calepine 

By  Turpine  is  opprest. 


True  is,  that  whilome  that  good  poet  sayd, 
The  gentle  minde  by  gentle  deeds  is  knowne: 
For  q  nvin  by  nothing  is  so  well  bewrayd 
As  by  Ins  manners ;  in  which  plaine  is  showne 
Of  what  degree  and  what  race  he  is  growne  : 
F'or  seldume  seene  a  trotting  stalion  get 
An  ambling  colt,  that  is  his  proper  owne  : 
So  seldora«  seene  that  one  in  basenesse  set 
Doth  noble  courage  shew    with  curteous  manners 
met. 


But  evermore  contrary  hath  bene  tryde. 

That  gentle  bloud  will  gentle  manners  breed ; 

As  well  may  be  in  Calidore  descryde, 

By  late  eRsaini)le  of  that  courteous  deed 

Don<^  to  that  wounded  knight  in  his  great  need. 

Whom  on  his  backe  he  bore,  till  he  him  brought 

Unto  tlie  castle  where  they  liad  decreed  : 

There  of  the  knight,  the  which  that  castle  ought, 

lo  make  abode  that  night  he  greatly  was  besought. 


He  was  to  weete  a  man  of  full  ripe  yeares, 

i  hat  in  liis  youth  had  beene  of  luickle  might, 
And  borne  great  sway  in  annes  among  his  ])eares ! 
But  now  weake  age  had  dirnd  his  candlelight  : 
Vet  was  he  courteous  still  to  everv  wight. 
And  loved  all  that  did  to  armes  incline  ; 
And  was  ihe  father  of  that  wounded  knight, 
Whom  Calidore  thus  carried  on  his  chine  ; 
And  Aldus  was  his  name  ;  and  bis  sonnes,  Aladine. 


Who  when  he  saw  his  Sonne  so  ill  bedight 

With  bleeding  wounds,  brought  home  upon  a  beare 

By  a  faire  lady  and  a  straunger  knight, 

Was  inly  touched  with  compassion  deare. 

Ami  deare  affection  of  so  dolefull  dreare, 

That  he  these  words  burst  forth  ;  "  Ah !  sory  boy  ! 

Is  this  the  hope  that  to  my  hoary  heare 

Thou  brings  '.  aie  me  !  is  this  the  timely  ioj'. 

Which  I  expected  long,  now  turnd  to  sad  annoy  1 


"  Such  is  the  weakenesse  of  all  mortal]  hope-, 
So  tickle  is  the  state  of  earthly  things  ; 
That,  ere  they  come  unto  their  aymed  scope, 
'J'liey  fall  too  short  of  our  fraile  reckonings, 
And  bring  us  bale  and  bitter  sorrowings. 
Instead  of  comfort  which  we  should  embrace  ; 
1'his  is  the  state  of  keasars  and  of  kings  1 
Let  none  therefore,  that  is  in  meaner  place. 
Too  greatly  grieve  at  any  his  unlucky  case ;" 


So  well  and  wisely  did  that  good  old  knight 
Temper  his  griefe,  and  turned  it  to  cheare, 
'Jo  cheare  his  guests  whom  he  had  stayd  that  night. 
And  make  their  welcome  to  them  well  appeare : 
'J  hat  to  Sir  Calidore  was  easie  geare  ; 
]5ut  that  faire  lady  would  be  cheard  for  nought, 
But  sigh'd  and  sorrow 'd  for  her  lover  deare, 
And  inly  did  afflict  her  pensive  ihouglit 
With  ihiiiiving  to  what  ca£;e  her  name  should  now  be 
brouiiLt. 


Canto  III.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


301 


For  she  was  daughter  to  a  noble  lord 
Which  dwelt  thereby,  who  sought  her  to  affy 
'J'o  a  great  pere ;  but  she  did  disacdird, 
Ne  could  her  liking  to  his  love  apply, 
But  liiv'd  this  fresii  voung  knight  who  dwelt  her  ny. 
The  lusty  x\ladine,  though  meaner  borne 
And  of  lesse  livelood  and  liability. 
Yet  full  of  valour  the  which  did  adorne 
His  meanesse  much,  and  make  her  th'  others  riches 
scorne. 


So,  having  both  found  fit  occasion, 
They  met  together  in  that  luckelesse  glade  ; 
Where  that  proud  knight  in  his  presumption 
The  gentle  Aladine  did  earst  invade. 
Being  unnrm'd  and  set  in  secret  shade. 
Whereof  she  now  betliinking,  gan  t'advize 
How  great  a  hazard  she  at  earst  had  made 
Of  her  good  fame  ;  and  further  gan  devize 
How  she  the  blame  might  salve  with  coloured  dis- 
guize. 

IX. 

But  Calidors  with  all  good  courtesie 
Fain'd  her  to  frolicke,  and  to  put  away 
The  pensive  fit  of  her  melancliolie  ; 
And  that  old  knight  by  all  meanes  did  assay 
To  make  them  both  as  merry  as  he  may. 
So  thev  the  evening  past  till  time  of  rest; 
When  Calidore  in  seemly  good  array 
Unto  his  bowre  was  brouglit,  and  there  undrest 
Did  sleepe  all  night  through  weary  travell   of  his 
quest. 

X. 

But  faire  Priscilla  (so  that  lady  hight) 
Would  to  no  bed,  nor  take  no  kindely  sleepe, 
But  by  her  wounded  love  did  watch  all  night, 
And  all  the  night  for  bitter  anguish  wee])e, 
And  with  her  teares  his  wounds  did  wash  and  steepe, 
So  well  shewasht  them,  and  so  well  she  watcht  him, 
That  of  the  deadly  swound,  in  which  full  deepe 
He  drenched  was,  she  at  the  length  dispatcht  him. 
And  drove  away  the  stound  which  mortally  attacht 
him. 


The  morrow  next,  when  day  gan  to  uplooke. 

He  also  gan  uplooke  with  drery  eye, 

Like  one  that  out  of  deadly  dreame  awooke  : 

Where  when  he  saw  his  faire  Priscilla  by. 

He  deepely  si.h'd,  and  groaned  mwardly. 

To  thinke  of  this  ill  state  in  which  she  stood  ; 

To  which  she  for  his  sake  had  weetingly 

Now  brought  herselfe,  and  blam'd  her  noble  blood  : 

For  first,  next  after  life,  he  tendered  her  good. 


Which  she  perceiving  did  with  plenteous  teares 

His  care  more  then  her  owne  compassionate, 

ForgetfuU  of  her  owne  to  minde  his  feares : 

So  both  conspiring  gan  to  intimate 

Each  others  griefe  with  zeale  aiiectionate. 

And  twixt  them  twaine  with  ecjuall  care  to  cast 

How  'o  save  whole  her  hazarded  estate ; 

For  which  the  onely  helpe  now  left  them  last 

Seem'd  to  be  Calidore  :  all  other  helpes  were  past. 


Him  they  did  deeme,  as  sure  to  them  he  seemed, 
A  courteous  knight  and  full  of  faithful!  trust ; 
Therefore  to  him  their  cause  they  best  esteemed 
Whole  to  commit,  and  to  his  dealing  iust. 
Earely,  so  soone  as  Titans  beames  forth  brust 
Through  the  thic-ke  clouds,  in  which  they  steeped  lay 
All  night  in  darkenesse,  duid  with  yron  rust, 
Calidore  rising  up  as  fresh  as  day 
Gan  freshly  him  addresse  unto  his  former  way. 


But  first  him  seemed  fit  that  wounded  knight 

To  visite,  after  this  nights  [lerillous  passe  ; 

And  to  salute  him  if  he  were  in  plight, 

And  eke  that  lady  his  faire  lovely  lasse. 

There  he  him  found  much  better  then  he  was  , 

And  moved  speach  to  him  of  things  of  course. 

The  anguish  of  his  paine  to  over-passe  ; 

Mongst  which  he  namely  did  to  him  discnurse 

Of  former  dales  mishaj),  his  sorrowes  wicked  sourse. 


Of  which  occasion  Aldine  taking  hold 

Gan  brrake  to  him  the  fortunes  of  his  love. 

And  all  his  disadventures  to  unfold; 

T  hat  Calidore  it  nearly  deepe  did  move  • 

In  th*  end,  his  kyndly  courtesie  to  prore; 

He  him  by  all  the  bauds  of  love  besought. 

And  as  it  mote  a  failhfull  friend  beh'.ve. 

To  safe-conduct  his  love,  and  not  for  ought 

To  leave,  till  to  her  fathers  house  he  had  her  brought. 


Sir  Calidore  liis  faith  thereto  did  plight 

It  to  performe  :  so  after  little  stay, 

That  she  herselfe  had  to  the  iourney  dight. 

He  passed  forth  with  her  in  faire  array, 

Fearlesse  who  ought  did  thinke  or  ought  did  say, 

Sith  his  own  thought  he  knew  most  cleare  from  wite . 

So,  as  they  past  together  on  their  way. 

He  gan  devize  this  counter-cast  of  slight, 

To  give  faire  colour  to  that  ladies  cause  in  siglit. 


Streight  to  the  carkasse  of  that  knight  he  went, 
(The  cause  of  all  this  evill,  who  was  shiine 
The  day  before  by  iust  avengement 
Of  noble  Tristram,)  where  it  did  remaine  ; 
There  he  the  necke  thereof  did  cut  in  twaine, 
And  tooke  with  him  the  head,  the  signe  of  shame. 
So  forth  he  passed  thorough  that  dales  paine, 
'I'ill  to  that  ladies  fathers  house  he  came  ; 
IVIost  pensive  man,  through  feare  what  of  his  childa 
became. 


There  he  arriving  boldly  did  present 

The  fearefuU  lady  to  her  father  deare, 

Most  perfect  pure,  and  guiltless  innocent 

Of  blame,  as  he  did  on  his  kni-hthood  sweare, 

Since  first  he  saw  her,  and  did  free  from  feare 

Of  a  discourteous  knight,  who  her  had  reft 

And  by  outragious  force  away  did  beaie: 

Witnesse  thereof  he  shew'd  his  head  theie  left. 

And  wretched  life  forlorne  for  vengement  of  his  theft. 


so« 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  VI 


Most  iovfull  man  her  sire  was,  lier  to  see, 

And  heare  th'  adventure  of  her  late  mischaunce  ; 

And  thousand  thankes  to  Calidore  foe  fee 

Of  his  larue  paines  in  lier  deliveraunce 

Did  veeld  ;  ne  lesse  the  lady  did  advaunce, 

'I'lms  liaving  her  restored  trustily, 

As  lie  had  vow'd,  some  small  continuance 

He  there  did  make,  and  then  most  carefully 

Unto  his  first  exj)loite  he  did  himselfe  apply. 


So,  as  he  was  pursuinf;'  of  his  quest, 

He  chaunst  to  come  whereas  aiolly  knight 

In  covert  shade  himselfe  did  safely  rest, 

To  solace  with  his  lady  in  deliti-lit : 

His  warlike  amies  he  had  from  liim  undight ; 

For  tiiat  himselfe  he  thought  from  daunger  free. 

And  far  from  envious  eyes  that  mote  him  spiglit : 

And  eke  the  ladv  was  full  faire  to  see. 

And  courteous  withall,  becomming  her  degree. 


To  whom  Sir  Calidore  approaching  nye, 
Kre  thev  were  well  aware  of  living  wight. 
Them  much  ahaslit,  but  more  himselfe  thereby, 
That  he  so  rudelv  did  up]ion  them  light, 
And  troubled  had  their  (piiet  loves  delight: 
Yet  since  it  was  liis  fortune,  not  his  fault, 
Himselfe  thereof  he  lahour'd  to  acquite. 
And  ]>ardon  crav'd  for  his  so  rash  default. 
That  he  gainst  courtesie  so  fowly  did  default. 


\Vitli  which  his  gentle  words  and  goodly  wit 

He  soone  ajlayd  that  knights  conceiv'd  dis])leasure, 

That  he  besought  him  downe  by  him  to  sit, 

'J'hat  thev  mote  treat  of  things  abrode  at  leasure 

And  of  adventures,  which  had  in  his  measure 

Of  so  long  waies  to  him  befallen  late. 

So  downe  he  sate,  and  with  deligiitfull  pleasure 

His  long  adventures  gan  to  him  relate 

Which  he  endured  had  through  daun"erous  debate: 


Of  wliich  whilest  they  discoursed  both  together, 
'J'he  faire  Serena  ( so  his  lady  hight) 
Allur'd  with  myldnesse  of  the  gentle  wether 
And  plesaunce  of  the  place,  the  which  was  dight 
With  divers  flowres  distinct  with  rare  delight, 
Wandred  about  the  fields,  as  likirg  led 
Her  wavering  lust  after  her  wandring  sight, 
To  make  a  garland  to  adorne  her  lied. 
Without  suspect  of  ill  or  daungers  hidden  dred. 

XXIV. 

All  sodaiiiely  out  of  the  forrest  nere 
'I'he  blatant  beast  forth  rushing  unaware 
Caiiglit  her  thus  loosely  wandring  here  and  there, 
And  in  iiis  wide  great  mouth  away  her  bare 
'Crying  aloud  to  shew  her  sad  misfare 
Unto  the  knights,  and  calling  oft  for  ayde  ; 
Who  with  the  iiorrour  of  her  hajilesse  care 
Hastily  starting  up,  like  men  dismayde, 
Kan  after  fast  to  reskue  the  distressed  mayde. 


The  beast,  witli  their  jiursuit  incited  more. 
Into  the  wood  was  bearing  her  apace 
For  to  have  spovled  her  ;  when  Calidore, 
Who  was  more  light  of  foote  and  swift  in  chacc 
II im  overtooke  in  middest  of  his  race  ; 
And,  fiercely  cliarging  him  with  all  his  might, 
Forst  to  forgoe  his  pray  there  in  the  place. 
And  to  betake  himselfe  to  fearefuU  flight ; 
For  he  durst  not  abide  with  Calidore  to  fight. 


Who  nathelesse,  when  he  the  lady  saw 
There  left  on  ground,  though  in  full  evill  plight. 
Yet  knowing  that  her  knight  now  neare  did  draw, 
Staide  not  to  succour  her  in  that  affright, 
]5ut  follow'd  fast  the  monster  in  his  flight : 
Tlirough  woods  and  liils  he  follow'd  him  so  fast. 
That  he  nould  let  Iiim  breath  nor  gather  spright, 
liut  forst  him  gape  and  gaspe,  with  dread  aghast, 
As  if  his  lungs  and  lites  were  nigh  asunder  brast. 


And  now  by  this  Sir  Calepine,  so  hight, 
Came  to  the  jilace  where  he  his  ladv  found 
In  dolorous  dismay  and  deadly  plight. 
Ail  in  gore  bloud  there  tumbled  on  the  ground. 
Having  both  sides  through  grypt  with  griesiy  wound: 
His  weapons  soone  from  him  he  threw  away. 
And  stouping  downe  to  her  in  drery  swouiid 
Uprear'd  her  from  the  ground  whereon  she  lay 
And  in  his  tender  armes  her  forced  up  to  stay 


So  well  he  did  his  busie  paines  apply, 

'J  hat  the  faint  sjiright  he  did  revoke  againe 

To  her  fraile  mansion  of  mortality  : 

Tlien  up  he  tooke  her  twixt  his  armes  twaine, 

And  setting  on  his  steede  her  did  sustaine 

With  careful!  hands,  soft  footing  lier  beside  ; 

Till  to  some  place»of  rest  they  mote  attaine, 

Where  she  in  safe  assuraunce  mote  abide. 

Till  she  recured  were  of  those  her  woundiis  wide. 


Now  whenas  Phccbus  with  his  fiery  waine 

Unto  his  inne  began  to  draw  ai)ace  ; 

Tho,  wexing  weary  of  that  toylesome  paine, 

In  travelling  on  foote  so  long  a  space, 

Not  wont  on  foote  with  heavy  armes  to  trace  ; 

Downe  in  a  dale  forby  a  rivers  syde 

He  chaunst  to  sjiie  a  faire  and  stately  place, 

To  which  he  meant  his  weary  sle]>s  to  guyde, 

In  hope  there  for  his  love  some  succour  to  provyde. 


T?ut,  comming  to  the  rivers  side,  he  found 
'J'hat  hardly  passable  on  foote  it  was ; 
Therefore  there  still  he  stood  as  in  a  stouna, 
Ne  wist  which  way  he  through  the  foord  mote  pas. 
Thus  whilest  he  was  in  this  distressed  case. 
Devising  what  to  doe,  he  nigh  espyde 
An  armed  knight  approacliiiig  to  the  place 
With  a  faire  lady  lincked  by  his  syde. 
The  wiiici)  themselves  prejiaid  thorough  the  foord 
to  ride. 


Cawio  III.] 


HIE  FAF.iUE  QUEENE. 


303 


Whom  Calepine  salutino:,  as  became, 

Besounfht  of  courtesie,  in  that  his  r.eede, 

For  safe  conducting-  of  his  sickelv  dame 

TLi'Oiigh  that  same  perillous  foordwith  better  heede, 

To  take  him  up  behinde  upon  his  steed  : 

To  whom  that  other  did  tliis  taunt  returne  ; 

"  Perdy,  thou  peasant  knii;ht  mi^htst  rightly  reed 

Me  then  to  be  full  base  and  evill  bnrne, 

If  I  would  bears  behinde  a  burden  of  such  scorne. 


"  But,  as  thou  hast  thv  steed  forlorne  with  shame, 
So  fare  on  foote  till  thou  another  gayne. 
And  let  thy  lady  likewise  doe  the  same, 
Or  beare  her  on  thy  baclce  with  pleasing^  payne. 
And  prove  thv  manhood  on  the  billowes  vayne." 
With  which  rude  speach  his  lady  much  displeased 
Did  him  reprove,  vet  could  him  not  restrayne. 
And  would  on  her  owne  palfrey  him  have  eased 
I'or  p  tiy  of  his  dame  whom  she  saw  so  diseased. 


Sir  Calepine  her  thanckt ;  vet,  inly  wroth 

Against  her  knight,  her  gentlenesse  refused. 

And  careleslv  into  the  river  go'rh, 

As  in  des[>ight  to  be  so  fowie  abused 

Of  a  rude  cliurle,  -.vhoin  often  he  accused 

Of  fowle  discourtesie,  unfit  for  knight ; 

And,  strongly  wading  through  the  waves  unused, 

Willi  speare  in  th'  oiih  haiid  stavd  himselfe  upright, 

With  th'  other  staide  liis  lady  up  with  steddy  might. 


But  he,  nought  weighing  what  he  sayd  or  did, 

Turned  his  steede  about  another  way. 

And  with  his  lady  to  the  castle  rid, 

Where  was  his  won  ;  ne  did  the  other  stay, 

15ut  after  went  directly  as  he  may, 

For  his  sicke  charge  some  harbour  there  to  seekft; 

Where  lie  arriving  with  the  fall  of  day 

Drew  to  the  gate,  and  there  with  prayers  meeke 

And  myld  entreaty  lodging  did  for  her  beseeke. 


But  the  rude  porter  that  no  manners  had 
Did  shut  the  gate  against  him  in  his  face 
And  entraunce  boldly  unto  him  forbad  : 
Nath'le.sse  the  knight,  now  in  so  needy  case, 
Gan  him  entreat  even  with  submission  base, 
And  humbly  praid  to  let  them  in  that  night : 
W  ho  to  him  aunswer'd,  that  there  was  no  place 
Of  lodging  fit  for  any  errant  knight, 
Uulesse  that  with  his  lord  he  formerly  did  fight. 


"  Full  loth  am  I,"  quoth  he,  "  as  now  at  earst 

When  day  is  spent,  and  rest  us  needeth  most, 

And  that  this  lady,  both  whose  sides  are  pearst 

With  wounds,  is  ready  to  forgo  the  ghost ; 

]\'e  would  I  gladly  combate  with  mine  host. 

That  hhould  to  me  such  curtesie  aftbrd, 

llnlesse  that  I  were  thereunto  enforst: 

But  yet  aread  to  me,  how  iiight  thy  lord. 

That  doth  thus  strongly  ward  the  castle  of  the  ford.' 


xxxiv. 

And  all  the  while  that  same  discourteous  knight 
Stood  on  the  further  bancke  beholding  him  ; 
At  whose  calamity,  for  more  despight, 
He  lauglit,  and  niockt  to  >ee  him  like  to  swim. 
But  wheiias  Calepine  came  to  the  hriin, 
•And  saw  Ins  carnage  (jast  that  penll  well, 
Looking  at  that  same  car  e  w^rli  coniit'iiance  Ljrim, 
His  heart  with  veiii^eatince  invvar«llv  did  .-sWi  II, 
Ajid  forth  at  last  did  i.ieake  in  speaclies  sliarjje  and 
fell : 


"  Unkniglitly  knigllt,  tiie  blpuii.sli  of  tlu.t  name. 
And  blot  of  all  that  amies  uppon  them  take, 
Which  is  the  badge  of  honour  and  of  fame, 
Loe  !  I  defie  thee  ;  and  ht-re  challenge  make. 
That  thou  for  ever  doe  those  arme.s  forsake. 
And  be  for  ever  held  a  recreant  knight, 
Unlesse  thou  dare,  for  thy  deare  ladies  sake 
And  for  thine  oune  defence,  on  foote  aliylit 
To  iustitie  thy  fault  gainst  me  in  equall  t'ight." 

XXXVI. 

The  dastard,  that  did  heare  himselfe  defyde, 
Seem'd  not  to  weigh  his  ihreatfuU  words  at  all. 
But  laught  them  out,  as  if  his  greater  pryde 
Did  scorne  the  challenge  of  so  base  a  thrall  -, 
Or  had  no  courage,  or  else  had  no  gall. 
So  much  the  more  was  Calepine  offended. 
That  him  to  no  revenge  he  forth  could  call, 
But  both  his  challenge  and  himselfe  conteniued, 
e  cared  as  a  coward  so  to  be  condemned. 


"  His  name,"  quoth  he,  "  if  that  thou  list  to  learne 

Is  hight  Sir  Turpine,  one  of  mickle  might 

And  manhood  rare,  but  terrible  and  stearne 

In  all  assaies  to  every  errant  knight, 

Because  of  one  that  wrought  him  fowle  despight '' 

"  III  seenies,"  sayd  he,  "if  he  so  valiaunt  be, 

That  lie  should  be  so  sterne  to  stranger  wight: 

For  seldome  yet  did  living  creature  see 

That  curtesie  and  manhood  ever  disagree. 


"  But  go  thy  waies  to  him,  and  fro  me  say 

That  here  is  at  his  gate  an  errant  knight. 

That  house-rome  craves  :  yet  would  be  loth  t'  assay 

The  proofe  of  battell  now  in  doubtfull  night, 

Or  curtesie  with  rudenesse  to  requite: 

Yet,  if  he  needes  will  light,  crave  leave  till  mome, 

And  tell  witliall  the  lamentable  plight 

In  which  this  lady  languLsheth  forlorne, 

Ihat  pitty  craves,  as  he  of  woman  was  yborne." 


:    The  groome  went  streightway  in,  and  to  his  lord 
Declar'd  the  message  which  that  knight  did  move  j 
\Vho,  sitting  with  his  lady  then  at  bord. 
Not  onely  did  not  hisdeni'aund  approve. 
But  both  himselfe  revil'd  and  eke  his  lore; 
Albe  his  lady,  that  Blandina  hight, 
Him  of  ungentle  usage  did  reprove. 
And  earnestly  entreated  that  thev  might 
Finde  favour  to  be  lodged  there  for  that  same  night 


3"H 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE 


[Boor  \  1 


Yet  would  he  not  perswaded  be  for  ought, 

Ne  from  his  currish  will  awhit  reclame. 

Which  answer  when  die  groome  returning  brought 

To  Calepine,  bis  heart  did  inlv  flame 

Witli  wrathfull  fury  for  so  foule  a  shame, 

That  he  could  not  thereof  avenged  bee  ; 

But  most  for  pitfv  of  his  dearest  dame, 

Wliom  now  in  deadly  daunger  he  did  see  ; 

Yet  bad  no  meanes to  comfort,  nor  procure  her  glee. 


But  all  in  vaine  ;  for  why  ?  no  remedy 

He  saw  the  present  miscliiefe  toredresse, 

liut  th'  utmost  end  perforce  for  to  aby. 

Which  that  nights  fortune  would  for  him  addresse. 

So  downe  he  tooke  his  lady  in  distresse, 

And  lavd  her  underneath  a  bush  to  sleepe, 

Cover'd  with  cold,  and  wrapt  in  wreichednesse; 

Whiles  hehimoelfe  all  night  did  nought  but  weepo, 

And  wary  watch  about  her  for  her  safegard  keepe. 


The  morrow  next,  so  soone  as  ioyous  day 

Did  shew  itselfe  in  sunny  bearaes  bedight, 

Serena  full  of  dolorous  dismay, 

1'wixt  darkenesse  dread  and  hope  of  living  light, 

Upreard  her  head  to  see  that  cheareful  sight. 

Then  Calepine,  however  inly  wroth, 

And  greedy  to  avenge  that  vile  despight, 

Vet  for  the  feeble  ladies  sake,  full  loth 

To  make  there  lenger  stay,  forth  on  his  ioumey  go'th. 


He  go'th  on  focte  all  armed  by  her  side, 
Upstaying  still  herselfe  uppon  her  steede, 
Being  unlable  else  alone  to  rule  ; 
So  sore  her  sides,  so  much  her  wounds  did  bleede  : 
Till  that  at  length,  in  his  extreamest  neede, 
He  chaunst  far  oft"  an  armed  knight  to  spy 
Pursuing  him  apace  with  greedy  speede  ; 
Whom  well  he  wist  to  be  some  enemy. 
That  meant  to  make  advantage  of  his  misery. 


1  Xl.VIX. 

\Vherefore  be  stayd,  till  that  he  nearer  drew. 
To  weet  what  issue  would  thereof  betyde  : 
Tho,  whenas  he  approcbed  nigh  in  vew. 
By  certaine  signes  he  plainly  Inm  descryde 
To  be  the  man  that  with  such  scornfull  pryde 
Had  him  abusde  and  shamed  yesterday  : 
Therefore,  misdoubting  least  he  should  misguvdp 
His  former  malice  to  some  new  assav. 
He  cast  to  keepe  himselfe  so  safely  as  be  may 


By  this  the  other  came  in  place  likewise. 

And  couching  close  his  speave  and  all  his  powre. 

As  bent  to  some  malicious  enterj)rise. 

He  bad  him  stand  t' abide  the  bitter  stoure 

Of  his  sore  vengeaunce,  or  to  make  avoure 

Of  the  lewd  words  and  deedes  which  be  had  done  , 

With  that  ran  at  him,  as  be  would  devoure 

His  life  attonce  ;  who  nought  could  do  but  shun 

The  peril!  of  his  pride,  or  else  be  over-run. 


Yet  he  him  still  pursew'd  from  ]ilace  to  place, 

With  full  intent  him  cruellv  to  kill, 

And  like  a  wilde  goate  round  about  did  chace 

Flying  the  fury  of  his  bloudy  will : 

But  his  best  succour  and  refuge  was  still 

Behind  his  ladies  back  ;  who  to  him  cryde. 

And  called  oft  with  prayers  loud  and  shrill. 

As  ever  he  to  lady  was  aftyde, 

1  "o  spare  her  knight,  and  rest  with  reason  pacifyde ; 


But  he  the  more  thereby  enraged  was. 

And  with  more  eager  felnesse  him  pursew'd; 

So  that  at  length,  after  long  weary  chace. 

Having  by  chaunce  a  close  advantage  vew'd,. 

He  over-raught  him,  having  long  eschew'd 

His  violence  in  vaine  ;  and  with  his  spere 

Strooke  through  his  shoulder,  that  the  blood  essewd 

In  great  aboundance,  as  a  well  it  were. 

That  forth  out  of  an  lull  fresh  gushing  did  appere. 


Yet  ceast  he  not  for  all  that  cruell  wound, 

]5ut  chaste  him  still  for  all  his  ladies  cry  j 

Not  satisfyde  till  on  the  fatall  ground 

He  saw  his  life  powrd  forth  despiieously ; 

The  which  was  certes  in  great  ieopnrdy, 

Had  not  a  wondrous  cbauuce  bis  reskue  wrought, 

And  saved  from  his  cruel!  villany. 

Such  cliaunces  oft  exceed  all  humaine  thought ; 

That  in  another  canto  shall  to  end  be  broughl. 


Canto  IV.] 


THE  VAERIE   QUEENE. 


305 


CANTO  IV. 

Calepine  by  a  salvage  man 
From  Turpine  reskewed  is  ; 

And,  whylest  an  infant  from  a  be  are 
He  saves,  his  love  dotli  misse. 


LncE  as  a  ship  with  dreadfull  storme  long  lost, 
Having  spent  all  her  mastes  and  her  groundhold. 
Now  farre  from  harbour  likely  to  be  lost, 
At  last  some  fisher-barke  d(.th  neare  behold. 
That  giveth  comfort  to  her  courage  cold  ; 
Such  was  the  slate  of  this  most  courteous  knight 
Bemg  oppressed  by  that  faytour  bold, 
That  he  remayned  in  most  perilous  plight, 
And  his  sad  ladie  left  in  pitifuU  atfright : 


Till  that,  by  fortune  passing  all  foresight, 

A  salvage  man,  which  in  those  woods  did  wonne, 

Drawne  with  that  ladies  loud  and  piteous  shright 

Toward  the  same  incessantly  did  ronne 

To  understand  what  there  was  to  be  donne: 

There  he  this  most  discourteous  craven  found 

As  fiercely  yet,  as  when  lie  first  begonne, 

(Miasing  the  gentle  Calepine  around, 

Ne  £[:aruig  him  the  more  for  all  his  grievous  wound. 


The  salvage  man,  that  never  till  this  houre 
Did  taste  of  pittie,  neither  gentlesse  knew. 
Seeing  his  sharpe  assault  and  cruell  stoure 
Was  much  emmoved  at  his  perils  vew, 
That  even  his  ruder  hart  began  to  rew. 
And  feele  compassion  of  his  evill  plight, 
Against  his  foe  that  did  him  so  purse w ; 
From  whom  he  meant  to  free  him,  if  he  might, 
And  him  avenge  of  that  so  villenous  despight. 


Yet  armes  or  weapon  had  he  none  to  fight,  ' 

Ne  knew  the  use  of  warlike  instruments, 

Save  sucli  as  sudden  rage  him  lent  to  smite; 

But  naked,  without  needfuU  vestiments 

To  clad  his  corpse  with  meete  habiliments, 

He  cared  not  for  dmt  of  sword  nor  speere, 

No  more  then  for  the  stroke  of  strawes  or  bents  : 

For  from  his  mothers  wombe,  which  him  did  beare, 

He  was  invulnerable  made  by  magicke  leare. 


He  staved  not  t'advize  which  way  were  best 

His  foe  t'assayle,  or  how  himselfe  to  gard, 

I!ut  with  fierce  furv  and  with  force  infest 

Upon  liiiu  ran  :  who  being  well  prepard 

His  first  assault  full  warily  did  ward, 

And  with  the  push  of  bis  sharp-pointed  speare 

Full  on  tlie  hreast  him  strooke,  so  strong  and  hard 

Thar  forst  him  backe  recoyle  and  reele  areare  ; 

\t-£  ia  his  bodie  made  no  wound  nor  bloud  apjaeare. 


AVith  that  the  \\'yld  man  more  enraged  grew. 

Like  to  a  tygre  that  hath  mist  his  pray, 

And  with  mad  moode  againe  upon  him  flew. 

Regarding  neither  s])eare  that  mote  him  slay, 

Nor  his  fierce  steed  that  mote  him  much  dismay  . 

The  salvage  nation  doth  all  dread  despize  : 

Tlio  on  his  shield  he  griple  hold  did  lay. 

And  held  the  same  so  hard,  that  by  no  wize 

He  could  him  force  to  loose,  or  leave  his  enterprize. 


Long  did  he  wrest  and  wring  it  to  and  fro. 

And  every  way  did  try,  but  all  in  vaine ; 

For  he  would  not  his  greedie  grype  forgoe, 

But  hayld  and  puld  with  all  his  might  and  maine, 

That  from  his  steed  him  nigh  he  drew  againe  : 

Who  having  now  no  use  of  his  long  speare 

So  nigh  at  hand,  nor  force  Jiis  shield  to  strains. 

Both  speare  and   shield,   as  things  that   needlessa 

were, 
He  quite  forsooke,  and  fled  himselfe  away  for  feare. 

VIII. 

But  after  him  the  wyld  man  ran  apace, 

And  him  pursewed  with  importune  speed, 

For  he  was  swift  as  any  bucke  in  chace  ; 

And,  had  he  not  in  his  extreamest  need 

Bene  helped  through  the  swiftnesse  of  his  steed, 

He  had  him  overtaken  in  his  flight. 

Who,  ever  as  he  saw  him  nigh  succeed, 

Gan  cry  aloud  with  horrible  affright, 

And  shrieked  out ;  a  thing  uncomely  for  a  knight. 


But,  when  the  salvage  saw  his  labour  vaine 

In  following  of  him  that  fled  so  fiist. 

He  wearie  woxe,  and  backe  return'd  againe 

With  speede  unto  the  place,  whereas  he  last 

Had  left  that  coui)le  nere  their  utmost  cast: 

There  he  that  knight  full  sorely  bleeding  found 

And  eke  the  ladie  fearefuUy  aghast. 

Both  for  the  perill  of  the  present  stound. 

And  also  for  the  sharpnesse  of  her  rankling  wound 


For  though  she  were  right  glad  so  rid  to  bee 
From  tliat  vile  lozell  which  her  late  offended  ; 
Yet  nou-  no  lesse  encombrance  she  did  see 
And  perill,  by  this  salvage  man  pretended  ; 
Gainst  whom  she  saw  no  meanes  to  be  defended 
By  reason  that  her  knight  was  wounded  sore: 
Therefore  herselfe  she  wholy  recommended 
To  Gods  sole  grace,  whom  she  did  oft  imjjlore 
To  send  her  succour,  being  of  all  hope  forlore. 


506 


TH-^  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


FBoos  VI 


]5uttlie  wyld  man,  contrarie  to  her  feare, 
Came  to  her  creeping  like  a  fawning  hound, 
And  by  rude  tokens  made  to  her  apjjeare 
Mis  deepe  compassion  of  her  doletuU  stound, 
Kissing-  his  hands,  and  crouching  to  tlie  ground  ; 
l-^or  other  language  had  he  none  nor  speach, 
IJiit  a  soft  murmure  and  confused  sound 
Of  senselesse  words  (which  nature  did  him  teach 
T"  expresse  his  passions)  which  his  reason   did  em- 
peach  : 

XII. 

And  comining  likewise  to  the  wounded  knight, 
When  he  beheld  the  streames  of  purple  blood 
Yet  flowing  fresh,  as  moved  with  the  sight, 
lie  made  great  mone  after  his  salvage  mood  ; 
And,  running  streight  into  the  thickest  wood, 
A  certuine  herbe  from  thence  unto  him  brought, 
^Vhose  vertue  he  by  use  well  understood  ; 
'Die  inyce  whereof  into  his  wound  he  wrought, 
And   stopt  the  bleeding  straight,  ere  he  it  staunched 
thouo-ht. 


Then  taking  up  that  recreants  shield  and  speare, 
\Vhicli  earst  he  left,  he  signes  unto  them  made 
^\'itll  him  to  wend  unto  his  wonning  neare ; 
'J"o  which  he  easily  did  them  perswade. 
I'arre  in  the  forrest,  bv  a  hollow  glade 
Covered  with  mossie  shrubs,  which  spreddingbrode 
Did  underneath  them  make  a  gloomy  shade, 
VViiere  foot  of  living  creature  never  trode, 
Ne  scarse  wvld    beasts  durst  come,  there  was  this 
wights  abode. 


Thither  lie  brought  these  unacquainted  guests  ; 
To  whom  foire  semblance,  as  he  could,  he  shev/ed 
15y  signes,  by  lookes,  and  all  his  other  gests  : 
15ut  tlie  bare  ground  with  hoarie  mosse  bestrowed 
Must  be  their  bed  ;  their  pillow  was  unsowed  ; 
And  the  frutes  of  the  forrest  was  their  feast  : 
For  their  bad  stuard  neither  plough'd  nor  sowed, 
Ne  fed  on  flesh,  ne  ever  of  wyld  beast 
Did  taste  the  bloud,  obaying  natures  first  beheast. 


^'et,  howsoever  base  and  ineane  it  were. 
They  tooke  it  well,  and  thanked  Ciod  for  all, 
Which  had  them  freed  from  that  deadly  feare. 
And  sav'd  from  being  to  that  caytive  thrall. 
Here  they  of  force  (as  fortune  now  did  fall) 
Compelled  were  themselves  awhile  to  rest, 
(ilad  of  that  ('asement,  though  it  were  but  small  ; 
That,  having  there  tiieir  wounds  awhile  redrest, 
'J  hey  mote  the  abler  be  to  passe  unto  the  rest. 


During  uhich  time  that  wyld  man  did  apply 
Ills  best  endevour  and  his  daily  ]iame 
In  seeking  all  tiie  woods  both  iarre  and  nye      [faine 
For  herbes  to  dresse  their  wounds  ;  still   seeming 
When  ought  he  did,  that  did  their  lyking  gaine. 
S  ■  a-i  ere  long  he  had  th:it  kninhtes  wound 
Htciired  well,  and  made  him  wiiole  againe  : 
lint  that  same  ladies  hurts  no  lierbe  he  found 
Which  could  ledresse,  for  it  was  inwardly  unsound. 


Now  whenas  Calepine  was  wosen  strong, 

Upon  a  day  he  cast  abrode  to  wend. 

To  take  the  ayre  and  heare  the  thrushes  song, 

Unarm'd,  as  fearing  neither  foe  nor  frend. 

And  without  sword  his  person  to  defend  ; 

There  him  befell,  unlooked  for  before, 

An  hard  adventure  with  unhappie  end, 

A  cruell  beare,  the  which  an  infant  bore, 

Betwixt  his  bloodie  iawes,  besprinckled  all  with  gore 


The  litle  babe  did  loudly  scrike  and  squall. 
And  all  the  woods  with  piteous  plaints  did  till, 
As  if  his  cry  did  means  for  to  hel[)e  to  call 
To  Calepine,  whose  eares  those  shrieches  shrill, 
Percing  his  hart,  with  pities  point  did  thrill ; 
That  after  him  he  ran  with  zealous  haste 
To  rescue  th'  infant,  ere  he  did  him  kill  : 
Whom  though  he  saw  now  somewhat  overpast. 
Yet  by  the  cry  he  follow'd,  and  pursewed  fast. 


Well  then  him  chaunst  his  heavy  armes  to  want, 
Whose  burden  mote  emjjeach  his  needful  speed, 
And  hinder  him  from  libertie  to  pant : 
For  having  long  time,  as  his  deadly  weed. 
Them  wont  to  weare,  and  wend  on  foot  for  need, 
Now  wanting  them  he  felt  himselfe  so  light. 
That  like  an  liauke,  which  feeling  herselfe  freed 
From  bels  and  iessies  which  did  let  her  flight. 
Him  seem'd  his  feel  did  fly  and  in  their  speed  delight. 


So  well  he  sped  him.  that  the  wearie  beare 
Ere  long  he  overtooke  and  forst  to  stf.y  ; 
yVnd,  without  weapon  him  assayling  neare, 
Compeld  him  soone  the  spoyle  adowne  to  lay. 
Wherewith  the  beast  enrag'd  to  loose  his  pray 
Upon  him  turned,  and,  with  greedie  force 
And  furie,  to  be  crossed  in  his  way, 
Gaping  full  wyde,  did  thinke  without  remorse 
To  be  aveng'd  on  him,  and  to  dovoure  his  corse. 


But  the  bold  knight  no  whit  thereat  dismayd. 

But  catching  u])  in  hand  a  ragged  stone 

Which  lay  thereby  (so  fortune  him  did  ayde) 

Upon  him  ran,  and  thrust  it  all  attone 

Into  his  gaping  throte,  that  made  him  grone 

And  giisjie  for  breath,  that  he  nigh  choked  was, 

Being  unable  to  digest  that  bone  ; 

i\'e  conlil  it  upward  come,  nor  downward  passe. 

Ne  could  he  brookethe  coldnesse  of  the  stony  mussc 

XXII. 

Whom  whenas  he  thus  combred  did  behold, 
Stryviiig  in  vaine  that  iiigli  his  I)'m\  els  brast, 
He  with  him  closd.  and.  laying  iiiightie  hold 
l'])on  his  throte,  did  gripe  his  gorge  so  fast. 
That  wanting  breath  him  downe  to  ground  he  cast ; 
And,  then  oppressing  him  with  urgent  paine, 
]'',re  loiiu'  enforst  to  breath  his  utmost  blast, 
(irn-ihing  his  cruell  teeth  at  him  in  vaine. 
And    threatiiing    his   sharjie    cla\^'^.■s,    now    wantlDg 
powre  to  strains. 


oIV] 


THE  KAKRIi:  Ql  KKNK 


307 


Then  tooke  be  up  betwixt  his  armt's  twaine 
The  little  babe,  sweet  relicices  of  his  prav  ; 
Whom  pitying  to  heare  so  sore  complaine, 
From  his  soft  eyes  the  teares  he  wypt  away, 
And  from  his  face  the  filth  that  rlid  it  ray  ; 
And  everv  little  limbe  he  searcht  around. 
And  every  part  that  under  sweath-bands  lay, 
Least  that  the  beasts  sharpe  teeth  had  any  wound 
Made  in  his  tender  flesh  ;  but  whole   them  all  he 
found. 


So,  havino;  all  his  bands  againe  uptyda 

He  with  him  thought  backe  to  returne  againe; 

But  when  he  lookt  about  on  every  svde. 

To  weet  which  way  were  best  to  entertaine 

To  bring  him  to  the  place  where  he  would  faine. 

Me  could  no  path  nor  tract  of  foot  descry, 

\'e  by  inquirie  learne,  nor  ghesse  by  ayme  ; 

For  nought  but  woods  and  forrests  farre  and  nye. 

That  all  about  did  close  the  compasse  of  his  eye. 


Much  was  he  then  encombred,  ne  could  tell 
Which  way  to  take  :  now  west  he  went  awiiile. 
Then  north,  then  neither,  but  as  fortune  fell : 
So  up  and  downe  he  wandred  many  a  mile 
With  wearie  travell  and  uncertaine  toile. 
Vet  nought  the  nearer  to  his  iourneys  end  ; 
And  evermore  his  lovely  little  spoile 
Crying  for  food  did  greatly  him  offend  : 
So  all  that  day,  in  wandring,  vainely  he  did  spend. 


At  last,  about  the  setting  of  the  sunne, 

Himselfe  out  of  the  forest  he  did  wynd. 

And  by  good  fortune  the  ])laine  cliampion  wonne  : 

\\  here,  looking  all  about  where  he  mote  fynd 

Some  place  of  succour  to  content  his  mynd. 

At  length  he  heard  under  the  forrests  syde 

A  voice,  that  seemed  of  somo  womank3'nd, 

W  liich  to  herselfe  lamenting  loudly  cryde. 

And  oft  complayn'd  of  fate,  and  fortune  oft  defvde. 


To  whom  approaching,  whenas  she  perceived 

A  stranger  wight  in  place,  her  plaint  she  stayd. 

As  if  she  doubted  to  have  bene  deceived, 

Or  loth  to  let  her  sorrowes  be  bewrayd  : 

\\  lioni  whenas  Calejiine  saw  so  disinayd. 

He  to  lier  drew,  and,  with  fuire  blandishment 

Her  cheariug  up,  thus  gently  to  her  said  : 

'•  What  be  you,  wofull  dame,  which  thus  lament, 

And  for  what  cause,  declare  ;  so  moteyenot  repent.' 


To  whom  she  thus  ;  "  What  need  me,  sir,  to  tell 

That  which  yourself  have  earst  ared  so  right? 

A  wotull  dame  ye  have  me  termed  well  ; 

So  much  more  wofull,  as  my  wofull  plight 

{-'aniiot  redressed  be  by  living  wight  !" 

•■  .\iithlesse,"  quoth  he,  "  if  need  doe  not  you  bynd. 

Doe  it  disclose,  to  ease  your  grieved  sprig'ht : 

Oftimes  it  haps  that  sorrowes  of  the  mynd 

Find  remedie  unsought,  which  seekmg  cannot  fynd." 


Jhen  thus  liegan  the  lamentable  dame  ; 

"  Sith  then  ye  needs  will  know  the  griefe  I  hoord 

I  am  th'  unfortunate  iMatilde  by  name. 

The  wife  of  bold  Sir  Bruin,  who  is  lord 

Of  all  this  land,  late  conquer'd  by  his  sword 

From  a  great  gyant,  called  Cormoraunt, 

Whom  he  did  overthrow  by  yonder  fourd  ; 

And  in  three  battailes  did  so  deadly  daunt. 

That  he  dare  not  returne  for  all  his  daily  vaunt. 


"  So  is  my  lord  now  seiz'd  of  all  the  land. 

As  in  his  fee,  with  peaceable  estate. 

And  quietly  doth  holil  it  in  his  hand, 

Ne  any  dares  with  him  for  it  debate  : 

But  to  these  happie  fortunes  cruell  fate 

Hath  ioyn'd  one  evill,  which  doth  overthrow 

All  this  our  ioyes,  and  all  our  blisse  abate ; 

And  like  in  time  to  further  ill  to  grow. 

And  all  this  land  with  endlesse  losse  to  over- flow. 


"  For  th'  heavens,  envying  our  prosperitie, 

Have  not  vouchsaft  to  graunt  unto  us  twaine 

The  ghdfuU  blessing  of  posteritie. 

Which  we  might  see  after  ourselves  remaine 

In  th'  heritage  of  our  unhappie  paine  : 

So  that  for  want  of  heires  it  to  defend. 

All  is  in  time  like  to  returne  againe 

To  that  foule  feend,  who  dayly  doth  attend 

'I'o  leape  into  the  same  after  our  lives  end. 


"  But  most  my  lord  is  grieved  herewithall. 
And  makes  exceeding  mone,  when  he  does  thinke 
That  all  this  land  unto  his  foe  shall  fall. 
Fur  which  he  long  in  vaine  diii  sweat  and  swinke. 
That  now  the  same  he  greatly  doth  forthinke. 
Yet  was  it  sayd,  there  should  lohim  a  sonne 
Be  gotten,  not  begollen  ;  uliich  should  drinke 
And  dry  up  all  the  ivater  which  doth  ronne 
In  the  neit  broohe,  by   whom  that  feend  should  be  tor- 
donne. 


"  Well  hop't  he  then,  when  this  was  propheside, 
That  from  his  sides  some  noble  chyld  should  rize. 
The  which  through  fame  should  farre  be  magniiide, 
And  this  proud  gyant  should  with  brave  emprize 
Quite  overthrow,  who  now  ginnes  to  despize 
i'he  good  Sir  Bruin  growing  farre  in  years. 
Who  thinkes  from  me  his  sorrow  all  doth  rize. 
Lo!   this  my  cause  of  griefe  to  you  aj)peares  ; 
For  which  1  thus  doe  mourue,  and  poure  forth  cease* 
lesse  teares." 

XXXIV. 

Which  when  he  heard,  he  inly  touched  was 

With  tender  ruth  for  her  unworthy  griefe ; 

And,  when  he  had  devized  of  her  case. 

He  gan  in  mind  conceive  a  fit  reliefe 

For  all  her  jjaine,  if  please  her  make  the  priefe  : 

And,  having  chear,d  her,  thus  said  ;  "  F'aire  Damej 

In  evils  counsell  is  the  comfort  chiefe  ; 

Which  though  I  be  not  wise  enough  to  frame, 

Vet,  as  I  well  it  meane,  vouchsafe  it  without  blame 

jc  2 


308 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[LlooK  VI 


XXXV. 

"  If  that  the  cause  of  this  your  languishment 
Be  laclie  of  children  to  supply  your  place, 
Lo  !  liow  good  ibrtur.e  doth  to  you  present 
This  litle  babe,  of  sweete  and  lovely  face, 
A.nd  spotlesse  spirit  in  which  ye  may  enchace 
Whatever  formes  ye  list  thereto  apply. 
Being  now  soft  and  fit  them  to  embrace  ; 
Whether  ye  list  him  truine  in  chevalry, 
Or  noursle  up  in  lore  of  learn'd  philosophy 


"  And,  certes,  it  hath  oftentimes  bene  seene. 
That  of  the  like,  whose  linage  was  unknowne, 
Blore  brave  and  noble  knights  have  raysed  beene 
(As  their  victorious  deedes  have  often  showen. 
Being  with  fame  through  many  nations  blowen,) 
Then  those  which  have  bene  dandled  in  the  lap. 
Therefore  some  tiiought  that  those  brave  imps  were 

sowen 
Here  by  the  gods,  and  fed  with  heavenly  sap. 
That  made  them  grow  so  high  t'  all  honorable  hap." 


The  ladie,  hearkning  to  his  sensefull  speach, 
Eouiid  nothing  that  he  said  unmeet  nor  geason, 
Having  oft  seene  it  tryde  as  he  did  teach  : 
Therefore  inclyning  to  his  goodly  reason, 
Agreeing  well  both  with  the  place  and  season, 
She  gladly  did  of  that  same  babe  accept. 
As  of  her  owne  by  liverey  and  seisin; 
And,  having  over  it  a  little  wept, 
She  bore  it  thence,  and  ever  as  her  owne  it  kept. 


Right  glad  was  Calepine  to  be  so  rid 
Of  his  young  charge  whereof  he  skilled  nought  ; 
Ne  she  lesse  glad  ;  for  she  so  wisely  did. 
And  with  her  husband  under  hand  so  wrought, 
That  when  that  inlant  unto  him  she  brought. 
She  made  him  think  it  surelv  was  his  owne  j 
And  it  in  goodly  thewes  so  well  upbrought. 
That  It  became  a  famous  knight  well  knowne. 
And  did  right  noble  deedes  ;  the  which  elswhere  are 
shovvne. 


But  Calepine,  now  being  left  alone 

Under  the  greenewoods  side  in  sorie  plight, 

Withouten  amies  or  steede  to  ride  upon, 

Or  house  to  hide  his  head  from  heavens  spight  • 

A I  be  that  dame,  by  all  the  meaiies  she  might. 

Him  oft  desired  home  with  her  to  wend. 

And  oflred  him,  his  courtesie  to  requite 

Both  horse  and  amies  and  whatso  else  to  lend. 

Yet  he  them  all  refusd,  though  thankt  her  as  a  frenil  • 


And,  for  exceeding  griefe  which  inly  grew. 
That  he  his  love  so  lucklesse  now  had  lost, 
On  the  cold  ground  maugre  himselfe  he  threw 
For  fell  despight,  to  be  so  sorely  crost ; 
And  there  all  night  himselfe  in  anguish  tost, 
Vowing  that  never  he  in  bed  againe 
His  limbes  would  rest,  iie  lig  in  ease  embost, 
Till  that  his  ladies  sight  he  mote  attaine, 
Or  understand  that  she  in  safetie  did  remaine. 


CANTO  V. 

The  salvage  servos  Serena  well, 
Till  she  Prince  Arthure  fynd  ; 

Who  her,  together  with  his  squyre. 
With  th'  Hermit  leaves  behvnd. 


O  WHAT  an  easie  thing  is  to  descry 
The  gentle  bloud,  however  it  be  wrapt 
In  sad  misfortunes  foule  deformity. 
And  wretched  sorrowes,  which  have  often  hapt ! 
For  howsoever  it  may  grow  mis-shapt. 
Like  this  wyld  man  being  undisciplynd. 
That  to  all  vertue  it  may  seeme  unapt ; 
Vet  will  it  shew  some  sparkes  of  gentle  mynd, 
And  at  the  last   breake   forth  in  his  owne  proper 
kynd. 

II. 

That  plainely  may  in  this  wyld  man  be  red, 

Who.  though  he  were  still  in  this  desert  wood, 

JMongst  salvage  beasts,  both  rudely  borne  and  bred, 

Ne  ever  saw  faire  guize,  ne  learned  good, 

Yet  shewd  some  token  of  his  gentle  blood 

By  gentle  usage  of  that  wivtched  dame  : 

For  certes  he  was  borne  of  noble  blood. 

However  by  hard  hap  he  hether  came  ; 

As  ye  may  know,  when  time  shall  be  to  tell  the  same. 


Who,  whenas  now  long  time  he  lacked  had 

The  good  Sir  Calepine,  that  farre  was  strayd 

Did  wexe  exceeding  sorrowfull  and  sad, 

As  he  of  some  misfortune  were  afrayd  ; 

And,  leaving  there  this  ladie  all  dismayd. 

Went  forth  slreightway  into  the  forrest  wyde 

To  seeke  if  he  perchance  asleep  were  layd. 

Or  whatso  else  were  unto  him  betyde  ;  [spyde. 

1  le  sought  him  farre  and  neare,  yet  liim  no  where  he 


Tho,  backe  returning  to  that  sorie  dame. 

He  shewed  semblant  of  exceeding  mone 

]?y  speaking  signes,  as  he  them  best  could  frame, 

Now  wringing  both  his  wretched  hands  in  one. 

Now  beating  his  hard  head  upon  a  stone, 

That  ruth  it  was  to  see  liim  so  lament  : 

]?y  which  she  well  perceiving  what  was  done, 

Can  teare  her  hayre,  and  all  her  garments  rent. 

And  beat  her  breast,  and  piteously  herselfe  torment. 


Casio  V.] 


THE  FAEHIE  QLEENE. 


30% 


Upon  thp  ground  herselfe  she  fiercely  threw, 
Hej;ar(llesse  of  her  wounds  yet  bleeding  rife, 
That  with  their  bloud  did  all  the  Acre  imbrevv. 
As  if  Iier  breast  new  launcht  with  murdrous  knife 
Would  streight  dislodge  the  wretched  weane  life: 
There  she  long  groveling  and  deepe  groning  laj', 
As  if  her  vital!  powers  were  at  strife 
With  stronger  death,  and  feared  tlw'vc  decay: 
Such  were  this  ladies  pangs  and  dolorous  assay. 


Whom  when  the  salvage  saw  so  sore  distrest, 

He  reared  her  up  from  the  bloudie  ground. 

And  sought,  by  all  the  ineanes  that  he  could  best, 

Her  to  recure  out  of  that  stony  swound, 

And  staunch  the  bleeding  of  her  dre;iry  wound: 

Vet  nould  she  be  recomlorted  for  nought, 

Nor  cease  her  sorrow  and  impatient  stound. 

But  day  and  night  did  \exe  her  carefuU  thought, 

And  ever  more  and  more  her  owne  affliction  wrought. 


At  length,  whenas  no  hope  of  his  retourne 

She  saw  now  left,  she  cast  to  leave  the  ])lace. 

And  wend  abrode,  though  feeble  and  furlurne, 

To  seeke  some  comfort  ni  that  sorie  case  : 

His  steede,  now  strong  throui;h  re^  so  long  a  space 

Well  as  she  could  she  got,  and  did  bedight; 

And  being  theieon  mounted  forth  did  ])ace 

Withouten  guide  her  to  coi.duct  aright. 

Or  guard  her  to  defend  from  bold  oppressors  might. 


Whom  her  host  saw  readie  to  depart. 

He  would  not  sufter  her  alone  to  (are. 

But  gan  himselfe  addresse  to  take  her  part. 

Those  warlike  arrnes,  which  C'alepirie  whvleare 

Had  left  behind,  he  gan  ettsoones  prepare. 

And  ])ut  them  all  about  himself  unfit. 

His  shield,  his  helmet,  and  lus  curats  bare. 

But  without  sword  upon  his  thigh  to  sit; 

Sir  Calepine  himselfe  away  had  hidden  it. 


So  forth  they  traveld  an  uneven  pa\  re, 
'ihal  mote  to  all  men  seeme  an  uncouth  sight; 
A  salvage  man  matcht  with  a  ladie  fayre 
That  rather  seem'd  the  conquest  of  his  might 
Gotten  by  spoyle  then  purchaced  aright: 
But  he  did  her  attend  most  carefully, 
And  faithlully  did  serve  both  day  and  night 
Withouten  thought  of  shame  or  villenv, 
N'e  ever  shewed  signe  of  foule  disloyalty. 


Upon  a  day,  as  on  their  way  they  went. 

It  chaunst  some  furniture  about  her  steed 

To  be  disordred  by  some  accident ; 

Which  to  redresse  she  did  th'  assistance  need 

Of  this  her  groome  ;  which  he  by  signes  did  reede; 

And  streight  his  combious  armes  aside  did  lay 

I  pen  the  ground,  withouten  doubt  or  dreed  ; 

And,  in  his  homely  wize,  begun  to  assay 

T'  amend  Avhat  was  amisse,  and  put  in  right  aiay. 


Bout  which  whilest  he  was  busied  thus  liard, 
Lo  !   where  a  knight,  together  with  his  s(]uire, 
All  arm'd  to  point  came  rydiiig  ihetherward  ; 
Which  seemed,  by  their  poitnnce  and  attire, 
I'o  be  two  errant  knights,  that  did  incjuire 
After  adventures,  where  they  mote  them  get: 
Those  were  to  weet  (if  that  ye  it  require) 
Prince  Arthur  and  young  Timias,  which  met 
By  straunge  occasion,  that  here  needs  forth  be  set. 


After  that  Timias  had  againe  recured 
The  favour  of  Bel]ihebe,  as  ye  heard, 
And  of  her  grace  did  stand  againe  assured. 
To  happie  blisse  he  was  full  high  uprear'd. 
Nether  of  envy  nor  of  chaunge  afeard  : 
Though  many  foes  did  him  maligne  therefore. 
And  with  uniust  detraction  him  did  beard  ; 
Vet  he  himselfe  so  well  and  wisely  bore. 
That  in  her  soveraine  lyking  he  dwelt  evermore. 


But,  of  them  all  which  did  his  ruine  seeke. 
Three  mightie  enemies  did  him  most  aespight, 
Three  mightie  ones,  and  cruell  minded  eeke, 
That  him  not  oiiely  souj;ht  by  ojien  might 
To  overthrow,  but  to  supplant  by  slight: 
'i  he  first  of  them  by  name  was  cald  Despetto, 
Exceeding  all  the  rest  in  powre  and  bight; 
The  second,  not  so  strong  but  wise,  Decetto ; 
The  third,  nor  strong   nor  wise  but    spightfuilest, 
Defetto. 


Oftimes  their  sundry  powres  they  did  employ, 
And  several  dtceipts,  but  nil  in  vaine  ; 
For  neither  they  by  force  could  him  destroy, 
Ne  vet  entrap  in  treasons  subiill  tniiiie: 
Therefore,  conspiring  all  together  plaine, 
They  did  their  counsels  liow  in  one  compound 
Where  singled  forces  faile,  conioynd  may  game. 
The  blatant  beast  the  fittest  ineanes  they  found 
To  worke  his  utter  shame,  and  throughly  him  coa- 
found. 


Upon  a  day,  as  they  the  time  did  waite 
When  he  did  raunge  the  wood  for  salvaj;e  game, 
I  hev  sent  that  blatant  beast  to  be  a  baite 
To  draw  him  from  his  deare  beloved  dame 
Unwares  into  the  daunger  of  defame  : 
For  well  they  wist  that  s(iuire  to  be  so  bold, 
1  hat  no  one  beast  in  torrest  wylde  or  tame 
Met  him  in  chase,  but  he  it  challenge  would, 
And  plucke  the  pray  oltiines   out   of  their  greedy 
bould. 


The  hardy  boy,  as  they  devised  had. 

Seeing  the  ugly  m.onster  passing  by. 

Upon  him  set,  of  peiiil  nought  adiad, 

Ne  skilfuU  of  the  uncouth  leupardy  ; 

And  charged  him  so  tierce  and  luriously. 

That,  his  great  force  unable  to  endure. 

He  forced  was  to  turne  from  h.m  and  fly  : 

Vet,  ere  he  fled,  be  with  liis  tooth  impure 

Him  heedlesse  bit,  the  whiles  he  was  thereof  secur 


310 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[Book  VI. 


Securely  he  did  after  liim  piirsew, 

Thiiikiiij;  by  sjieed  to  overtake  liis  flight  ;        [drew, 

A\  l)o  tlirou^h  tliicke  woods  and  brakes  and  briers  him 

'I'o  wearv  him  the  more  and  waste  his  spis^ht, 

So  that  ho  now  lias  almost  S|)eiit  his  spright ; 

lill  that  at  length  unto  a  woody  glade 

i\n  came,  whose  covert  stojit  his  further  sight ; 

'I'here  his  three  foes  shrowded  in  guileful!  shade 

Out  of  their  ambush  broke,  and  gan  him  to  invade. 


Sharpely  they  all  attonce  did  him  assaile, 

Burning  with  inward  rancour  and  despight, 

And  heaped  strokes  did  round  about  him  haile 

With  so  huge  force,  that  seemed  nothing  might 

JJeare  off  their  blowes  from  piercing  thorough  quite  : 

Yet  he  them  all  so  warily  did  ward. 

That  none  of  them  in  his  sort  flesh  did  bite  ; 

And  all  the  while  his  backe  for  best  safegard 

He  lent  against  a  tree,  that  backeward  onset  bard. 


Like  a  wylde  bull,  that,  being  at  a  bay, 

Is  bayted  of  a  mastifie  and  a  hound 

And  a  curre-dog,  that  doe  him  sharpe  assay 

On  every  side,  and  heat  about  him  round  ; 

!!ut  most  that  curre,  barking  with  bitter  sownd. 

And  creeping  still  behinde,  doth  him  incoinber, 

1'hat  in  his  chaufi'e  he  digs  the  trampled  ground. 

And  threats  his  horns,  and  hellowes  like  the  thonder: 

So  did  that  squire  his  foes  disperse  and  drive  asonder. 


Him  well  behoved  so  ;  for  his  three  foes 
Sought  to  encompasse  him  on  every  side, 
And  dangerously  did  round  about  enclose  : 
But,  most  of  all,  Defetto  him  annoyde. 
Creeping  behinde  him  still  to  have  destroyde  ; 
So  did  Decetto  eke  him  circumvent; 
But  bloui  J^espetto  in  his  greater  pryde 
]Jid  front  him,  face  to  face  against  him  bent : 
Yet  he  them  all  withstood,  and  often  made  relent. 


Till  that  at  length  nigh  tvrd  with  former  chace, 
And  weary  now  with  carefull  keeping  ward, 
lie  iinn  to  shrinke  and  somewhat  to  give  place, 
Eull  like  ere  long  to  have  i'>ca])ed  hard  ; 
\Vheiias  un wares  he  in  the  forrest  heard 
A  trampling  steede,  that  with  his  neighing  fast 
Did  warne  his  rider  be  uppon  his  gaid  ; 
With  noise  whereof  the  squire,  now  nigh  aghast 
Revived  was,  and  sad  disjiaire  away  did  cast. 


Eftsoones  he  spide  a  knight  approching  nye  j 

Who,  seeing  one  in  so  great  daunger  set 

Mongst  many  foes,  himselt  (lid  laster  liye 

To  reskue  iiim,  and  his  weake  jiartabet. 

For  ])itty  so  to  s(  e  him  overset  : 

^^'llOln  soone  as  his  three  enemies  did  vew. 

They  flfd,  and  fast  into  the  wood  did  get  : 

Him  booted  not  to  thinke  them  to  pursew  ; 

The  covert  was  so  thicke,  that  ilid  no  passage  shew. 


Then,  turning  to  that  swaine,  liim  well  he  knew 
To  be  his  limias,  his  owiie  true  sipiire  ; 
Whereof  exceedin;;  glad,  he  to  him  drew, 
And,  him  embracing  twixt  his  amies  entire,  ' 
Him  thus  bes]iake  ;  "  i\ly  liefe,  my  lifes  desire. 
Why  have  ye  me  alone  thus  long  ylefl  i 
'Jell  me  what  world's  despighl,  or  heavens  yre. 
Hath  you  thus  long  away  from  me  bereft  ? 
Where  have  ye  all  this  while   bin  wandriug,  where 
bene  weit  V 


With  that  he  sighed  <leepe  for  inward  tyne  : 
To  whom  the  squire  nought  aunswered  againe, 
]5u(,  shedding  few  solt  teares  from  tender  eyne. 
His  dear  aft'ect  with  silence  did  restniine. 
And  shut  up  all  his  plaint  in  privy  paine. 
J  here  they  awhile  some  gracious  speeches  spent. 
As  to  tliem  seem'd  fit  time  to  entenaine: 
After  all  which  u])  to  their  steedes  they  went. 
And  forth  togethei'  rode,  a  comely  couplement. 


So  now  they  be  arrived  both  in  sight 
Of  this  wvld  man,  whom  they  full  biisie  found 
About  the  sad  Serena  things  to  dight, 
\\  ith  those  brave  an«ours  lying  on  ihe  ground, 
'Jliat  seem'd  the  spoile  of  some  right  well  renownd. 
Which  when  that  scjuire  beheld,  he  to  them  stept 
Th  nking  to  take  them  from  that  hylding  hound; 
J5ut  he  it  seeing  lightly  to  him  lept, 
And  sternely  with  strong  hand  it  from  his  handling 
kept. 


Gnashing  his  grinded  teeth  with  griesly  looke, 

And  sparkling  fire  out  of  his  furious  eyne. 

Him  with  his  fist  unwares  on  th'  head  he  strooke. 

That  made  him  downe  unto  the  earth  encline  ; 

Whence  soone  ui>starting,  much  he  gan  repine, 

And  laying  hand  upi)oii  his  wrathfull  blade 

Thought  therevvithail  forthwith  him  to  have  slaine  ; 

Who  it  perceiving  hand  upon  him  layd. 

And  greedily  him  griping  his  avengement  stayd. 

XXVII. 

With  that  aloude  the  faire  Serena  cryde 

Ihito  the  kniglit,  tliein  to  «lis{iart  in  twaine  : 

Who  to  them  step])iiig  did  them  soone  divide. 

And  did  from  furtiicr  violence  rcstraine. 

Alhe  the  wyld  man  hardly  would  rel'raine. 

1  hen  gan  the  prince  of  her  for  to  demand 

\\  hat  and  from  whence  she  was;   and  by  what  trains 

She  fell  into  that  salvage  villaines  hand  ; 

And  whether  free  with  liiin  she  now  were,  or  in  band. 


To  whom  she  thus  ;  "  I  am,  as  now  ve  see, 

'J'he  wretchedst  dame  that  lives  tliis  day  on   ground, 

V\  ho  both  in  minde  (the  which  most  gricvelh  me) 

And  body  have  receiv'd  a  mortall  wound, 

i'hat  hath  me  driven  to  this  drei  y  stoiiml. 

I  was  erewhili^  the  love  of  ('ale|iine  ; 

\\  ho  whether  he  alive  be  to  he  found. 

Or  by  some  deadlv  chaunce  he  done  to  pine, 

Since  J  him  lately  lost,  uneath  is  to  define. 


Canto  V.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


31 


"  In  salvage  forrest  I  him  lost  of  late, 
Where  1  had  surely  long  ere  this  hene  dead, 
Or  else  remained  in  most  wretched  state. 
Had  not  this  wylde  man  in  that  wofull  stead 
Kept  and  delivered  me  from  deadly  dread. 
Ir  such  a  salvage  wight,  ot  brutish  kynd, 
Amongst  wilde  beastes  in  desert  forrests  bred, 
It  is  most  straunge  ami  woiideriul  to  fynd 
So  milde  humanity  and  perfect  gentle  mynd. 


•'  Let  me  therefore  this  favour  for  him  finde, 
'i'hat  ye  will  not  your  wrath  upon  h.m  wreake, 
8ith  he  cannot  expresse  his  simjile  mmde, 
Ne  yours  conceive,  ne  but  by  tokens  speake: 
Small    praise    to  prove    your  powre  on  wight  so 

weake  !" 
With  such  faire  words  she  did  their  hea!e  asswage, 
\nd  the  strong  course  of  their  disj)leasure  breake, 
I'hat  they  to  pitty  turnd  their  former  rage, 
iud  each  sought  to  supply  the  othce  of  her  page. 

XXXI. 

^o,  having  all  things  well  about  her  dight. 
She  on  her  way  cast  forward  to  jiroceede  ; 
And  they  her  forth  conducted,  where  they  might 
Finde  harbour  fit  to  comfort  her  great  neede  : 
For  now  her  wounds  corruption  gan  to  breed  : 
And  eke  this  squire,  who  likewise  wounded  was 
Of  that  same  monster  late,  for  lacke  of  heed 
Now  gan  to  faint,  and  further  could  not  pas 
Through  feeblenesse,  which  all  his  limbes  oppressed 
Las. 


So  forth  they  rode  together  all  in  troupe 

To  seeke  some  place,  the  which  mote  yeeld  someease 

To  these  sicke  tviaine  that  now  began  to  droupe: 

And  all  the  way  the  j)rince  sought  to  appease 

The  bitter  anguish  of  their  sharpe  disease 

By  all  the  courteous  meanes  he  could  invent ; 

Somewhile  with  merry  purpose,  fit  to  please. 

And  otherwhile  with  good  encouragement. 

To  make  them  to  endure  the  pains  did  them  torment. 


Mongst  which,  Serena  did  to  him  relate 

The  foule  discourt'sies  and  imknightly  parts. 

Which  Turpine  had  unto  her  shewed  hite 

Without  compassion  of  her  cruell  smarts  : 

Although  Blandina  did  with  all  her  arts 

Him  otherwise  perswade  all  that  she  might, 

Yet  he  of  malice,  without  her  desarts, 

Xot  onely  her  excluded  late  at  night. 

But  also  trayterously  did  wound  her  weary  knight. 


Wherewith  the  prince  sore  moved  there  avoud 

That,  soone  as  he  returned  backe  aguine, 

He  would  avenge  th' abuses  of  that  ])roud 

And  shameful  knight,  of  whom  she  did  complaine. 

This  wize  did  they  each  other  entertaine 

To  passe  the  tedious  travell  of  the  way  : 

1'ill  towards  night  they  came  unto  a  plaine. 

By  which  a  little  hermitage  there  lav. 

Far  from  all  neighbourhood,  the  whicn  aunov  it  niav. 


And  nigh  thereto  a  little  chappel  stoode. 
Which  being  all  with  yvy  overspred 
Deckt  all  the  roofe,  and,  shadowing  the  roode, 
Seem'd  like  a  grove  faire  braunched  over  hed: 
Therein  the  hermite,  which  his  life  here  led 
In  streight  observaunce  of  religious  vow, 
Was  wont  his  howres  ami  holy  things  to  bed  , 
And  therein  he  likewise  was  f)raying  now, 
Whenas  these  knights  arrived,  they  wist  not  where 
nor  how. 


They  stayd  not  there,  but  streightwav  in  did  p;is: 
Whom  when  the  hermite  present  saw  in  place. 
From  his  devotion  s^treight  he  troubled  was  ; 
Which  breaking  oft"  he  toward  theij  did  pace 
\\  ith  staved  steps  and  grave  beseeming  grace  : 
For  well  it  seem'd  that  whilome  he  had  beene 
Some  goodly  person,  and  of  gentle  rac. 
That  could  his  good  to  all;  and  well  did  weene 
How  each  to  entertaine  with  curt'sie  well  beseene ; 


XXXVII. 

And  soothly  it  was  savd  by  common  fame, 
So  long  as  age  enabled  him  thereto, 
That  he  had  bene  a  man  of  mickle  name, 
Renowmed  much  in  amies  and  derring  doe  : 
But  being  aged  now,  and  weary  to 
Of  vv-arres  delight  and  worlds  contentious  toyle, 
The  name  of  knighthood  he  did  disavow  ; 
And,  hanging  up  his  armes  and  warlike  spoyle. 
From    all    this   worlds     incombrance     did    himselfe 
assoyle. 

XXXVIII. 

He  thence  them  led  into  his  hermitage. 
Letting  their  steedes  to  graze  njion  the  greene 
Small  was  his  house,  and,  like  a  little  cage. 
For  his  owne  turne;  yet  inly  neate  and  clene, 
Deckt  with  greene  boughes  and  flowers  gay  beseene  • 
'I  herein  he  them  full  fare  did  entertaine 
Not  with  such  forged  showes,  as  fitter  beene 
F(ir  courting  fooles  that  curtesies  would  faine 
But  with  entire  affection  and  appearaunce  plaiiie. 

XXXIX, 

Yet  was  their  fare  but  homely,  such  as  hee 
Did  use  his  feeble  body  to  sustaine  ; 
The  which  full  gladly  they  did  take  in  glee. 
Such  as  it  was,  ne  did  of  want  complaine. 
But,  bjing  well  sutfiz'd,  them  rested  faine: 
But  fair  Serene  all  night  cuuld  take  no  rest, 
Ne  yet  that  gentle  squire,  for  grievous  paine 
Of  their  late  woundes,  the  which  the  blatant  beast 
Had  given  them,  whose  griefe  through  suffraunce 
sore  incieast. 


So  all  that  night  they  past  in  great  disease, 
Till  that  the  morning,  bringing  earely  light 
To  guide  mens  labours,  brought  them  also  ease, 
And  some  asswagement  of  their  painefuU  plight. 
Then  up  they  rose,  and  gan  themselves  to  dight 
Unto  their  iournev  ;  but  that  squire  and  dame 
So  faint  and  feeble  were,  that  they  ne  might 
I    Endure  to  travel!,  nor  one  foote  to  frame: 
1    Their  hearts  were  sicke;  their  sides  were  sore;  their 
'  feete  were  lame. 


312 


THE  FAERIE  gUEENE. 


[Book  VI 


Therefore  the  prince,  wliom  oreat  affaires  in  mynd 
Would  not  permit  to  make  there  leng-er  stay, 
Was  forced  there  to  leave  them  both  behynd 
In  that  good  hermits  charge,  whom  he  did  pray 
To  tend  them  well :   So  forth  he  went  his  way, 
And  with  him  eke  the  salvage  (that  whyleare 
Seeing-  his  royal  usage  and  array 
Was  greatly  growne  in  love  of  that  brave  pere) 
Would  needes  depart ;  as  shall  declared  be  elsewhere. 


CANTO  VI. 

The  hermite  lieales  both  squire  and  dame 

Of  their  sore  maladies  : 
He  Turpine  doth  defeale  and  shame 

for  his  late  villanies. 


No  wound,  wliich  warlike  hand  of  enemy 

Inflicts  with  dint  cf  sword,  so  sore  doth  light 

As  doth  the  poysnous  sting,  which  infamy 

Infixeth  in  the  name  of  noble  wight : 

For,  by  no  art  nor  any  leaches  might, 

It  ever  can  recnred  be  againe  ; 

Ne  all  tile  skill,  which  that  immortall  spright 

Of  Fodalyrius  did  in  it  retaine. 

Can  remedy  such  hurts;  such  liurts  are  hellish  paine. 


Such  were  the  wounds  the  which  that  blatant  beast 
Made  in  the  bodies  of  that  squire  and  dame  ; 
And,  being  such,  were  now  much  more  increast 
For  want  of  taking  heede  unto  the  same, 
That  now  corrupt  and  curelesse  they  became  : 
Howbe  that  carefull  hermite  did  his  best. 
With  many  kindes  of  medicines  meete,  to  tame 
The  poysnous  humour  which  did  most  infest 
Their   ranckliiig  wounds,  and  every  day  them  duely 
drest. 


For  he  right  well  in  leaches  craft  was  seene  ; 
And,  through  the  long  experience  of  his  dayes, 
Wliich  had  in  many  fortunes  tossed  beeiie 
And  past  through  many  perillous  assayes. 
Ho  knew  the  diverse  went  of  mortall  wayes. 
And  in  the  miiides  of  men  had  great  insiglit  ; 
Wliicli  with  sage  counsell,  when  they  wt-nt  astray, 
Me  could  enfornie,  and  them  reduce  aright ; 
And  all  the  jtussions  heale,  which  wound  the  weaker 
spright. 

IV. 

For  whylome  he  liad  bene  a  doughty  knight. 

As  any  one  that  lived  in  his  daies. 

And  ])roved  oft  in  many  perillous  f.ght. 

In  which  he  grace  and  gh'ry  woniie  ahvaies. 

And  in  all  battels  bore  away  the  bales  : 

iJut  being  now  attacht  ^vith  timely  age. 

And  weary  of  this  worlds  uncjuiet  waies, 

He  tooke  liiiiiselfH  unto  tiiis  hermitage, 

'u  which  he  liv'd  alone,  like  carelesse  bird  in  cage. 


One  day,  as  he  was  searching  of  their  woaiid 
He  found  that  they  had  festred  privily ; 
And,  ranckling  inward  with  unruly  stounds. 
The  inner  parts  now  gau  to  putrify, 
That  quite  they  seem'd  past  helpe  of  surgery; 
And  rather  needed  to  be  disciplinde 
^Vitll  holesoine  reede  of  sad  sobriety, 
To  rule  the  stubborne  rage  of  passion  blindo  : 
Give  salve  to  every  sore,  but  coiuaeii  to  the  iniiule. 


So,  taking  them  apart  into  his  cell, 

He  to  that  point  fit  speaches  gan  to  frame, 

As  he  the  art  of  words  knew  wondrous  well. 

And  eke  could  doe  as  well  as  say  the  same  ; 

And  thus  he  to  them  sayd ;  "  Faire  daughter  dame. 

And  you,  faire  sonne,  which  here  thus  long  now  lie 

In  piteous  languor  since  ye  hither  came  ; 

In  value  of  me  ye  hope  for  remedie. 

And  I  likewise  in  vaine  doe  salves  to  you  applie  • 


"  For  in  yourselfe  your  onely  helpe  doth  lie 
To  heale  yourselve-;,  and  must  proceed  alone 
From  your  owne  will  to  cure  your  maladie. 
Who  can  him  cure  that  will  be  cur'd  of  none  ? 
If  therefore  health  ye  seeke,  observe  this  one  : 
First  Icarne  your  outward  senses  to  refraine 
IVom  tilings  that  stirre  up  fraile  affection  ; 
Your  eies,  your  eares,  your  tongue,  your  talk  restraine 
From  that  they  most  affect,  and  in  due  tennes  con- 
taine. 


"  For  from  those  outward  sences,  ill  affected, 
The  seede  of  all  this  evill  first  doth  spring, 
Which  at  the  lirst,  before  it  had  infected, 
i\loie  easio  be  supprest  with  little  thing  : 
R'lt,  being  growen  strong,  it  forth  doth  bring 
Sornj'.v,  ami  anguish,  and  impatient  paine, 
Ii.  tir  inner  jiarts  ;  and  lastly,  scattering 
Contagio..s  ])oyson  close  through  every  vaine. 
It  never  rests  till  it  have  wrought  his  fiiiall  bone. 


Caxto  VI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


313 


"  For  that  beastes  teeth,  which  wounded  you  tofore, 

Are  so  exceeding'  venemous  and  keene, 

Made  all  of  rusty  vron  rantkling-  sore, 

'i'liat,  where  they  bite,  it  bootetii  not  to  weene 

AVitli  salve,  or  antidote,  or  other  niene, 

It  ever  to  amend  :  ne  marvaile  oui^ht ; 

For  that  same  beast  was  bred  of  hellisli  strene. 

And  long  in  darksome  stygian  den  uiibronght. 

Begot  ot"  foule  Echidna,  as  in  bookes  is  taught. 


''  Echidna  is  a  monster  direfull  dred. 
Whom  guds  doe  hate,  and  heavens  abhor  to  see ; 
So  Indeous  is  her  shape,  so  huge  her  lied. 
That  even  the  hellish  fiends  aftVighted  bee 
At  sight  thereof,  and  from  her  presence  flee  : 
Yet  did  her  face  and  former  parts  professe 
A  faire  young  mayden,  full  of  comely  glee; 
But  all  her  hinJer  parts  did  plaine  expresse 
A  monstrous  dragon,  full  of  fearful!  uglinesse. 


"To  her  the  £:ods,  for  her  so  dreadfull  face, 
In  fearefull  darknesse,  furthest  from  the  skie 
And  from  the  earth,  appointed  have  her  place 
Wongst  rocks  and  caves-  where  she  enrold  doth  lie 
In  hideous  horrour  and  obscuritv, 
W^astiiig  the  strength  of  her  immortall  age  : 
1  here  did  Tvphaon  with  her  company  ; 
Cruel!  J'vphaon,  whose  tempestuous  rage 
INIakes  th'  heavens  tremble  oft,  and  him  with  vowes 
asswage. 

XII. 

"  Of  that  commixtion  they  did  then  beget 

This  hellish  dog.  that  hight  the  blatant  bea~t ; 

A  wicked  monster,  that  his  tongue  doth  whet 

Gainst  all,  both  good  and  bad,  both  most  and  least. 

And  ])ours  his  jioysnous  gal!  tbrth  to  infest 

The  noblest  wights  with  notable  defame  : 

Ne  ever  knight  that  bore  so  lofty  creast, 

Ne  ever  lady  of  so  honest  name. 

But  he  them  spotted  with  reproch,  or  secrete  shame. 


"  In  vaine  tlierefore  it  were  with  medicine 

To  goe  about  to  salve  such  kind  of  sore. 

That  rather  needes  wise  read  and  discipline 

'I'hen  outward  salves  that  may  augment  it  more." 

"  Aye  me!"  savd  then  Serena,  sighing  sore, 

"  Wliat  hope  of  lielpe  dotli  then  for  us  remaine, 

If  that  no  salves  may  us  to  health  restore  !" 

"  liut  sith  we  need  good  counsell,"  sayd  the  swaine, 

"Aread,  good  sire,  some  counsell  thatmay  us  sustaine." 


"  The  best,"  sayd  he,  "  that  I  can  you  advize, 

Is,  to  avoide  th'  occasion  of  the  ill  : 

For  wlien  the  cause,  wlienc  evil!  doth  arize, 

Kenidved  is,  th'  effect  surceasetli  still. 

Abstaiiie  from  pleasure,  and  restraine  your  will  j 

Subdue  desire,  and  bridle  loose  delight; 

Use  scanted  diet,  and  forbeare  your  till ; 

Shun  secresie,  and  taike  in  open  sight: 

So  shall  you  soone  repaireyour  present  evill  ])li"ht  " 


Thus  having  sayd,  his  sickely  patients 
Did  gladly  hearken  to  his  grave  beheast. 
And  kept  so  well  liis  wise  commaundiiments. 
That  in  short  space  their  malady  was  ceast. 
And  eke  the  biting  of  that  harmeful!  beast 
Was  througlily  heal'd.     Tho  when  they  did  perceive 
Their  v^'ounds  recur'd,  and  forces  reincreast. 
Of  that  good  hermite  botli  they  tooke  their  leave, 
And  went  both  on  their  way,  ne  ech  would  oihtt 
leave : 


But  each  the  other  vow'd  t'accompany  : 

The  lady,  for  that  she  was  much  in  dred. 

Now  left  alons  in  g'reat  extremity  ; 

The  squire,  for  tliat  he  courteous  was  indeed. 

Would  not  her  leave  alone  in  her  great  netd. 

So  both  together  traveld,  till  they  met 

With  a  faire  mayden  clad  in  mourning  weed. 

Upon  a  mangy  iade  unnif-etely  set, 

And  a  lewd  foole  her  leading  thorough  dry  and  wet. 


But  by  what  meanes  that  shame  to  her  befell. 
And  how  thereof  herselfe  she  did  acquite, 
1  must  a  while  furbeare  to  you  to  tell  ; 
Till  that,  as  comes  l)y  course,  I  doe  recite 
\\  liat  fortune  to  the  Briton  prince  did  lite. 
Pursuing  that  proud  knight,  the  which  whileare 
Wrouglit  to  Sir  Cale[)ine  so  foule  desjiight; 
And  eke  his  lady,  tliough  she  sickly  were. 
So  lewdly  had  abusde,  as  ye  did  lately  heare. 


The  prince,  according  to  the  former  token, 
\\  Inch  fai-e  Serena  to  him  delivered  had, 
Purt.u'd  'jim  streight ;  in  mynd  to  bene  ywroken 
Of  all  the  vile  deineane  ancLusage  bad, 
With  wliich  he  had  those  two  so  ill  hestad  : 
Ne  wight  with  him  on  that  a<lventure  went. 
But  that  wylde  man  ;  whom  though  he  oft  forbad, 
Yet  for  no  bidding,  nor  for  being  shent, 
Would  he  restrained  be  from  his  attendemeut. 


Arriving  there,  as  did  by  chaunce  befall. 
He  found  the  gate  wyde  ope,  an' I  in  he  rode, 
Ne  stayd,  til!  that  he  came  into  the  hall  ; 
Where  soft  dismounting,  like  a  weary  lode, 
Upon  the  ground  with  feeble  feete  he  trode, 
As  he  unable  were  for  very  neede 
To  move  one  foote,  but  there  must  make  abode; 
The  whyles  the  salvage  man  did  take  his  steede 
And  in  some  stable  neare  did  set  him  uj)  to  feed  ' 


Ere  long  to  him  a  homely  groome  there  came. 
That  ill  rude  wise  him  asked  what  he  was. 
That  durst  so  boldly,  without  let  or  shame 
Into  his  lords  forbidden  hall  to  j)asse  : 
To  whom  the  prince,  him  fayning  to  erabase, 
IMylde  answer  made,  he  was  an  errant  knight. 
The  wliicli  was  fall'n  into  this  feeble  case 
Ihr.iugh  many  wounds,  which  lately  he  in  tight 
lleceived  had,  and  prayd  to  pitty  his  ill  plight. 


514 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Boon  VJ 


Rut  lie,  tlie  more  oiitrngeous  and  bold 

Sternelv  (lid  bid  bim  qiiiekelv  thence  avaiint, 

Or  deiire  iibv  ;  for  why  1  bis  lord  of  old 

Dill  li-.ife  all  errant  knights  \vbich  there  did  haunt, 

JVe  lodj^iiit;-  would  to  any  of  them  nraunt  ; 

And  therefore  lightly  bad  bim  packs  away, 

N^it  sjiaring  him  with  bitter  words  to  taunt ; 

And  tiierewitball  rude  band  on  bim  did  lay, 

To  thrust  him  out  of  dore  doing  bis  worst  assay. 


\\  liicb  when  the  salvage  comming  now  in  place 

lieheld,  eftsoones  he  all  enraged  grew. 

And,  running  streight  upon  that  villaine  base. 

Like  a  fell  lion  at  lum  fiercely  Hew, 

And  with  his  teeth  ai.d  nailes,  in  present  vew, 

llim  rudely  rent  and  all  to  peeces  tore  ; 

So  miserably  bim  all  belpelesse  slew, 

'J'hat  with  the  noise,  whilest  be  did  loudly  rore, 

The  people  of  the  house  rose  forth  in  great  uprore. 


Who  when  on  ground  thev  saw  their  fellow  slaine. 

And  that  same  knight  and  salvage  standing  bv, 

I'jion  them  two  they  fell  w!tb  might  and  maine 

And  on  them  lavd  so  huue  and  horribly, 

As  if  they  would  have  sbune  them  presently  : 

15ut  the  bold  ]irince  defended  bim  so  well, 

And  their  assault  withstood  so  mightily, 

'I'hat,  niaugre  all  their  might,  he  did  repell  [fell. 

And  beat  them  back,  whilst  many  underneath  him 


Vet  he  thetn  still  so  sharpely  did  pursew. 
That  few  of  them  be  left  alive,  which  fled, 
Those  evill  tidings  to  their  lord  to  shew  : 
Wlio,  bearing  how  bis  people  badly  sjied, 
Came  forth  in  bast ;  where  whenas  with  the  dead 
fie  saw  the  ground  all  strow'd,  and  that  same  knight 
And  salvage  with  their  bloud  fresh  steeming  red. 
He  woxe  nigh  mad  with  wrath  and  fell  despigbt. 
And  with  reproachful!  words  bim  thus  bespake  on 
bight  ; 


"  Art  thou  be,  traytor,  that  with  treason  vile 

Hast  slaine  my  men  in  this  unmanly  maner, 

And  now  trium]ilii'st  in  the  jiiteous  spoile 

Of  these  ](()ore  f  ilk,  whose  soules  with  black  dishonji 

And  foule  defame  doe  decke  thy  bloudy  baner? 

The  meede  whereof  .shall  shortly  be  thy  shame. 

And  wretched  end  which  still  attendeth  on  her." 

A\  iib  that  hiniselfe  to  battell  he  did  frame; 

So  did  his  forty  yeomen,  which  there  with  bim  came. 


Willi  dreadfull  force  they  all  did  bim  assaile, 
And  round  about  with  bovstrous  strokes  0])presse, 
'I  hat  on  his  shield  did  rattle  like  to  haile 
In  a  ereat  tempest ;  that  in  such  disiresse 
Jle  wist  not  to  whidi  side  him  to  aildresse: 
And  evermore  that  craven  cowherd  knight 
\\  as  at  bis  backe  with  beartlesse  beedinesse, 
Wayting  if  be  unwares  biin  murtiier  might : 
Eor  cowardize  doth  still  ia  villany  delight. 


Whereof  whenas  the  prince  was  well  aware. 

He  to  him  turnd  with  furious  intent, 

And  bim  against  his  powre  gan  to  prepare  ; 

Like  a  fierce  bull,  that  being  husie  bent 

To  fight  with  many  foes  about  him  inent, 

Feeling  some  ciirre  behinde  bis  heeles  to  bite, 

Turtles  bim  about  with  fell  avengiiment  : 

So  likewise  turnde  the  prince  upon  the  kiiigbt. 

And  layd  at  him  ainaine  with  all  bis  will  and  mighU 

XXVIII. 

Who,  when  be  once  bis  dreadfull  strokes  bad  tasted, 

Durst  not  the  furie  of  his  force  abvde. 

But  turn'd  abacke,  and  to  retyre  him  basted    [    '  de  • 

Through   the   thick  ])rease,  there    thinking    him  ta 

But,  when  the  jirince  had  once  him  plainely  eyde. 

He  foot  by  foot  him  followed  alway, 

Ne  would  bim  suffer  once  to  sbrinke  asyde  ; 

15ut,  ioyning  close,  huge  lode  at  bim  did  lay  ; 

Who  flying  still  did  ward,  and  warding  fly  away. 


But,  when  bis  foe  he  still  so  eger  saw. 

Unto  bis  heeles  bimselfe  be  did  betake, 

Ho])ing'  unto  some  refuge  to  withdraw  : 

Ne  would  the  prince  bim  ever  foot  forsake 

Whereso  he  went,  but  after  llim  did  make. 

He  fled  from  roome  to  roome,  from  place  to  place, 

Wbylest  every  ioynt  for  dread  of  death  did  ipiake. 

Still  looking  after  him  that  did  bim  chase; 

I'liat  made  bim  evermore  increase  his  speedie  pace. 


!    At  last  he  up  into  the  chamber  came 
!    Whereas  his  love  was  sitting  all  alone, 
Wayting  what  tydings  of  her  folke  became. 
'J'liere  did  the  prince  bim  overtake  anone 
Crying  in  vaine  to  her  bim  to  bemone  ; 
And  with  bis  sword  him  on  the  bead  did  smyte, 
1  bat  to  the  ground  he  fell  in  senselesse  swone  : 
Vet,  whether  thwart  or  flatly  it  did  lyte. 
The  tempred  Steele  did  not  into  bis  braynepan  byte. 


Which  when  the  ladie  saw,  with  great  affright 

She  starting  up  began  to  shrieke  aloud  ; 

And,  with  her  garment  covering  him  from  sight, 

Seem'd  under  her  protection  bim  to  shrond  ; 

And,  falling  lowly  at  bis  feet,  her  bowd 

Upon  her  knee,  intreating  him  for  grace. 

And  often  him  besought,  and  prayd,  and  vowd  ; 

'J'hat,  with  the  ruth  of  her  so  wretched  case, 

He  stayd  bis  second  strooke  and  did  his  band  abase. 


Her  weed  she  then  withdrawing  did  bim  discover  ; 
Who  now  come  to  bimselfe  yet  would  not  rize, 
lUit  still  (lid  lie  as  dead,  and  (piake.  and  quiver. 
'J'hat  even  the  prince  bis  baseness  did  desnize  . 
And  eke  bis  dame,  bim  seeing  in  such  gnize, 
(Jan  bim  recoinfort  and  from  ground  to  rearo  : 
Who  rising  up  at  last  in  ghastly  a\  ize. 
Like  troubled  ghost,  did  dreadfully  appeare. 
As  one  that  had  no  life  him  left  thiough  former  feaf 


C.Nio  VL] 


ItiL  tAtAUE  QUEENE. 


315 


Whom  when  the  prince  so  deadly  saw  dismayd, 
lie  for  .sucli  biisenesse  shamefully  him  shent, 
And  with  sharpe  words  did  bitterlv  u]ibniyd  ; 
"  Vile  cowheard  dogue,  now  doe  1  much  repent, 
That  ever  1  this  life  unto  thee  lent, 
Whereof  thou  cavtive  so  unworthie  art, 
That  both  thy  love,  for  lacke  of  hardinjent, 
And  eke  thvselfe  for  want  of  manly  hart, 
And  eke  all  knights  hast  shamed  with  this  knightlesse 
part. 

XXXIV. 

"  Yet  further  hast  thou  heaped  shame  to  shame, 
And  crime  to  crime,  by  tliis  thv  cowheard  feare  : 
For  first  it  wrs  to  thee  reproclifull  blame, 
T'  erect  this  wicked  custome,  which  1  heare 
Gainst  errant  knights  and  ladies  thou  dost  reare  ; 
Whom  when  thou  mayst  thou  dost  of  arms  despoile, 
Or  of  their  upper  garment  which  they  weare : 
Yet  doest  thou  not  with  manhood,  but  with  i;uile, 
Maintaiae  this  evil  use,  thy  foes  thereby  to  foile. 


"  And  lastly,  in  approvance  of  thy  wrong, 
To  shew  such  faintnesse  and  foule  cowardize 
Is  greatest  shame  ;  for  oft  it  falles,  that  strong 
And  valiant  knights  doe  rashly  enterprize 
Either  for  fame,  or  else  for  exercize, 
A  wrongfull  quarrell  to  maintaine  by  fight ; 
Yet  have  through  prowesse  and  their  brave  emprize 
Gotten  great  worship  in  this  worldes  sight: 
For  greater  force  there  needs  to  maintaine  wrong  then 
right. 

XXXVI. 

"  Yet  since  thy  life  unto  this  ladie  fayre 
I  given  have,  live  in  rejiroch  and  scorne  ! 
Ne  ever  armes  ne  ever  knit;hthood  dare 
Hence  to  professe  ;  for  shame  is  to  adorne 
With  so  brave  badges  one  so  basely  borne ; 
But  onely  breath,  sith  that  1  did  forgive !" 
So  having  from  his  craven  bodie  torne 
Those  goodly  armes,  he  them  away  did  give. 
And  onely  suifred  him  this  wretched  life  to  live. 


There  whilest  he  thus  was  setling  things  above, 
Atweae  tiiat  ladie  myld  and  recreant  knight, 
To  whom  his  life  he  graunled  for  her  love. 
He  gan  bethinlce  him  in  what  perilous  jdight 
He  had  behynd  him  left  that  salvage  wight 
Amongst  so  many  foes,  whom  sure  he  thought 
By  this  quite  slaine  in  so  unequall  figh' : 
1  h^refore  descending  backe  in  haste  he  sought 
If  yet  he  were  alive,  or  to  destruction  brought. 


XXXVIII. 

There  he  him  found  environed  about 
With  slaughtred  bodies,  wjjiih  bis  liand  Iiad  slaine; 
And  laying  yet  afresh  with  courage  stout 
Upon  the  rest  that  did  alive  remaine  ; 
Whom  he  likewise  right  sorely  did  constraine. 
Like  scattred  sheepe  to  seeke  for  safetie. 
After  he  gotten  had  with  busie  paine 
Some  of  their  weapons  which  thereby  did  lie, 
With  \\  hich  he  layd  about,  and  made  them  fast  to 
flie. 


Whom  when  the  ])rince  so  fellv  saw  to  rage, 
Aj)])roaching  to  him  neare,  his  hand  lie  s'avd, 
And  sought,  by  making  signes,  him  to  asswage: 
Who  them  perceiving,  streight  to  him  obavd. 
As  to  his  lord,  and  downe  his  weajions  lavd. 
As  if  he  long  had  to  his  beasts  bene  travned. 
Theme  he  him  brought  away,  and  up  coiivavd 
Info  the  chamber,  where  that  dame  !\^niaviii  d 
W  ith  her  unworthy  knight,  who  ill  him  (_'ulerta\  Led 


Whom  when  the  salvage  saw  from  daunger  free. 

Sitting  beside  his  hidio  there  at  ease. 

He  well  remeir.bred  that  the  same  was  hee, 

Which  lately  sought  his  led  for  to  fiisjilease  : 

'Jho  all  in  rage  he  on  him  streight  did  seize. 

As  if  he  would  in  peeces  him  have  rent  ; 

And,  were  not  that  the  prince  did  him  appeaze. 

He  had  not  left  one  linibe  of  him  unrent  • 

But  streight  he  held  his  hand  at  his  commaundt-ment. 


Thus  having  all  things  well  in  peace  ordavned. 
The  prince  himsell'e  there  ail  that  nii^ht  tlid  rest; 
^Vhere  him  Blandina  favrely  entertavned 
With  all  the  courteous  glee  and  goodly  feast 
The  wliich  for  him  she  could  imagine  best: 
For  well  she  knew  the  waves  to  win  good  will 
Of  every  wight,  that  were  not  too  infest  ; 
And  how  to  please  the  minds  of  good  and  ill. 
Through  tempering  of  her  words  and  lookes  by  won. 
drous  skill. 


Yet  were  lier  words  and  lookes  but  false  and  fayned, 
To  some  hid  end  to  mvike  more  easie  way, 
Or  to  allure  such  fondlings  whom  she  trayned 
Into  her  trap  unto  their  owne  decay  : 
'J'hereto,  when  needed,  she  could  weepe  and  prav. 
And  when  her  listed  she  could  fawne  and  flatter  ; 
Now  smyling  smoothly  like  to  sommers  day, 
Now  glooming  sadly,  so  to  choke  her  matter  ; 
Yet  were  her  words  but  wynd,  and  all  her  tearesbut 
water. 


Whether  such  grace  were  given  her  by  kynd. 

As  women  wont  their  guilefiill  wits  to  guyde; 

Or  learnd  the  art  to  please,  I  doe  not  fynd  : 

This  well  I  wote,  that  she  so  well  applyde 

Her  pleasing  tongue,  that  soon  she  pacifyde  [peace  • 

The  wrathfull  prince,   aud  wrought  her  husbands 

Who  nathelesse,  not  therewith  satisfyde, 

His  rancorous  despight  did  notreleasse, 

Ne  secretly  from  thought  of  fell  revenge  surceasse: 


For  all  that  night,  the  whyles  the  prince  did  rest 

In  carelesse  couch  not  weeting  what  was  ment, 

He  watcht  in  close  awayt  with  weapons  prest, 

Willing  to  worke  his  villenous  intent 

On  him,  that  had  so  shamefully  him  shent: 

Yet  durst  he  not  for  very  cowardize 

Effect  the  same,  whylesr  all  the  niglit  was  spent. 

The  morrow  next  the  prince  did  early  rize, 

And  passed  forth  to  follow  his  first  enterprize. 


916 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  VI. 


CANTO  VII. 

Tnrpine  is  baffuld  ;  bis  two  knights 
Doe  gaine  their  treasons  meed. 

Fayre  Wirabellaes  punisliment 
For  loves  disdaine  decreed. 


Lire  as  the  gentle  hart  itselfe  bewraves 
In  doing  gentle  deedes  with  franke  cUdight, 
Even  so  the  baser  mind  its-elfe  displayes 
In  cancred  malice  and  revengefuU  spight : 
for  to  mnligue,  t'  envie,  t'use  shifting  slight, 
lie  arguments  of  a  vile  donghiU  mind; 
Which,  what  it  dare  not  doe  by  open  might, 
'J"o  wnrke  by  wicked  treason  waves  doth  find, 
By   such  discourteous    deeds    discovering  his  base 
kind. 


That  well  appears  in  this  discourteous  knight, 

The  coward  'J'urj)ine,  whereof  now  I  treat ; 

Wlio  notwithstanding  that  in  former  fight 

lie  of  tlie  prince  liis  life  received  late, 

Yet  in  his  mind  malitious  and  ingrate 

He  gan  devize  to  be  aveng'd  anew 

For  all  that  shame,  which  kindled  inward  hate: 

riierefo'e,  so  soone  as  he  was  out  of  vew, 

Ilimselfe  in  hast  he  arm'd,  and  did  him  fast  pursew. 


Well  did  he  tract  his  steps  as  he  did  ryde, 

Vet  would  not  neare  approch  in  daungers  eye, 

IVjt  kept  aloofe  for  dread  to  be  descryde, 

Untill  fit  time  and  place  he  mote  espy, 

Where  he  mote  wovke  him  scath  and  villenv. 

At  lust  he  met  two  knights  to  him  unknowiie, 

The  which  were  armed  botli  agreeably. 

And  botii  combynd,  wliatever  chauiice  were  blowne, 

Betwixt  them  to  divide  and  each  to  make  his  owne. 


'i'o  whom  false  Turpine  comming  courteously. 

To  cloke  the  mischiefe  which  lie  inly  ment, 

Gan  to  conqilaine  of  great  discourtesie, 

Which  a  straunge  knight,  that  neare  afore  him  went. 

Had  doen  to  him,  and  bis  deare  ladie  shent ; 

Which  if  they  would  afford  him  ayde  at  need 

For  10  avenge  in  nine  conveiiit-nt, 

They  should  acconi]ili^h  hotli  a  knightly  deed, 

And  for  their  paines  obtaine  of  him  a  goodly  meed. 


The  knights  beleev'd  that  all  he  sayd  was  trew  ; 
And,  being  fresli  and  full  of  youthly  spright. 
Were  glad  to  lieare  of  that  adventure  new, 
In  which  they  mote  make  trial!  of  their  might 
Wliich  never  yet  they  had  a])])rov'd  in  fight, 
And  eke  desirous  of  the  oflred  meed  : 
Said  lliin  the  one  of  them  ;    "  Where  is  that  wight, 
'J'he  which  hath  doen  to  thee  this  wrongfull  deed, 
Ihat  we  may  it  avenge,  and  j;unis!ihiin  with  speed?" 


'  He  rides,"  said  Turpine,  "  there  not  farre  afbre^ 
With  a  wyld  man  s  jft  footing  by  his  syde ; 
That,  if  ye  list  to  haste  a  litle  more. 
Ye  may  him  overtake  in  timely  tyde." 
Eftsoones  they  pricked  forth  with  forward  pride  ; 
And,  ere  that  litle  while  they  ridden  had, 
The  gentle  prince  not  farre  away  they  spyde, 
Ryding  a  softly  pace  with  jiortance  sad, 
Devizino-  of  his  love  more  then  of  daunger  drad. 


Then  one  of  them  aloud  unto  him  cryde. 
Bidding  him  turne  againe  ;   "  False  traytour  kniglit, 
Foule  woman-wronger!" — for  lie  him  defyde. 
U  itl)  that  they  b«th  at  once  with  equall  spight 
Did  bend  their  speares,  and  both  with  etpjall  might 
Against  him  ran  ;  but  th'  one  did  misse  iiis  marke. 
And  being  carried  with  his  force  forthright 
Glaunst  swiftly  bv  ;  like  to  tliat  heavenly  sparke. 
Which  gluling  through  tlie  ayre  lights  all   the  hea- 
vens darke. 


Rut  th'  otlier,  ayming  betttr,  did  him  smite 

Full  in  the  shield  with  so  impetuous  powre, 

Tliat  all  his  launce  in  peeces  shivered  (piite, 

And  scatiered  all  about  fell  on  the  flowre  : 

But  tlie  stout  prince  with  much  more  steddy  stowre 

Full  oil  his  bever  did  him  strike  so  sore, 

That  tlie  cold  Steele  through  jiiercing  did  devowre 

His  vitall  breath,  and  to  the  "round  him  bore, 

W  here  still  he  bathed  lay  in  his  own  bloody  gore. 


yAs  when  a  cast  of  faukons  make  their  flight 
'^At  an  berneshaw,  that  lyes  aloft  on  wing, 
'J  he  whylesthey  strike  at  him  with  heedlesse  might, 
The  warie  foule  his  bill  doth  backward  wring; 
On  which  the  first,  whose  force  her  first  doth  bring, 
Herselfe  (|uite  through  the  bodie  doth  engore, 
And  falleth  duwne  to  ground  like  senselesse  thing; 
But  tir  other,  not  so  svvilt  as  she  before, 
Fayles   of  her  souse,  and  passing  by  doth  hurt  no 
more. 


By  this  the  otlier,  which  was  passed  by, 
Ilimselfe  recovering,  was  return'd  to  fight; 
Where  when  he  saw  his  fellow  lifelesse  ly. 
He  much  was  daunted  with  so  dismal  sight; 
Vet,  nought  abating  of  his  former  spight, 
Let  drive  at  him  with  so  inalilious  niyiid. 
As  it  he  would  have  passed  through  him  ([uight* 
But  ihe  stecle-bead  no  stedlast  hold  could  fynd. 
But  glauncing  by  deceiv'd  him  of  that  he  desyud. 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


317 


Not  so  the  jirince  ;  for  Ijis  well-learned  speare 
'/'ooke  surer  hould,  and  from  liis  horses  hacke 
Above  a  launces  lenjith  liim  forth  did  heare, 
And  gainst  the  cold  hard  earth  so  sore  him  strake, 
That  all  his  bones  in  peeces  nioh  he  brake, 
Where  seeinp-  him  so  lie,  he  left  his  steed, 
And,  to  him  leaping,  vengeance  thought  to  take 
Of  him,  for  all  liis  former  follies  meed, 
With  flaming  sword  in  hand  his  terror  more  to  breed. 


The  fearfull  swayne  beholding  death  so  nie 
Cryde  out  aloud,  for  mercie,  him  to  save  ; 
In  lieu  whereof  he  would  to  him  descrie 
Great  treason  to  him  meant,  his  life  to  reave. 
The  prince  soone  hearkned,  and  his  life  forgave. 
Then  thus  said  he :   "  There  is  a  slraunger  knight, 
The  which,  for  promise  of  great  meed,  us  drave 
To  this  attempt,  to  wreake  his  hid  des))ight. 
For  that  bimselfe  thereto  did  want  sufficient  might." 


The  prince  much  mused  at  such  villenie,        [meed  ; 
And  sayd  :   "  Now  sure  ye  well  have  earn'd   your 
For  fh'  one  is  dead,  and  th'  other  soone  shall  die, 
Unlesse  to  me  thou  hither  bring  with  speed 
The  wretch  that  hyr'd  vou  to  this  wicked  deed." 
He  glad  of  life,  and  willing  eke  to  wreake 
The  guilt  on  him  which  did  this  mischiefe  breed. 
Swore  by  his  sword,  that  neither  day  nor  weeke 
He  would  surceasse,  but  him  whereso  he  were  would 
seeke. 


So  up  he  rose,  and  forth  streightway  he  went 

Backe  to  the  place  where  Turpine  late  he  lore  ; 

There  he  him  found  in  great  astonishment. 

To  see  him  so  bedight  with  bloodie  gore 

And  griesly  wounds,  that  him  appalled  sore. 

Yet  thus  at  length  he  said  ;  "  How  now,  sir  knight, 

What  meaneth  this  which  here  I  see  before  '.' 

How  fortuneth  this  foule  uncomely  plight. 

So  different  from  that  which  earstye  seem'd  in  sight?"' 


"  Perdie,"  said  he,  "  in  evill  houre  it  fell, 
'i'hat  ever  I  for  meed  did  undertake 
So  bard  a  taske  as  life  for  hvre  to  sell  ; 
The  which  I  earst  adventur'd  for  your  s-ake  ; 
\Vitnesse  the  wounds,  and  this  wide  bloudie  lake, 
Which  ye  may  see  yet  all  about  me  steeme. 
Therefore  now  veeld,  as  yc  did  promise  make, 
Mv  due  reward,  the  which  right  well  I  deeme 
I  yearned  have,  that  life  so  dearely  did  redeeme." 


"  I?ut  where  then  is,"  quoth  he  halfe  wrofhfully, 
'    U  here  is  the  bootie,  which  therefore  I  bought. 
That  cursed  caytive,  my  strong  enemy. 
That  recreant  knight,  whose  hated  life  I  sought  ? 
And  where  is  eke  your  friend  which  halfe  it  ought'!" 
"  He  lyes,"  said  he,  "  upon  the  cold  bare  ground, 
Slavne  of  that  errant  knight  with  whom  he  fought  ; 
Whom  afterwards  myselfe  with  many  a  wound 
Did  slay  agame,  as  ye  may  see  there  in  the  stound." 


Thereof  false  Turpin  was  full  glad  and  faine, 

And  needs  with  him  streight  to  the  place  would  ryd  ' 

Where  he  himselfe  might  see  his  foeman  slaine  ; 

For  else  his  feare  could  not  be  satisfyde. 

So,  as  they  rode,  he  saw  the  way  all  dyde 

With  streames  of  bloud  ;  which  tractin^-  by  thetraile, 

Ere  long  thev  came,  whenas  in  evill  tyde 

That  other  swayne,  like  ashes  deadly  pale. 

Lay  in  the  lap  of  death,  rewing  his  wretched  bale 


Much  did  the  craven  seeme  to  mone  his  case, 
That  for  his  sake  his  deare  life  had  forgone  ; 
And,  him  bewayling  with  affection  base. 
Did  counterfeit  kind  pittie  where  was  none  : 
For  where's  no  courage,  there's  no  ruth  nor  mone. 
Thence  passing  forth,  not  farre  away  he  found 
Whereas  the  prince  himselfe  lay  all  alone, 
Loosely  displayd  upon  the  grassie  ground. 
Possessed   of  sweete   sleepe  that  luld  him  soft  in 
swound. 


Wearie  of  travell  in  his  former  fight, 

He  there  in  shade  himselfe  had  layd  to  rest. 

Having  his  armes  and  warlike  things  undight, 

Fearelesse  of  foes  that  mote  his  peace  molest ; 

The  whyles  his  salvage  page,  that  wont  be  prest. 

Was  wandred  in  the  wood  another  way. 

To  doe  some  thing,  that  seemed  to  him  best  ; 

'J'he  whiles  his  lord  in  silver  slomber  lay. 

Like  to  the  evening  starre  adorn'd  with  deawy  ray. 


^^'hom  whenas  Turpin  saw  so  loosely  layd. 
He  weened  well  that  he  indeed  was  dead. 
Like  as  that  other  knight  to  him  had  sayd  : 
But,  when  he  nigh  approcht,  he  mote  aread 
Plaine  signes  in  him  of  lifn  and  livelihead. 
Wlierer.t  much  gviev'd  against  that  straunger  knight. 
That  him  too  light  of  credence  did  mislead, 
He  would  have  backe  retyred  from  that  sight, 
'J'hat  was  to  him  on  earth  the  deadliest  despight. 


But  that  same  knight  would  not  once  let  him  start: 

]5ut  plainely  gan  to  him  declare  the  case 

Of  all  his  mischiefe  and  late  lucklesse  smart  ; 

How  both  he  and  his  fellow  there  in  place 

Were  vanijuished,  and  put  to  foule  disgrace  ; 

And  how  thiit  he,  in  lieu  of  life  him  lent, 

Had  vnw'd  unto  the  victor,  him  to  trace 

And  follow  through  the  world  whei-eso  he  went. 

Till  that  he  him  delivered  to  his  punishment. 


He,  therewith  much  abashed  and  affrayd 
Began  to  tremble  every  limbe  and  vaine ; 
And,  softly  whispering  him,  entyrely  prayd 
T'  advize  him  better  then  by  such  a  traine 
Him  to  betray  unto  a  straunger  swaine; 
Yet  rather  coiinseld  him  contrarywize, 
Sitli  he  hkewise  did  wrong  by  him  sustaine. 
To  ioyne  with  him  and  vengeance  to  devize, 
Whyiest  time  did  offer  meanes  him  sleeping  to  sur- 
prize. 


S18 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE, 


VI 


Natbelesse,  for  all  his  speach,  the  gentle  kniyht 

Would  not  be  tempted  to  such  villenie, 

lies4-,irding  more  his  faith  which  Ije  did  plight, 

All  were  it  to  his  niortall  eiiemie, 

Tiieii  to  eiilrap  him  bv  false  treacherie  : 

(Jreat  shame  lu  lieges  blood  to  be  embrew'd  ! 

i  iius  whylest  they  were  debating  diverslie, 

I'lie  salvage  forth  out  of  the  wood  issew'd 

|-la(jketo  the  place,  whereas  hisloidhe  sleeping  vew'd. 


There  when  he  saw  those  two  so  neare  him  stand. 
He  doubted  much  what  mote  their  meaning  bee  ; 
And,  throwing  downe  his  load  out  of  his  hand, 
C  To  weet,  great  store  of  forrest  frute  which  hee 
Had  for  his  food  late  gathered  from  the  tree,) 
Hiniselfe  unto  his  weapon  he  betooke, 
'I'hat  was  an  oaken  plant,  which  lately  hee 
Rent  by  the  root  ;  wiiich  he  so  sternly  shooke, 
That  like  an  hazell  wand  it  quivered  and  quooke. 


Whereat  the  prince  awaking,  wlien  he  spyde 
The  traytour  Turpin  with  that  other  knight. 
He  started  up  ;  and  snatching  neare  his  syde 
His  trustie  sword,  the  servant  of  his  might, 
Like  a  fell  lyon  leaped  to  him  light. 
And  iiis  left  hand  upon  his  collar  layd. 
Therewith  the  cowheard,  deaded  with  affright. 
Fell  flat  to  ground,  ne  word  unto  him  sayd. 
But,  holding  up  his  hands,  with  silence  mercie  prayd. 


But  he  so  full  of  indignation  was. 
That  to  his  prayer  nought  he  would  incline, 
But,  as  he  lay  upon  the  humbled  gras. 
His  foot  he  set  on  his  vile  necke,  in  signe 
Of  servile  yoke,  that  nobler  harts  repine. 
Then,  letting  him  arise  like  abiect  thrall. 
He  gan  to  him  obiect  his  havnous  crime. 
And  to  revile,  and  rate,  and  recreant  call. 
And  lastl)'  to  despo^de  of  knightly  bannerall. 


And  after  all,  for  greater  infainie, 

He  bv  the  heeles  liim  liung  upon  a  tree. 

And  baffuld  so,  that  all  which  [>a5ised  by 

1"he  picture  of  his  punishment  might  see. 

And  by  the  like  ensainple  warned  bee. 

However  they  throu>^h  treason  doe  trespasse. 

But  tnrne  we  now  backe  to  that  ladie  iiee, 

Whom  late  we  left  rydirig  upon  an  asse. 

Led  by  a  carle  and  foole  which  by  her  side  did  passe. 

xxvin. 

Slie  was  a  ladie  of  great  dignitie. 
And  lilted  uji  to  honorabh^  j)lace. 
Famous  through  all  the  land  of  Fatirie  : 
Though  of  ineane  parentage  and  kindred  base, 
Yet  deckt  ^^■ith  wondrous  giftes  of  natures  grace, 
That  all  men  did  her  person  much  admire, 
Aiul  jiraise  the  feature  of  her  goodly  face  ; 
'1  he  lieaines  whereof  did  kindle  iovelv  fire 
In   th'  harts   of  many  a  knight,  and  many  a  gentle 
s'luire : 


But  she  tliereof  grew  proud  and  insolent. 

That  none  she  worthie  thought  to  bs  her  fere. 

But  scornd  them  all  that  love  unto  her  ment ; 

Yet  was  she  lov'd  of  many  a  worthy  pere  : 

Unworthy  she  to  be  belov'd  so  dere, 

That  could  not  weigh  of  worthinesse  aright  : 

For  beautie  is  more  glorious  bright  and  clere. 

The  more  it  is  admir'd  of  many  a  wight, 

And  noblest  she  that  served  is  of  noblest  kni"ht. 


XXX. 

But  this  coy  damzell  thought  contrariwize, 

I'hat  such  pioud  looks  w  mid  make  her  praysed  more; 

And  that,  the  more  she  did  all  love  despize. 

The  more  would  wretched  lovers  her  adore. 

W  hat  cared  she  who  sighed  for  lier  sore. 

Or  who  did  wayle  or  watch  the  wearie  night? 

Let  them  that  list  their  lucklesse  lot  deplore  ; 

She  was  borne  free,  not  bound  to  any  wight. 

And  so  would  ever  live,  and  love  her  own  delight. 


Through  such  her  stubborne  stifnesse  and  hard  hart, 
INlany  a  wretch  for  want  of  remedie 
Did  languish  long  in  life-consuming  smart, 
And  at  the  last  through  dreary  dolour  die : 
Whylest  she,  the  ladie  of  her  libertie. 
Did  boast  her  beautie  had  such  soveraine  might. 
That  with  the  onely  twincklo  of  her  eye 
The  could  or  save  oi'  spill  whom  she  would  bight : 
\\  hat  could  the  gods  doe  more,  but   doe  it  more 
arisiht  .'  ' 


Butloe  !   the  gods,  tliat  mortall  follies  vew, 

Did  worthily  revenge  this  maydens  pride  ; 

And,  nought  regarding  her  so  goodly  hew, 

Did  laugh  at  her  that  many  did  deride, 

Wildest  she  did  weepe,  ot  no  man  mercifide  : 

For  on  a  day,  when  Cupid  kept  his  court, 

As  he  is  wont  at  each  8aint  V'aleiiti'.le, 

Unto  the  whicii  all  lovers  doe  resort,  [rejiort  ; 

'I'hat  of  their  loves   succe.-'Se   they  there  may  make 


It  fortun'd  then,  that  when  the  roules  were  red, 

In  which  the  names  of  all  Loves  foike  were  fyled. 

That  many  there  were  mi^sing  ;  which  were  ded, 

Or  kept  in  bands,  or  from  their  loves  exyled, 

Or  by  some  other  violence  despoyled. 

Whicli  vvhenas  Cupid  heard,  he  wexed  wroth  ; 

And,  doubling  to  be  wronged  or  beguyled. 

He  bad  his  eyes  to  be  unblindfold  bcjtli. 

That  he  might  see  his  men,  and  muster  them  by  otlu 


Then  found  he  many  missing  of  his  crew. 
Which  wont  doe  suit  and  service  to  his  might ; 
Of  whom  what  was  becomen  no  man  knew. 
Therefore  a  iurie  was  imjianeld  streight 
T'  eiupiire  of  them,  whether  by  force  or  sleight. 
Or  their  owne  guilt,  they  were  away  convayd : 
'J'o  whom  foule  Iniainie  and  fell  Dei^jiii^ht 
(jave  evidence,  that  they  were  all  betrayd 
And  murdied  cruelly  by  a  rebellious  maytl. 


:anto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


;i9 


Fayre  iMirnbella  was  Iier  name,  whereby 
Of  all  tliose  crymes  she  thsre  indited  was  : 
All  which  when  Cupid  heard,  he  by  and  by 
In  great  displeasure  wil'd  a  capias 
Should  issue  forth  t'attacli  that  scornefull  lasse. 
The  warrant  straiglit  was  made,  and  therewithal! 
A  bavlieffe  errant  fortli  in  post  did  passe, 
Whom  thev  by  name  tliere  Porlamore  did  call  ; 
He  which  doth  summon  lovers  to  Loves  iudgeraent 
hall. 


The  damzell  was  attacht,  and  shortly  brought 
Unto  the  barre  wherrus  she  was  arrayned  : 
liut  she  thereto  nould  plead,  nor  answere  ought, 
Even  for  stubborne  pride,  which  her  restrayned  : 
So  iudgement  past,  as  is  by  law  ordayned 
In  cases  like  ;  whicli,  when  at  last  she  saw, 
Her  stubborne  hart,  which  love  before  disdavned, 
Gan  stuu[)e  ;  and,  falling-  downe  with  humble  awe, 
Cryde  mercie,  to  abate  the  extremitie  of  law. 


The  Sonne  of  Venus,  who  is  myld  bv  kvnd, 

But  where  he  is  provokt  witl)  pee\ishnesse. 

Unto  her  prayers  piteously  enclynd, 

And  did  the  rigour  of  his  doome  represse ; 

Yet  not  so  freely,  but  that  nathelesse 

He  u]ito  her  a  penance  did  impose. 

Which  was,  that  through  this  worlds  wyde  wildernes 

She  wander  should  in  companie  of  those. 

Till  she  had  sav'd  so  many  loves  as  she  did  lose. 

XSXVIII. 

So  now  she  had  bene  wandring  two  whole  yeares 
Throughout  the  world,  in  this  uncomely  case, 
Wasting  lier  goodly  hew  in  heavie  teares. 
And  her  good  dayes  in  dolorous  disgrace  ; 
Yet  iiad  she  not  in  all  these  two  yeares  space 
Saved  but  two  ;  yet  in  two  yeares  before, 
'i'lirough  her  dispiteous  pride,  whilest  love  lackt  place. 
She  had  detroyed  two  and  twentv  more. 
Aie  me,  how  could  her  love  make  halfe  amends  there- 
fore ! 


And  now  she  was  uppon  the  weary  wav, 
Whenas  the  gentle  sijuire,  with  faire  Serene, 
.Met  her  in  such  misseeming  foule  »rray  ; 
1  he  whiles  that  mighty  man  did  her  demeane 
With  all  the  evill  termes  and  cruell  meane 
That  he  could  make  ;  and  eeke  that  angry  foole 
Wliich  follow'd  her,  with  cursed  hands  uncleane 
^\'ll  pping  her  horse,  did  with  his  smarting  toole 
Oft  whip  her  dainty  selfe,  and  much  augment  lier 
doole. 


For  he  was  sterne  and  terrible  bv  nature, 

And  eeke  of  person  huge  yjid  liideous. 

Exceeding  much  the  measure  of  man's  slature. 

And  rather  like  a  gyant  monstruous  : 

For  sooth  ht)  was  descended  of  the  hous 

Of  those  old  gvants,  whicli  did  warres  darraine 

Against  the  heaven  in  order  battailous  ; 

And  sib  to  great  Orgolio,  which  was  slaine 

By  Arthure,  whenas  Unas  knight  he  did  maintaine. 


His  lookes  were  dreadfull,  and  his  fierv  eies. 

Like  two  great  beacons,  glared  bright  and  wyde, 

Glauncing  askew,  as  if  his  enemies 

He  scorned  in  his  overweening  pryde  ; 

And  stalking  stately,  like  a  crane,  did  stryde, 
I    At  every  step  uppon  the  tij)toes  hie  ; 

And,  all  the  way  he  went,  on  every  syde 
I    He  gazed  about  and  stared  horriblie, 

As  if  he  with  his  lookes  would  'ill  men  terrifie. 


He  wore  no  armour,  ne  for  none  did  care. 

As  no  whit  dreading  any  living  wight ; 

But  in  a  iacket,  quilted  richly  rare 

Upon  checklaton,  he  was  siraungely  digbt; 

And  on  his  head  a  roll  of  linnen  plight, 

Like  to  the  IMores  of  IMalaber,  he  vv-ore, 

\Vitli  which  his  locks,  as  blacke  as  pitchy  night. 

Were  bound  about,  and  vovded  fnim  before  ; 

And  in  his  hand  a  mighty  yron  club  he  bore. 


This  was  Disdaine,  who  led  that  ladies  horse 
Through   thick   and   thin,   through    mountains    and 

through  |ilains. 
Compelling  her,  where  she  would  not,  by  force. 
Haling  her  palfrey  by  the  hempen  raines  : 
But  that  same  foole,  which  most  increast  her  paiiies. 
Was  Scorne  ;  who,  having  in  his  hand  a  whip. 
Her  therewith  yirks  ;  and  still,  when  she  comj)la'mes. 
The  more  he  huighes,  and  does  her  closely  (|uip, 
To  see  her  sore  lament,  and  bite  her  tender  lip. 

XLV. 

^Vhose  cruell  handling  when  that  squire  beheld, 

And  saw  those  villaines  her  sovildely  use. 

His  gentle  heart  with  indignation  sweld, 

And  could  no  lenger  beare  so  great  abuse 

As  such  a  lady  so  to  beate  and  bruse  ; 

But,  to  him  stepping,  such  a  stroke  him  hjnt. 

That  forst  him  th'  halter  from  his  hand  to  loo^e, 

And,  maugre  all  his  might,  bucke  to  relent : 

Else  had  he  surely  there  bene  slaine,  or  fowlv  sheiit. 


Ne  ought  it  mote  availe  her  to  entreat 

The  one  or  th'  other  better  her  to  use  ; 

For  both  so  wilfull  were  and  obstinate 

That  all  her  piteous  plaint  they  did  refuse, 

And  rather  did  the  more  her  beate  and  bruse: 

i!ut  most  the  former  villaine,  which  did  lead 

U^T  tvreling  iade,  was  bent  her  to  abuse  ; 

Who,  though  she  were  with  wearinesse  nigh  dead 

Vet  would  not  let  her  lite,  nor  rest  a  little'stead  •  ' 


The  villaine,  wroth  for  greeting  him  so  sore. 
Gathered  himselfe  together  soone  againe, 
And  with  his  yron  batton  which  he  bore 
Let  drive  at  him  so  dreadfully  amaine, 
That  for  his  safety  he  did  him  consiraine 
To  give  him  ground,  and  shift  to  every  side, 
Rather  than  once  his  biinleii  to  sustaine  : 
For  bootlesse  thing  liim  seemed  to  abirle 
So  mighty  blowes,  or  prove  the   puissaunce   of  bis 
pride. 


320 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[BccK  V7 


XtVII. 

Like  ns  a  mastiffe  liavint:;  at  a  bay 

A  sah'a2;e  bull,  wliose  criipll  hornet  doe  threat 

Desperate  dnuiigpr,  if  lie  tlieni  assay, 

Traceth  liis  ground,  and  round  about  doth  beat, 

To  sjiv  where  he  may  some  advantaj;e  get, 

The  whiles  the  beast  doth  rage  and  loudly  rire; 

So  did  the  squire,  the  whiles  the  carle  did  fret 

And  fume  in  his  disdninefuU  niynd  the  more, 

And  oftentimes  by  'J'urmagant  and  .Mahound  swore. 


Nathelesse  so  sharpely  srill  he  him  pursewd, 

That  at  advantage  liim  at  last  he  tooke. 

When  his  foote  slipt,  Cthat  slip  he  dearely  rewd,) 

And  with  his  yron  club  to  ground  him  strooke  ; 

Where  still  he  lay,  ne  out  of  swoune  awooke, 

Till  heavy  hand  the  carle  upon  him  layd. 

And  bound  him  fast  :  tho  when  he  up  did  looke 

And  saw  himselfe  captfv'd,  he  was  dismayd, 

Ne  povvre  had  to  withstand,  ne  hope  of  any  ayd. 


Then  up  he  made  him  rise,  and  forward  fare. 
Led  iu  a  rcjie  which  both  his  hands  did  byndj 
Ne  ought  that  foule  for  pittv  did  him  sjiare, 
But  with  his  whip  him  following-  l)ehvnd 
Ilim  often  scourg'd,  and  forst  his  feete  to  fynd  : 
And  otherwhiles  with  bitter  mockes  and  mowes 
lie  would  him  scorne,  that  to  his  gentle  mynd 
Was  much  more  grievous  then  the  other  blowes  : 
Words  sharpely  wound,  but  greatest  griefe  of  scorn 
ing  growes. 


The  faire  Serena,  when  she  saw  him  fall 
Under  that  villaines  club,  then  surelv  thonglit 
'J'hat  slaine  he  was,  or  made  a  wretched  thrall, 
And  fled  away  with  all  the  speede  she  mought 
To  seeke  for  safety  ;  which  long  time  she  sought, 
Asd  past  through  many  perils  by  the  way, 
Ere  slie  againe  to  Calepine  was  brought : 
The  which  discourse  as  now  I  must  delay, 
Till  jMirabellaes  fortunes  I  doe  further  say. 


CANTO  VIIL 

Prince  Arthure  overcomes  Disdaine  , 
Quites  Mirabell  from  dreed  : 

Serena,  found  of  salvages. 
By  Calepine  is  freed. 


Ye  gentle  ladies,  in  whose  soveraine  powre 

Love  iiath  the  glory  of  his  kingdome  left. 

And  th'  hearts  of  men,  as  your  eternal  dowre. 

In  yron  chaines,  of  liberty  bereft. 

Delivered  hath  unto  your  hands  by  gift ; 

Be  well  aware  how  ye  the  same  doe  use, 

That  pride  doe  not  to  tyranny  you  lift; 

Least,  if  men  you  of  cruelty  accuse, 

He  from  you  take  that  chiefedome  which  ye  doe  abuse. 


And  as  ve  soft  and  tender  are  by  kynde, 

Adornd  with  goodly  gifts  of  beauties  grace. 

So  be  ye  soft  and  tender  eeke  in  mynde  ; 

But  cruelty  and  hardnesse  from  you  chace, 

That  all  your  other  praises  will  deface. 

And  from  you  turne  the  love  of  men  to  hate  : 

Ensam])le  take  of  INlirabellaes  case. 

Who  from  the  high  degree  of  lia])py  state 

Fell  into  wretched  woes,  which  she  repented  late. 


\Vho  after  thraldome  of  the  gentle  stpiire. 

Which  she  beheld  with  lamentable  eye. 

Was  touched  with  comj)assion  entire. 

And  much  lamented  his  calamity, 

Tliat  for  her  sake  fell  into  misery  ; 

Whi^'h  booted  nought  for  jirayers  nor  for  threat 

To  hope  for  to  release  or  mollify  ; 

For  aye  the  more  that  she  did  them  entreat. 

The  more  thfy  him  misust,  and  cruelly  did  beat. 


So  as  they  forward  on  their  way  did  pas, 

Him  still  reviling  and  afflicting  sore. 

They  met  Prince  Arthure  with  Sir  Enias, 

(That  was  that  courteous  knight,  whom  he  before 

Having  subdew'd  yet  did  to  life  restore  ;) 

To  whom  as  they  approcht,  thev  gan  augment 

Their  cruelty,  and  him  to  punish  more, 

Scourging  and  haling  him  more  vehement ; 

As  if  it  them  should  grieve  to  see  his  punishment. 


The  squire  himselfe,  whenas  he  saw  his  lord 

The  witnessp  of  his  wretchednesse  in  place. 

Was  much  asham'd  that  with  an  hempen  cord 

He  like  a  dog  was  led  in  captive  case, 

And  did  his  head  for  bashfulnesse  abase. 

As  loth  to  see  or  to  be  seene  at  all ; 

Shame  would  be  hid  ;  but  whenas  Enias 

Beheld  two  such,  of  two  such  villaines  thrall. 

His  manly  mj-nde  was  much  emmoved  therewithallj 


And  to  the  prince  thus  sayd ;  "  See  you,  sir  knight, 

The  greatest  shame  that  ever  eye  yet  saw, 

Yond  lady  and  her  squire  with  foOle  despight 

Abusde,  against  all  reason  and  all  law, 

\\  ithout  regard  of  pitty  or  of  awe  ! 

Seel  how  they  doe  that  squire  heat  and  revile! 

See !  how  they  doe  the  lady  hale  and  draw  ! 

J3ut,  if  ye  please  to  lend  me  leave  awhile, 

I  will  tiiem  sooneacquite,  and  both  of  blame  assoile." 


Canto  VI 1 1.1 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


331 


The  prince  assented  ;  and  tlien  he,  streigbtway 
Dismounting  ligl't,  ''is  shield  about  him  threw, 
With  which  approaching-  thus  he  gan  to  say ; 
"  Abide  ye  caytive  treachetours  untrew, 
That  have  with  treason  thralled  unto  you 
These  two,  unworthy  of  your  wretched  bands  ; 
And  now  your  crime  with  cruelty  ])ursew  : 
Abide,  and  from  them  lay  your  loatblv  hands  ; 
Or  else  abide  the  death  that  hard  before  you  stands.' 


The  villaine  stayd  not  aunswere  to  invent ; 
But,  with  his  yron  club  preparing  way, 
His  mindes  sad  message  backe  unto  him  sent ; 
The  which  descended  with  such  dreadfull  sway. 
That  seemed  nought  the  course  thereof  could  stay, 
No  more  then  lightening  from  the  lofty  sky : 
Ne  list  the  knight  the  powre  thereof  assay. 
Whose  doome  was  death  ;  but,  lightly  slipping  by, 
Ua wares  defrauded  his  intended  destiny  : 


And,  to  requite  him  with  the  like  againe. 
With  his  sharpe  sword  he  fiercely  at  him  flew. 
And  strooke  so  strongly,  that  the  carle  with  paine 
Saved  himselfe  but  that  he  there  him  slew  ; 
Yet  sav'd  not  so,  but  that  the  blood  it  drew. 
And  gave  his  foe  good  hope  of  victory  : 
W'ho,  therewith  flesht,  upon  him  set  anew, 
And  with  the  second  stroke  thought  certainely 
To  have  supplyde  the  first,  and  paide  the  usury. 


But  fortune  aunswerd  not  unto  his  call ; 

For,  as  his  hand  was  heaved  up  on  bight. 

The  villaine  met  him  in  the  middle  fail. 

And  with  his  club  bet  backe  his  brond-yron  brioht 

So  forcibly,  that  with  his  owne  hands  might 

Rebeaten  backe  upon  himselfe  againe 

He  driven  was  to  ground  in  selfe  despight; 

From  whence  ere  he  recovery  could  gaine. 

He  in  Lis  necke  had  set  his  foote  with  fell  disdaine. 


With  that  the  foole,  which  did  that  end  awayte. 
Came  runrung  in  ;  and,  whilest  on  ground  he  lay, 
Laide  beavie  hands  on  him  and  held  so  strayte, 
Thatdowne  he  kept  him  with  his  scornefuU  swav. 
So  as  he  could  not  weld  him  any  way  : 
The  whiles  that  other  villaine  went  about 
Him  to  have  bound  and  thrald  without  delay  ; 
The  whiles  the  foole  did  him  revile  and  fiou't, 
Threatning  to  yoke  them  two  and  tame  their  corage 
stout. 


As  when  a  sturdy  ploughman  with  his  hynde 
]'>y  strength  have  overthrowne  a  stubborne  steare, 
'J'hey  doi\  ne  him  hold,  and  fast  with  cords  do  bynde. 
Till  they  him  force  the  buxome  yoke  to  beare  : 
*o  did  these  two  this  knight  oft  tug  and  teare. 
\\  hich  when  the  prince  beheld,  there  standing  by, 
He  left  his  lofty  sfeede  to  aide  him  neare  ; 
And,  buckling  soone  himselfe,  gan  fiercely  fly 
I  ^>on  that  carle,  to  save  his  friend  from  ieopardy. 


The  villaine,  leaving  him  unto  his  mate 

To  be  captiv'd  and  handled  as  he  list, 

Himselfe  addrest  unto  tljis  new  debate. 

And  with  his  club  him  all  about  so  blist, 

'I'hat  he  which  way  to  turne  him  scarcely  wist  : 

Sometimes  aloft  he  lavd,  sometimes  alow, 

Nov/  here,  now  there,  and  oft  him  neare  he  mist , 

So  doubtfully,  that  hardly  one  could  know 

Whether  more  wary  were  to  give  or  ward  the  blow 


But  yet  the  prince  so  well  enured  was 

W  ith  such  huge  strokes,  approved  oft  in  fight. 

That  way  to  tliem  he  gave  lurtli  right  to  pas; 

Ne  would  endure  the  daunger  of  their  might. 

But  wayt  advantage  when  they  downe  did  light. 

At  last  the  caytive  after  long  discourse, 

When  all  his  strokes  he  saw  avoyded  quite. 

Resolved  in  one  t'  assemble  all  his  force. 

And  make  one  end  of  him  without  ruth  or  remorse. 


His  dreadfull  band  he  heaved  up  aloft. 

And  with  his  dreadfull  instrument  of  vre 

Thought  sure  have  pownded  him  to  powder  soft. 

Or  defipe  emboweld  in  the  earth  entyre ; 

]5ut  fortune  did  not  with  his  will  coiispire : 

For,  ere  his  stroke  attayned  his  intent. 

The  noble  childe,  preventing  his  desire. 

Under  his  club  with  wary  boldnesse  went. 

And  smoJe  him  on  the  knee  that  never  yet  was  bent. 


It  never  yet  was  bent,  ne  bent  it  now, 

Albe  the  stroke  so  strong  and  puissant  were. 

That  seem'd  a  marble  pillour  it  could  bow  ; 

But  all  that  leg,  which  did  his  bodv  beare. 

It  crackt  throughout,  (yet  did  no  bloud  appeare,) 

So  as  it  was  unable  to  support 

So  huge  a  burden  on  such  broken  geare, 

But  fell  to  ground  like  to  a  lumpe  of  durt ; 

Whence  he  assayed  to  rise,  but  could  not  for  his  huru 


Eftsoones  the  prince  to  him  full  nimbly  stept 
And,  least  he  should  recover  foote  againe. 
His  head  meant  from  his  shoulders  to  have  swept: 
Which  when  the  lady  saw,  she  cryde  amaine ; 
"  Stay,  stay,  sir  knight,  for  love  of  God  abstaine 
From  that  un  wares  ye  weetlesse  doe  intend; 
Slay  not  that  carle,  though  wcrthy  to  be  slaine  ; 
For  more  on  him  doth  then  himselfe  depend; 
My  life  will  by  his  death  have  lamentable  end." 


He  sfaide  his  hand  according  her  desire, 
Yet  natheinore  him  suftred  to  arize  ; 
But,  still  suppressing,  gan  of  her  inquire, 
What  meanuig  mote  those  uncouth  words  comprizp. 
That  in  that  villaines  health  her  safety  lies  ; 
That  v.-ere  no  might  in  man,  nor  heart  in  knights. 
Which  durst  her  dreaded  reskue  enterprize  : 
\  et  heavens  themselves,  that  favour  feeble  rights, 
Would   for  itselfe    redresse,  and    punish  such  de- 
spights. 


322 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book 


Then  bursting  forth  in  teares,  whicli  gushed  fast 

Like  many  water-streams,  awliile  she  stayd ; 

'J'ill  the  sliarpe  passion  being  overpast, 

Her  tongue  to  her  restord,  then  thus  she  sayd ; 

"  Nor  heavens,  nor  men,  can  me  most  wretched  mayd 

Deliv'er  from  the  doome  of  my  desart, 

'J'he  -wliifh  the  god  of  love  hath  on  me  layd, 

And  damned  to  endure  tliis  direfull  smart. 

For  penaunce  of  my  proud  and  hard  rebellious  hart. 


"  In  ])rime  of  youthly  yeares,  wlien  first  the  flowre 
Of  beauty  gan  to  bud,  and  bloosnie  delight; 
And  nature  me  endu'd  witli  plenteous  dowre 
Of  all  her  gifts,  that  pleasde  each  living  sight ; 
I  was  belov'd  of  many  a  gentle  knight, 
And  sude  and  sought  with  all  the  service  dew  : 
Full  many  a  one  for  me  deepe  groand  and  sigh't, 
And  to  the  dore  of  dea'h  for  sorrow  drew, 
Complayning  out  on  me  that  would  not  on  them  rew. 


"  But  let  them  love  that  list,  or  live  or  die ; 
]Me  list  not  die  for  any  lovers  doole  : 
Xe  list  me  leave  my  loved  libertie 
To  pitty  him  that  list  to  play  the  foole  : 
To  love  myself  I  learned  had  in  scLoole. 
Thus  I  triimiphed  long  in  lovers  paine, 
And,  sitting  carelesse  on  the  scorners  stoole, 
Did  laugh  at  those  that  did  lament  and  plains  : 
But  all  is  now  repayd  with  interest  againe. 


"  For  loe  !  the  winged  god,  that  woundeth  harts, 
Causde  me  be  called  to  accompt  therefore  ; 
And  for  revengement  of  those  wrongfuU  smarts, 
Wljich  I  to  others  did  inflict  afore, 
Addeem'd  me  to  endure  this  penaunce  sore  ; 
Tliat  in  this  wize,  and  this  unmeete  array. 
With  these  two  lewd  companions,  and  no  more, 
Disdaiiie  and  Scorne,  1  through  the  world   should 

stray. 
Till  I  have  sav'd  so  many  as  I  earst  did  slay." 

XXIII. 

"  Certes,"  sayd  then  the  prince,  "  the  god  is  iust, 
That  laketh  vengeaunce  of  his  peojiles  spoile  : 
For  were  no  law  in  love,  but  all  that  lust 
Might  them  0})presse,  and  ])airiefully  turrnoile, 
His  kingdome  would  continue  but  a  while. 
But  tell  me,  lady,  wherefore  doe  vou  beare 
This  bottle  thus  before  you  ■w'nh  such  toile, 
And  ecke  this  wallet  at  your  backe  arreare, 
Ihat  for  these  carles  to  carry  much  more  comely 
were  1" 


"  Hero  in  this  bottle,"  sayd  the  sory  mayd, 
"  1  put  the  tears  of  my  contrition. 
Till  to  the  brim  I  have  it  full  defniyd: 
Ai;d  in  this  bag,  whicli  I  belnnde  me  don, 
I  put  rep.entaunce  for  things  jiast  and  gon. 
Vft  is  the  bottle  leake,  and  bag  so  lorne, 
That  all  which  I  put  in  fals  out  anon, 
And  is  lieliindo  me  trodden  downe  of  Scorne, 
Who  mockelh  all  my  paine,  and  laughs  the  more  I 
mourn." 


The  infant  hearkned  wiselv  to  her  tale. 

And  wondred  much  at  Cupids  iudg'ment  wise, 

That  could  so  meekly  make  proud  hearts  avale, 

And  wreake  himselfe  on  them  that  him  desjjise. 

Then  suftVed  he  Disdaine  up  to  arise, 

Who  was  not  able  up  himselfe  to  reare, 

By  meanes  his  leg,  through  his  late  lucklesse  prise. 

Was  crackt  in  twaine,  but  by  his  foolish  feare 

Was  holpen  up,  who  him  supported  standing  neare. 


But  being  up  he  lookt  againe  aloft, 

As  if  he  never  had  received  fall ; 

And  with  Sterne  eye-brows  stared  at  him  oft. 

As  if  he  would  have  daunted  him  withall : 

And  standing  on  his  tiptoes,  to  seeme  tall, 

Downe  on  his  golden  feete  he  oi'ten  gazed, 

As  if  such  jiride  the  other  could  npall  ; 

^Vho  was  so  far  from  being  ought  amazed. 

That  he  his  lookes  despised,  and  his  boast  dispraized. 


Then  turning  backe  unto  that  captive  thrall. 

Who  all  this  while  stood  there  beside  them  bound. 

Unwilling  to  be  knowne  or  seene  at  all. 

He  from  those  bands  weend  him  to  iiave  unwound  ; 

But  when  approaching  neare  he  plainelv  found 

It  was  his  owne  true  groome,  the  gentle  squire, 

He  thereat  wext  exceedingly  astound. 

And  him  did  oft  embrace,  and  oft  admire, 

Ne  could  with  seeing  satisfie  his  arreat  desire. 


XX  VIII. 

]\reane  while  the  salvage  man,  when  he  beheld 
'J'liat  huge  great  foole  oj)pressing  th'  other  knight. 
Whom  with  his  weight  unweldv  downe  he  held, 
He  flew  upon  him  like  a  greedy  kight 
Unto  some  carrion  offered  to  his  sight ; 
And.  downe  him  plui  king,  with  his  navies  and  teeth 
Gan  him  to  hale,  and  teare,  and  scratch,  and  bite  ; 
And,  from  him  taking  his  owne  whip,  therewith 
So    sore    him    scourgeth    that    the    bloud  downe 
iblloweth. 


And  sure  I  weene,  had  not  tlie  ladies  cry 
Procur'd  the  ]!rince  his  cruell  hand  to  stay, 
He  would  with  whipping  him  have  done  to  dye  : 
But,  being  checkt,  he  did  abstaine  streightway 
And  let  him  rise.     Then  thus  the  prince  gan  say ; 
"  Now,  lady,  sith  your  fortunes  thus  dispose, 
That,  if  ye  list  have  liberty,  ye  may; 
Unto  yourselfe  1  freely  leave  to  chose. 
Whether  I  shall  you  leave,  or  from  these  villaines 
lose." 

XXX. 

"  Ah  !  nay,  sir  knight,"  said  she,  '"  it  may  not  be, 

Piut  that  I  needes  must  by  all  m(>ane3  fulfill 

'J'his  penaunce,  which  enioyned  is  to  me. 

Least  unto  me  betide  a  greater  ill : 

Yet  no  lesse  thankes  to  you  for  your  good  will." 

So  humbly  taking  leave  she  turnd  aside  : 

But  Arthure  with  the  rest  went  onward  still 

On  his  first  ()uest,  in  which  did  him  betide 

A  great  adventure,  which  did  him  from  them  devide. 


Canto  VIIL] 


Till-;   lAKHIi;  gl'KKNK 


3?3 


But  first  it  falleth  me  by  course  to  tell 

Ot'  faire  St^rena  ;  who,  as  earst  vou  heard, 

\Vheii  first  the  gentle  squire  at  variaunce  fell 

With  those  two  carles,  fled  fost  away,  afeard 

Of  villany  to  be  to  her  inferd  : 

So  fresh  the  image  of  her  former  dread. 

Vet  dwelling-  in  her  eye,  to  her  appeard, 

'J'hat  every  foote  did  tremble  which  did  tread, 

And  every  body  two,  and  two  she  foure  did  read. 

XXXII. 

Tiirough  hils  and  dales,  through  bushes  and  through 

breres. 
Long-  thus  she  fled,  till  that  at  last  she  thought 
Herselfe  now  past  the  perill  of  her  feares  : 
Then  looking  round  about,  and  seeing-  nought 
Which  doubt  of  daunger  to  her  offer  mouglit, 
She  from  her  palfrey  lighted  on  the  plaine  ; 
And,  sitting-  downe,  herselfe  awhile  hethought 
Of  her  long  travell  and  turmoyling  paiue  ; 
And  often  did  of  love,  and  oft  of  lucke,  complaine. 

XXXIII. 

And  evermore  she  blamed  Calepiue, 

7"he  good  Sir  Calepine,  her  owne  true  knight. 

As  til'  onely  author  of  her  wofuU  tine  ; 

For  being  of  his  love  to  her  so  light. 

As  her  to  leave  in  such  a  piteous  plight  • 

Yet  never  turtle  truer  to  his  make. 

Then  he  was  tride  unto  his  lady  bright : 

Who  all  this  while  endured  for  her  sake 

Great  perill  of  his  life,  and  lestlesse  paines  did  take. 


Tho  whenas  all  her  plaints  she  had  displayd, 
And  well  disburdened  her  engrieved  brest 
Upon  the  grasse  herselfe  adowne  she  layd  ; 
Where,  being  tyrde  with  travell,  and  opprest 
With  sorrow,  she  betooke  herselfe  to  rest: 
There  whitest  in  Blorpheus  bosome  safe  she  lay 
Fearelesse  of  ought  that  mote  her  peace  molest, 
False  fortune  did  her  safety  betray 
L'uto  a  strange  mischaunce,  that  menac'd  her  decay. 


In  these  wylde  deserts,  where  she  now  abode, 

There  (iwelt  a  salvage  nation,  which  did  live 

Of  stealth- and  spoile,  and  making  nightly  rode 

Into  their  neighbours  borders  ;  ne  did  give 

Themselves  to  any  trade,  (as  for  to  drive 

The  painefull  plough,  or  cattell  lor  to  breed. 

Or  by  adventrous  merchandize  to  thrive,) 

But  on  the  labours  of  poor  men  to  feed, 

And  serve  their  owne  necessities  with  otners  need. 


XXXVI. 

Thereto  they  usde  one  most  accursed  order. 

To  eate  the  flesh  of  men,  whom  they  mote  f'ynde, 

And  straungers  to  devoure,  which  on  their  border 

Were  brought  bv  errour  or  by  wreckfull  wynde  : 

A  monstrous  cruelty  gainst  course  of  kynde 

They,  towards  evening  wandering  every  way 

Vo  seeke  for  booty,  came  by  fortune  blynde 

U'hereas  this  lady,  like  a  sheepe  astray, 

.>io\T  drowned  in  the  depth  of  sleepe  all  fearlesse  lay. 


Soone  as  ihey  spide  her,  lord  !  what  gladfull  glee 

I'hev  made  amongst  themselves  !  but  when  her  face 

Like  the  faire  yvory  shining  they  did  see 

Each  gan  his  fellow  solace  and  embrace 

For  ioy  of  such  good  hap  by  heavenly  grace 

Tlieu  gan  they  to  devize  what  course  to  take; 

Whether  to  slay  her  there  upon  the  place, 

Or  suffer  her  out  of  her  sleepe  to  wake. 

And  then  her  eate  attonce,  or  many  meales  to  make 

xxxyiii. 

The  best  advizement  was,  of  bad,  to  let  her 

Sleepe  out  her  fill  without  encomberment  ; 

For  sleepe,  they  sayd,  would  make  herbattill  better* 

Then,  when  she  wakt,  they  all  gave  one  consent 

That,  since  by  grace  of  God  she  there  was  sent, 

Unto  their  god  they  would  her  sacrifize, 

^\'hose  .'•hare,  her  guiltlesse  bloud  they  would  present 

But  of  her  dainty  flesh  they  did  devize 

To  man.e  a  common  feast,  and  feed  with  gurmandize. 


So  round  about  her  they  themselves  did  place 
Upon  the  grasse,  and  diversely  dispose. 
As  each  thought  best  to  spend  the  lingring  space : 
Some  with  their  eyes  the  daintest  morsels  chose  ; 
Some  praise  her  paps  ;  some  praise  her  lips  and  nose; 
Some  wliet  their  knives,  and  strip  their  elboes  bare  . 
The  priest  himselfe  a  garland  doth  compose 
Of  finest  flowers,  and  with  full  busie  care 
His  bloudy  vessels  wash  and  holy  fire  prepare. 


The  damzell  wakes;  then  all  attonce  upstart. 
And  round  about  her  fiocke,  like  many  flies, 
Whooping  and  hallowing  on  every  part. 
As  if  they  would  have  rent  the  brasen  skies. 
Which  when  she  sees  with  ghastly  griefful  eies, 
Her  heart  does  quake,  and  deadly  pallid  hew 
Benumbes  her  cheeks  :  then  out  aloud  she  cries, 
\\  here  none  is  nigh  to  heare,  that  will  her  rew. 
And    rends    her   golden   locks,   and   snowy    brests 
embrew. 


But  all  bootes  not ;  they  hands  upon  her  lay  : 
And  first  they  spoile  her  of  her  iewels  deare. 
And  afterwards  of  all  her  rich  array  ; 
The  which  amongst  them  they  in  peeces  teare 
And  of  the  pray  each  one  a  part  doth  beare. 
Now  being  naked,  to  their  sordid  eyes 
'i'he  goodly  threasures  of  nature  ajipeare  : 
Which  as  they  view  with  lustfull  fanfasyes, 
Eeach  wisheth  to  himselfe,  and  to  the  rest  envyes. 


Her  yvorie  neck  ,  Iier  alablaster  brest  ; 
Her  paps,  which  like  white  silken  pillowes  were 
For  Love  in  soft  delight  thereon  to  rest ; 
►Her  tender  sides  ;  her  bellie  white  and  clere 
W  hicb  like  an  altar  did  itselfe  uprere 
I'o  oft'er  sacrifice  divine  thereon  ; 
Her  goodly  thighes,  whose  glorie  did  appeare 
Like  a  triumi)hall  arch,  and  thereupon 
1  he   spoiles  of  princes  liang'd  which  were  in  battel 
won.  V  a 


52-i 


THE  FAERIE  QUEIli^'E. 


[Book  VI. 


Those  claintie  parts,  the  dearlings  of  delight, 
Which  mote  not  be  prophan'd  of  common  eyes, 
Those  villeins  vew'd  with  loose  lascivious  sight. 
And  closely  tempted  with  their  craftie  spyes  ; 
And  some  of  them  gan  mongst  themselves  devize 
Thereof  by  force  to  take  their  beastly  pleasure  : 
But  them  the  priest  rebuking  did  advize 
To  dare  not  to  pollute  so  sacred  threasure 
Vow'd  to  the  gods :  religion  held  even  theeves  in 
measure. 


So,  being  stayd,  they  her  from  thence  directed 
Unto  a  litle  grove  not  farre  asyde, 
In  which  an  altar  shortly  they  erected 
To  slay  her  on.     And  now  the  eventyde 
His  brode  black  wings  had  through  the  heavens  wyde 
By  this  dispred,  that  was  the  tyme  ordayned, 
For  such  a  dismall  deed,  their  guilt  to  hyde  : 
Of  few  greene  turfes  an  altar  soone  they  fayned, 
And  deckt  it  all  with  flowres  which  they  nigh  hand 
obtayned. 

XLV. 

Tho,  whenas  all  things  readie  were  aright. 

The  damzell  was  before  the  altar  set, 

Being  alreadie  dead  with  fearefuU  fright : 

To  whom  the  priest  with  naked  armes  full  net 

Approching  nigh,  and  murdrous  knife  well  whet, 

Gan  mutter  close  a  certaine  secret  charme, 

With  other  divelish  ceremonies  met : 

Which  doen,  he  gan  aloft  t'  advance  his  arme, 

Whereat  they  shouted  all,  and  made  a  loud  alarme. 


Then  gan  the  bagpypes  and  the  homes  to  shrill 

And  shrieke  aloud,  that,  with  the  peoples  voyce 

Confused,  did  the  ayre  with  terror  fill, 

And  made  the  wood  to  tremble  at  the  noyce : 

Tlie  whyles  she  wayld,  the  more  they  did  reioyce. 

Now  mots  ye  understand  that  to  this  grove 

Sir  Calepine,  by  chaunce  more  then  by  choyce, 

The  selfe  same  evening  fortune  hether  drove. 

As  he  to  seeke  Serena,  through  the  woods  did  rove. 


Long  had  he  sought  her,  and  through  many  a  soyle 
Had  traveld  still  on  foot  in  heavie  armes, 
Ne  ought  was  tyred  with  his  endlesse  toyle, 
Ne  ought  was  feared  of  his  certaine  harmes  : 
And  now,  all  weetlesse  of  the  wretched  stormes 
In  which  his  love  was  lost,  he  slept  full  fast; 
Till,  being  waked  with  these  loud  alarmes. 
He  lightly  started  up  like  one  aghast. 
And  catching  up  his  armes  streight  to  the  noise  forth 
past. 

XLVIII. 

There  by  th'  uncertaine  glims  of  starry  night. 
And  by  the  twinkling  of  tleir  sacred  fire. 
He  mote  perceive  a  little  dawning  sight 
Of  all  which  there  was  doing  in  that  quire: 
Mongst  whom  a  woman  s]ioyled  of  all  attire 
He  spyde  lamenting  her  uiiluckie  strife, 
And  groning  sore  from  grieved  hart  entire: 
Eftsoones  he  saw  one  with  a  naked  knife 
Readie  to  launch  her  brest ,  and  let  out  loved  life. 


With  that  he  thrusts  into  the  thickest  throng  ; 
And,  even  as  his  right  hand  adowne  descends. 
He  liim  preventing  lays  on  earth  along, 
And  sacrifizeth  to  th'  infemall  feends : 
Then  to  the  rest  his  wrathfull  hand  he  bends  ; 
Of  whom  he  makes  such  havocke  and  such  hew. 
That  swarmes  of  damned  soules  to  hell  he  sends : 
The  rest,  that  scape  his  sword  and  death  eschew, 
fly  like  a  flocke  of  doves  before  a  faulcons  vew 


From  them  returning  to  that  ladie  backe, 
Whom  by  the  altar  he  doth  sitting  find 
Yet  fearing  death,  and  next  to  death  the  laclce 
Of  clothes  to  cover  what  she  ought  by  kind ; 
He  first  her  hands  beginneth  to  unbind. 
And  then  to  question  of  her  present  woe  ; 
And  afterwards  to  cheare  with  speaches  kind  : 
But  slie,  for  nought  tliat  he  could  say  or  doe. 
One   word  durst  speake,  or  answere  him  a  whit 
thereto. 


So  inward  shame  of  her  uncomely  case 

She  did  conceive,  through  care  of  womanhood, 

That  though  the  night  did  cover  her  disgrace. 

Yet  slie  in  so  unwomanly  a  mood 

Would  not  bewray  the  state  in  which  she  stood: 

So  all  that  night  to  him  unknown  she  past : 

But  day,  that  doth  discover  bad  and  good, 

Ensewing,  made  her  knowcm  to  him  at  last : 

'''he  end  whereof  He  keepe  untill  another  cast. 


Canto  IX.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


326 


CANTO  IX. 

Calidore  hostes  with  Melibee, 
And  loves  fayre  Pastorell : 

Coridon  envies  him,  yet  he. 
For  ill,  rewards  him  well. 


Now  turne  againe  my  teme,  thou  iolly  swayne, 
Backe  to  the  furrow  which  I  lately  left ; 
I  lately  left  a  furrow  one  or  twayne 
Unplough'd,  the  which  ray  coulter  had  not  cleft ; 
Yet  seem'd  the  soyle  both  fayre  and  frutefuU  eft, 
As  I  it  past  ;  that  were  too  o:reat  a  shame, 
That  so  rich  frute  should  be  from  us  bereft ; 
Besides  the  great  dishonour  and  defame, 
Which  should  befall  to  Calidores  immortall  name. 


Great  travell  hath  the  sfentle  Calidore 

And  toyle  endured,  sith  I  left  liim  last 

Sewing  the  blatant  beast  ;  which  I  forbore 

To  finish  then,  for  other  present  bast. 

Full  manv  pathes  and  perils  he  hath  past. 

Through  hils,  through  dales,  through  forests,  and 

through  plaines. 
In  that  same  quest  which  fortune  on  him  cast, 
Which  he  atehieved  to  his  owne  great  guines. 
Reaping  eteruall  glorie  of  his  restlesse  paines. 


So  sharply  he  the  monster  did  pursew. 
That  day  nor  night  he  suffred   him  to  rest, 
Ne  rested  he  himselfe  (but  natures  dew) 
For  dread  of  daunger  not  to  be  redrest. 
If  he  for  slouth  forslackt  so  famous  quest. 
Him  first  from  court  he  to  the  citties  coursed, 
And  from  the  citties  to  the  tovvnes  him  prest. 
And  from  the  tovvnes  in'o  tlie  countrie  tbrsed. 
And  from  the  country  back  to  private    farraes   he 
scorsed. 


From  thence  into  the  open  fields  he  fled. 

Whereas  the  heardes  were  keeping  of  their  neat. 

And  shepheards  singing,  to  tlieir  flockes  that  fed, 

Layes  of  sweet  love  and  youihes  dflightfull  heat: 

Him  thether  eke  for  a  1  his  fearefull  tljreat 

He  followed  fast,  and  chaced  him  so  nie. 

That  to  the  folds,  where  shee])e  at  niglit  doe  seat, 

And  to  the  litle  cots,  where  shepherds  lie 

In  winters  wrathful    time,  he  forced  him  to  fiie. 


There  on  a  day,  as  he  pursew'd  the  chace. 
He  chaunst  to  spy  a  sort  of  shepheard  groomes 
Playing  on  pypes  and  caroling  apace. 
The  wliyles  their  beasts  there  in  the  budded  hroomes 
Beside  them  fed,  and  nip   tlie  t«-ndfr  bloomes  ; 
For  other  worldly  wealth  tliev  cared  nought: 
To  whom  Sir  Calidore  yet  .s\\e;i  ing  conies. 
And  them  to  tell  him  courteouslv  besought. 
If  such   a   beast  they  saw,  which   he  had   thether 
brought. 


They  answer'd  him  that  no  such  beast  tbey  savr. 
Nor  any  wicked  feend  that  mote  offend 
Their  happie  flockes,  nor  daunger  to  them  draw  ; 
But  if  that  such  there  vv-ere  (as  none  they  kend) 
They  pravd  High  God  them  farre  from  them  to  send  : 
Then  one  of  them  him  seeing  so  to  sweat, 
After  his  rusiicke  wise,  that  well  he  weend, 
Offred  him  drinke  to  quenche  his  thirstie  heat. 
And,  if  he  hungry  were,  him  oftred  eke  to  eat. 


The  knight  was  nothing  nice,  where  was  no  need, 
And  tooke  their  gentle  offer  :  so  adowne 
They  prayd  him  sit,  and  gave  him  for  to  feed 
'^<  Such  hnmely  what  as  serves  the  simple  clowne, 
That  doth  despise  the  dainties  of  the  towne : 
Tho,  having  fed  his  fill,  he  there  besyde 
Saw  a  faire  damzell,  which  did  weare  a  crowne 
Of  sundry  flowres  with  silken  ribband^  tyde, 
Yclad  in  home-made   greene  that  her  owne  hands 
had  dyde. 

viir. 

Upon  a  litle  hillocke  she  wa?  placed 

Higher  then  all  the  rest,  and  round  about 

Environ 'd  with  a  girland,  goodly  graced. 

Of  lovely  lasses  ;  and  them  all  without 

The  lustie  shepheard  swayues  sate  in  a  rout. 

The  which  did  pype  and  sing  her  prayses  dew. 

And  oft  reioyce,  and  oft  for  wonder  shout, 

As  if  some  miracle  of  heavenly  hew 

Were  downe  to  them  descended  in  thatearthlv  vew. 


And  soothly  sure  she  was  full  fayre  of  face, 
And  perfectl}'  well  shapt  in  every  lim. 
Which  she  did  more  augment  with  modest  grace 
And  correly  cariiage  of  l.er  count'nance  trim, 
That  all  the  rest  like  lesser  lamps  did  dim  : 
Who,  her  admiring  as  som"  heavenly  wight. 
Did  for  their  soveraine  goddesse  her  esteeme, 
And,  caroling  her  name  both  dav  and  night. 
The  fayrest  Pastorella  ier  by  name  did  bight. 


Ne  was  there  heard,  ne  was  there  shepheards  swayne 
But  her  did  honour;  and  eke  many  a  one 
Burnt  in  lier  love,  and  with  sweet  pleasing  payne 
Full  many  a  night  for  her  did  sigh  and  grone  : 
But  most  of  all  the  sbei)heard  Coridon 
For  her  did  languisl),  and  his  deare  life  spend  ; 
Yet  neither  slie  for  him  nor  oiher  none 
Did  care  a  whit,  ne  any  liking  lend  : 
Though    meaiie  her  lot,  yet   higher  did  her  mind 
ascend. 


THE  I'AilRIE  QUKENE. 


[Book  VL 


Her  wlivles  Sir  Calidore  there  vewed  well, 
And  miirkt  her  rare  demeanure,  wliich  him  seemed 
So  farre  the  meaiie  of  sliepheards  to  exeell, 
As  that  he  in  his  mind  her  worthy  deemed 
'Jo  be  a  princes  paragone  esteemed. 
He  was  unwares  surprisd  in  subtile  bands 
Of  the  blynd  boy  ;  ne  thence  could  be  redeemed 
]>v  any  skill  out  of  his  cruell  hands  ; 
Ciiuglit  like  the  bird   which  gazhig  still   on  others 
stands. 


So  stood  he  still  long  gazing  thereupon, 

No  any  will  had  tjjence  to  move  away, 

Althdugh  his  (juest  were  farre  afore  him  gon  • 

But  after  he  had  fed,  yet  did  he  stay 

And  sate  there  still,  untill  the  flying  day 

Was  farre  forth  spent,  discoursing  diversly 

Of  sundry  things,  as  fell,  to  worke  delay  ; 

And  evermore  his  speach  he  did  apply 

To  th'  beards,  but  meant  them  to  the  damzels  fantazy. 


By  this  the  moystie  night  approching  fast 
Her  deawy  humour  gan  on  th'  earth  to  shed. 
That  warn'd  the  sbepheards  to  their  homes  to  hast 
Their  tender  flocks,  now  being  fully  fed, 
For  feare  of  wetting  them  before  ikvr  bed  : 
Then  came  to  them  a  good  old  aged  syre, 
AVhose  silver  lockes  bedeckt  his  beard  and  hed. 
With  shepheards  hooke  in  hand,  and  flt  attyre, 
That  wil'd  the  damzell  rise  ;  the  day  did  now  expyre. 


He  was  to  weet,  by  common  voice,  esteemed 

The  father  of  the  fayrest  Pastorell, 

And  of  herselfe  in  very  deede  so  deemed  ; 

Yet  was  not  so  ;  but,  as  old  stories  tell. 

Found  her  by  fortune,  which  to  him  befell, 

In  th'  open  fields  an  infant  left  alone  ; 

And,  taking  up,  brought  home  and  noursed  well 

As  his  owne  chyld  ;  for  other  he  had  none  ; 

That  she  in  tract  of  time  accompted  was  his  own 


She  at  his  bidding  meekelv  did  arise, 

And  streight  unto  her  litle  flocke  did  fare  : 

Then  all  the  rest  about  her  rose  likewise, 

And  each  lus  sundrie  sheepe  with  severall  care 

Gathered  together,  and  them  homeward  bare  : 

Whylest  everie  one  with  helping  hands  did  strive 

Amongst  tiieinselves,  and  did  their  labours  share, 

To  heipe  faire  I'astorella  iioiiie  to  drive 

Her  fleecie  flocke;  but  Coridon  most  helpe  did  give. 


But  Melibee  (so  bight  that  good  old  man) 

Now  seeing  Calidore  left  all  alone. 

And  night  arrived  hard  at  hand,  began 

Him  to  invite  unto  his  simple  home  ; 

Wli  c'li  tliDUgh  it  were  a  cottage  clad  with  lome, 

And  all  things  therein  meane,  yet  better  so 

To  lodge  then  in  the  salvage  fields  to  rome. 

The  knight  full  gladly  soone  agreed  thereto,         [go. 

Being  his  harts  owne  v.-ish  ;  and  hume  with  him  did 


There  he  was  welcom'd  of  that  honest  syre 
And  of  his  aged  beldame  homely  well ; 
Who  him  besought  himselfe  to  disattyre. 
And  rest  himselie,  till  .v.pper  tiine  befell  ; 
By  which  home  came  the  fayrest  Pastorell, 
After  her  flocke  she  in  their  fold  had  tyde  ; 
And,  supper  readie  dight,  they  to  it  fell 
With  small  adoe,  and  nature  satisfyde, 
The  which  doth  litle  crave  contented  to  abydo. 


Tho  when  they  had  their  hunger  slaked  well, 

And  the  favre  mayd  the  table  ta'ne  away  ; 

The  gentle  knight,  as  he  that  did  excel! 

In  courtesie  and  well  couUl  doe  and  say. 

For  so  great  kindnesse  as  he  found  that  day 

Gan  greatly  thanke  his  host  and  his  good  wife  ; 

And,  drawing  thence  his  speach  another  way, 

Gail  highly  lo  commend  tlie  happie  life  [strife. 

Which   shepheards  lead,    without   debate   or    biltei 


"  How  much,"  sayd  he,  "more  happie  is  the  state 

In  which  ye,  father,  here  doe  dwell  at  ease. 

Leading  a  life  so  free  and  fortunate 

From  all  the  tempests  of  these  worldly  seas. 

Which  tosse  the  rest  in  daungerous  disease  ; 

Where  warres,  and  wreckes,  and  wicked  eninitie 

Doe  them  afflict,  which  no  man  can  appease  ! 

That  certes  1  your  hajjpiiiesse  envie, 

And  wish  my  lot  were  plast  in  such  felicitie  !" 


"  Surely,  my  sonne,"  then  ansvrer'd  he  againe, 

"  If  happie  ;  then  it  is  in  this  intent, 

That  having  small  yet  doe  I  not  coniplaine 

Of  want,  ne  v\ish  for  more  it  to  augment, 

But  doe  myselfe,  with  that  I  have,  content ; 

So  taught  of  nature,  wdiich  doth  litle  need 

Of  forreine  heljies  to  lifes  due  nourishment : 

The  fields  my  food,  my  flocke  a\y  rayment  breed , 

No  better  doe  1  weare,  no  better  doe  I  feed. 


"  Therefore  I  doe  not  any  one  envy,  • 

Nor  am  envyde  of  any  one  therefore  : 

'i'hey,  that  have  much,  feare  much  to  loose  thereby. 

And  store  of  carei  doth  follow  riches  store. 

The  litle  that  I  have  grovves  dayly  more 

Without  my  care,  but  onely  to  attend  it ; 

My  lainbes  doe  every  yeare  increase  their  score. 

And  my  flockes  fatlier  daily  doth  amend  it.  fsend  it! 

What  have  J,  but  to  jiraise  th'  Almighty  that  doth 


"  To  them,  that  list,  the  worlds  gay  showes  I  leav  :. 

And  to  great  one.  such  follies  doe  forgive; 

Which  oft  through  jjride  do  tlieir  owne  jierill  weave, 

And  through  ambition  downe  themselves  doe  drive 

'I'o  sad  decay,  that  might  contented  live. 

Me  no  such  cares  nor  combrous  thoughts  ofleiid, 

Ne  once  my  minds  unmoved  quiet  grieve  ; 

But  all  the  night  in  silvti  slec  pe  1  spend. 

And  all  the  day,  to  what  1  list,  1  doe  attecd. 


Canto  IX.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


327 


"  Sometimes  I  hunt  the  fox,  the  vowed  foe 
Unto  my  him])es,  and  him  dislodge  away  ; 
Sometime  the  ftnvne  I  practise  from  the  doe, 
Or  from  the  goat  lier  kidde,  how  to  convay  ; 
Another  while  I  baytes  and  nets  display 
The  birds  to  catch  or  fishes  to  beguyle  ; 
And  wlien  I  wearie  am,  I  downe  doe  lay 
My  limbes  in  every  shade  to  rest  from  toyle  ; 
And  drinke  of  every  brooke,  when   thirst  my  throte 
doth  boyle. 


"  The  time  was  once,  in  my  first  prime  of  yeares, 
When  pride  of  youth  forth  pricked  my  desire, 
That  I  disdain'd  among  mine  equall  peares 
'Jo  follow  sheepe  and  shepheards  base  attire; 
For  further  fortune  then  I  would  inquire  : 
And,  leaving  home,  to  roiall  court  1  sought, 
Where  I  did  sell  myselfe  for  yearely  hire, 
And  in  the  princes  gardin  daily  wrought : 
There  I  beheld  such  vainesse  as  I  never  thought. 


"  With  sight  whereof  soone  cloyd,  and  long  deluded 

^Vith  idle  hopes  which  them  doe  entertaine. 

After  I  had  ten  yeares  myselfe  excluded 

From  native  home,  and  spent  my  youth  in  vaine, 

I  gan  my  follies  to  myselfe  to  plaine, 

And  this  sweet  peace,  whose  lacke  did  then  appeare  : 

The,  backe  returning  to  my  sheepe  againe, 

I  from  thenceforth  have  learn'd  to  love  more  deare 

This  lowly  quiet  life  which  I  inherite  here." 


Whylest  thus  he  talkt,  the  knight  with  greedy  ears 
Hong  still  upon  his  melting  mouth  atlent  ; 
AVhose  sensefull  words  empierst  his  hart  so  neare, 
That  he  was  wrapt  with  double  ravishment, 
Both  of  his  s])each  that  wrought  him  great  content, 
And  also  of  the  obiect  of  his  vew, 
On  which  his  hungry  eye  was  alwayes  bent ; 
That  twixt  his  pleasing  tongue,  and  her  faire  hew, 
rie  lost  himselfe,  and  like  one  halfe-entra\inced  grew. 


Yet  to  occasion  meanes  to  worke  his  mind, 
And  to  insinuate  his  harts  desire, 
He  thus  replyde  ;  "  Now  surelv,  svre,  I  find, 
That  all  this  worlds  gay  showes,  which  we  admire, 
Be  but  vaine  shadows  to  this  safe  retyre 
Of  life,  which  here  in  lowlinesse  ye  lead, 
Fearelesse  of  foes,  or  fortunes  wrackfull  yre. 
Which  tossetb  states,  and  under  foot  doth  tread 
The  mighfie  ones  affrayd  of  every  chaunges  dred. 


"  That  even  I,  which  daily  doe  behold 

The  glorie  of  the  great  mongst  whom  I  won. 

And  now  have  prov'd  what  hapjiinesse  ye  hold 

In  this  small  plot  of  your  dominion. 

Now  loath  great  lordship  and  ambition  ; 

And  wish  the  heavens  so  much  had  graced  mee, 

As  graunt  me  live  in  like  condi'ion  ; 

Or  that  my  fortunes  might  transposed  bee 

From  pitch  of  liigher  place  unto  tiiis  low  degree." 


"  In  vaine,"  said  then  old  iMelibee,  ''doe  men 
The  lieavens  of  their  fortunes  fault  accuse  ; 
Sith  they  know  best  what  is  the  best  for  them  : 
For  they  to  each  such  fortune  doe  diffuse, 
As  they  doe  know  each  can  most  aptly  use- 
For  not  that,  which  men  covet  most,  is  best  ; 
Nor  that  thing  worst,  which  men  do  most  refuse  ; 
But  fittest  is,  that  all  contented  rest  [brest  > 

With  that  they  hold  ;  each   hath  his  fortune  in  his 


"  It  is  the  mynd,  tliat  maketh  good  or  ill. 
That  maketh  wretch  or  happie,  ricii  or  j)oore  : 
For  some,  that  hath  abundance  at  his  will. 
Hath  not  enough,  but  waftts  in  greatest  store  ; 
And  other,  that  hatli  litle,  asks  no  more, 
i'>ut  in  that  htle  is  both  rich  and  ■wise ; 
For  wisedome  is  most  riches  :  fooles  therefore 
They  are,  which  fortunes  doe  by  vowes  devize  ; 
Sith  each  unto  himselfe  his  life  may  fortunize." 


"  Since  then  in  each  mans  self,"  said  Calidore, 

"  It  is  to  fashion  his  owne  lyfes  estate. 

Give  leave  awhyle,  good  father,  in  this  shore 

To  rest  my  barcke,  which  hath  bene  beaten  late 

With  stormes  of  fortune  and  tempestuous  fate, 

In  seas  of  troubles  and  of  toylesome  paine  ; 

That,  whether  quite  from  them  for  to  retrate 

I  shall  resolve  or  backe  to  turne  againe, 

I  may  here  with  yourselfe  some  small  repose  obaine. 

XXXII. 

"  Not  that  the  burden  of  so  bold  a  guest 

Sha.l  cnargefuU  be,  or  chaunge  to  you  at  all ; 

For  your  meane  food  shall  be  my  daily  feast. 

And  this  your  cabin  both  my  bowre  and  hall; 

Besides,  fur  recompence  hereof,  I  shall 

You  well  reward,  and  golden  guerdon  give, 

That  may  perhaps  you  better  much  withall. 

And  in  this  quiet  make  you  safer  live." 

So  forth  he  drew  much  gold,  and  toward  him  it  drive. 


But  the  good  man,  nought  tempted  with  the  offer 

Of  his  rich  mould,  did  thrust  it  farre  away,    [proffer 

And    thus   bespake  ;  "Sir  knight,  your  bounteous 

Be  farre  fro  me,  to  whom  ye  ill  display 

That  mucky  masse,  the  cause  of  mens  decay. 

That  mote  empaire  my  peace  with  daungers  dread : 

But,  if  ye  algates  covet  to  assay 

This  simple  sort  of  life  that  shepheards  lead. 

Be  it  your  owne :   our  rudenesse  to  yourselfe  aread." 

XXXIV. 

So  tliere  that  night  Sir  Calidoie  did  dwell. 

And  long  while  after,  wildest  him  list  remaine, 

Daylv  beholding  the  faire  P-istorell, 

And  feeding  on  the  bayt  of  his  owne  bane  : 

During  which  time  he  did  her  entertaine 

With  all  kind  courtesies  he  could  invent  ; 

And  every  day,  her  comjianie  to  gaine. 

When  to  the  field  she  went,  he  with  her  went  : 

So  for  to  quench  his  fire  he  did  it  more  augment. 


328 


THE  KAERIB  QUEKNE, 


[Book  VI 


But  she  that,  never  had  acquainted  beene 
With  such  quient  usage,  fit  for  queens  and  kings, 
Ne  ever  had  such  kniglitlv  service  seene  ; 
LSut,  being-  bred  under  base  she])heards  wings, 
Had  ever  learn'd  to  love  the  lowly  things ; 
Did  litle  whit  regard  his  courteous  guize, 
But  cared  more  for  Colins  carolings 
Then  all  that  ]:e  could  doe,  or  e'er  devize ; 
His  laves,  his    loves,  his  lookes,  she  did  them  all 
despize. 

XXXVI. 

Which  Calidore  perceiving,  thought  it  best 

To  chaunge  the  manner  of  his  loftie  looke  ; 

And  doffing  his  bright  armes  himselfe  addrest 

In  shepheards  weed  ;  and  in  his  hand  he  tooke, 

Instead  of  steele-head  speare,  a  shepheards  hooke  ; 

That  who  had  seene  him  then,  wonld  have  bethought 

On  Phrvgian  Paris  by  Plexippus  brooke, 

AVhen  he  the  love  of  fayre  Jjeiione  sought, 

What  time  the  golden  apple  was  unto  him  brought. 

XXXVII. 

So  being  clad  unto  the  fields  he  went 
With  the  faire  Pastorella  every  day. 
And  kept  her  shee[)e  with  diligent  attent. 
Watching  to  drive  the  ravenous  wolfe  away. 
The  wliylest  at  pleasure  she  mote  sport  and  play  ; 
And  every  evening  helping  them  to  fold  : 
And  otherwhiles,  for  neetl,  he  did  assay 
In  his  strong  hand  their  rugged  teats  to  hold. 
And  out  of  them  to  presse  the  milke  :  Love  s®  much 
could. 

XXXVIII. 

Which  seeing  Coridon,  who  her  likewise 
Long  time  had  lov'd,  and  hop'd  her  love  to  gaine, 
He  much  was  troubled  at  that  straungers  guize. 
And  many  gealous  thoughts  conceiv'd  in  vaine, 
That  this  of  all  his  labour  and  long  paine 
Should  reap  the  harvest  ere  it  ripened  were ; 
That  made  him  scoule,  and  pout,  and  oft  complaine 
Of  Pastorell  to  all  the  she]iheards  there, 
That  she  did  love  a  "Stranger  swayne  then  him  more 
dere. 

xxxix. 

And  ever,  when  he  came  in  comjianie 
Where  Calidore  was  ])resent,  he  would  loure 
And  byte  his  lip,  and  even  for  gealousie 
^^'as  readie  oft  his  owne  hart  to  devoure, 
Impatient  of  any  paramoure  : 
Who  on  the  other  side  did  seeme  so  farre 
From  malicing,  or  grud^^ing  his  good  houre, 
That,  all  he  could,  he  graced  him  with  her, 
Is'e  ever  shewed  signe  of  rancour  or  of  iarre. 


And  oft,  when  Coridon  unto  her  brought 

C)r  litle  sparrowes  stolen  from  their  nest. 

Or  wanton  S(|uirrels  in  the  woods  fane  sought. 

Or  otiier  daintie  thing  for  lier  addrest. 

He  would  commend  his  guift,  and  make  the  best: 

Vet  she  no  whit  his  presents  did  regard, 

Ne  hiiii  could  find  to  fancie  in  her  brest ; 

This  new-come  sb'^pheard  had  his  market  mard. 

Old  love  is  litle  worth  when  new  is  more  prefard. 


One  dav,  whenas  the  shepheard  swaynes  together 
Were  met  to  make  their  sports  and  nierrie  glee. 
As  they  are  wont  in  faire  sunshynie  weather, 
The  wliiles  their  flockes  in  shadowes  shrouded  bee; 
They  fell  to  daunce  :  then  did  thev  all  agree 
That  Colm  Clout  should  ])ipe,  as  one  most  fit; 
And  Calidore  should  lead  the  ring,  as  bee 
Tliat  most  in  Pastorellaes  grace  did  sit  : 
Thereat  frown'd  Coridon,  and  his  lip  closely  bit. 


But  Calidore,  of  courteous  inclination, 

Tooke  Coridon  and  set  him  in  his  place. 

That  he  should  lead  the  daunce,  as  was  his  fashion ; 

For  Coridon  could  daunce,  and  trimly  trace  ; 

And  whenas  Pastorella,  him  to  grace, 

Her  tiovviy  garlond  tooke  from  her  owne  head, 

And  ])last  on  his,  lie  did  it  soone  displace, 

And  did  it  put  on  ('oridons  instead  : 

Then  Coridon  woxe  froUicke,  that  earst  seemed  dea 


Another  time,  whenas  they  did  dispose 
To  practise  games  and  maistenes  to  try, 
They  for  their  iudge  did  Pastorella  chose  ; 
A  garland  was  the  meed  of  victory  : 
There  Coridon,  forth  stepping,  openly 
Did  chalenge  Calidore  to  wrestling  game; 
For  he,  through  long  and  perfect  industry, 
Therein  well  [iractisd  was,  and  in  the  same 
'i'hought  sure  t'avenge  his  grudge,  and  worke  his  fo« 
great  shame. 


But  Calidore  he  greatly  did  mistake ; 

For  he  w;is  strong  and  mightily  stiffe  pight, 

That  with  one  fall  his  necke  he  almost  brake  ; 

And,  had  he  not  upon  him  fallen  light. 

His  dearest  ioynt  he  sure  had  broken  quight. 

Then  was  the  oaken  crowne  by  Pastorell 

Given  to  Calidore  as  his  due  right ; 

]jut  he,  that  d:d  in  courtesie  excel]. 

Gave  it  to  Coridon,  and  said  he  wonne  it  well. 


'I'hus  did  the  gentle  knight  himselfe  abeare 
Amongst  that  rusticke  rout  in  all  his  deeds, 
That  even  they,  the  which  his  rivals  were. 
Could  not  maligne  him,  but  commend  him  needs: 
For  courtesie  amongst  the  rudest  breeds 
Good  will  and  favour  .  so  it  surely  wrought 
With  this  faire  mayd,  and  in  her  inynde  the  seeds 
Of  jjeil'ect  love  did  sow,  that  last  forth  brought 
The  fruite  of  ioy  and  blisse,  though  long  time  dearelj 
bought. 


Thus  Calidore  continu'd  there  long  time 
To  winne  the  love  of  the  faire  Pastorell; 
Wliich  having  got,  he  used  without  crime 
Or  bhnnefuU  blot ;  hut  menaged  so  well, 
That  he,  of  all  the  rest  which  there  did  dwell. 
Was  favoured  and  to  her  grace  commended  : 
But  what  straunge  fortunes  unto  him  befell, 
Ere  he  attain'd  tlie  point  by  him  intended, 
Shall  more  conveniently  in  otlier  nlane  be  ended. 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


329 


CANTO  X. 


Calidore  sees  the  graces  daunce 

To  Colins  melody : 
Tbe  whiles  his  Pastorell  is  led 

Into  captivity. 


Who  now  does  follow  the  foule  blatant  beast, 
Whitest  Calidore  does  follow  that  faire  mayd, 
Unmyndfull  of  his  vow,  and  high  beheast 
Which  by  the  Faery  Queene  was  on  him  layd, 
That  he  should  never  leave,  nor  be  delayd 
From  chacing  him,  till  he  had  it  atlchieved  ? 
But  now,  entrapt  of  Love  which  him  betruyd. 
He  mindeth  more  how  he  may  be  relieved 
With  grace  from  her,  whose  love  his  heart  hath  sore 
entrrieved. 


That  from  henceforth  he  meanes  no  more  to  sew 

His  former  quest,  so  full  of  toile  and  paine  ; 

Another  quest,  another  game  in  vew 

He  hath,  the  guerdon  of  his  love  to  gaine  ; 

With  whom  he  niyiides  forever  to  remaine, 

And  set  his  rest  amongst  the  rusticke  sort. 

Rather  then  hunt  still  after  shadovves  vaine 

Of  courtly  favour  fed  with  light  report 

Oi"  every  blaste,  and  sayling  ahvaies  in  the  port. 


Ne  certes  mote  be  greatly  blamed  be 
From  so  high  step  to  stoupe  unto  so  low  ; 
For  who  had  tasted  once,  as  oft  did  he, 
The  happy  peace  which  there  doth  overflow. 
And  prov'd  the  perfect  pleasures  which  doe  grow 
Amongst  poore  hyndes,  in  hils,  in  woods,  in  dales ; 
Would  never  more  delight  in  painted  show 
Of  such  false  blisse,  as  there  is  set  for  stales 
T'  entrap  unwary  fooles  in  their  eternall  bales. 


For  what  hath  all  that  goodly  glorious  gaze 
Like  to  one  sight  which  Calidore  did  vew  ? 
The  giaunce  whereof  their  dimmed  eies  would  daze, 
That  never  more  they  should  endure  the  shew 
Of  that  sliuntie-shine,  that  m.ikes  them  looke  askew. 
Ne  ought,  in  all  that  world  of  beauties  rare, 
(Save  onely  Glorianaes  heavenly  hew. 
To  which  what  can  comparer')  can  it  compare  ; 
The  which,  as  commeth  now  by  course,  I  will  de- 
clare. 


One  day,  as  he  did  raunge  the  fields  abroad, 
W'hilest  his  faire  Pa.-torella  was  elsewhere. 
He  chaunst  to  come,  far  from  all  peoples  troad, 
Unto  a  place,  whose  j)leasaunce  did  appere 
To  passe  all  others  on  tiie  partli  which  were: 
For  all  that  ever  was  by  Nature's  skill 
Deviz'd  to  worke  delight  was  gathered  there , 
And  there  by  her  were  poured  forth  at  fill, 
As  if,  this  to  adorne,  she  all  the  rest  did  pill. 


It  was  an  hill  plaste  in  an  open  plaine, 

That  round  about  was  bordered  with  a  wood 

Of  matchlesse  hight,that  seem'd  th'  earth  to  disdaine; 

In  which  all  trees  of  honour  stately  stood. 

And  did  all  winter  as  in  sommer  bud, 

Spreduing  pavilions  for  the  birds  to  bowre, 

Which  in  their  lower  braunches  sung  aloud; 

And  in  their  tops  the  soring  hauke  did  towre, 

Sitting  like  king  of  fowles  in  maiesty  and  powre- 


And  at  the  fiote  thereof  a  gentle  flud, 
liis  silver  waves  ditl  sofdy  tumble  downe, 
Unmard  with  laggedmosse  or  filthy  mud  ; 
Ne  mote  wylde  beastes,  nemote  the  ruder  clowne 
Thereto  approch  ;  ne  filth  mote  therein  drnu  ne  : 
Kut  nym])hes  and  faeries  by  the  bancks  did  sit 
In  the  woods  shade  which  did  the  waters  crowne. 
Keeping  all  noysome  things  away  from  u, 
And  to  the  waters  fall  tuning  their  accents  fit. 


And  on  the  top  thereof  a  sjiacious  plaine 

Did  spred  itselfe,  to  serve  to  all  delight, 

Either  to  daunce,  when  they  to  daunce  Avould  faine 

Or  else  to  course-about  their  bases  light; 

Ne  ought  there  wanted,  which  for  pleasure  might 

Desired  be,  or  thence  to  banish  bale  : 

So  pleasauntly  the  hill  with  equall  hight 

Did  si'Pme  to  overlooke  the  lowly  vale  ; 

Therefore  it  rightly  cleeped  was  Mount  Acidale. 


They  say  that  Venus,  when  she  did  dispose 

Herselfe  to  pleasaunce,  used  to  resort 

Unto  this  place,  and  therein  to  repose 

And  rest  herselfe  as  in  a  gladsome  port. 

Or  with  the  graces  there  to  play  and  sport  ; 

That  even  her  owne  Cytheron,  though  in  it 

She  used  most  to  keepe  her  royall  court 

And  in  her  soveraine  majesty  to  sit. 

She  in  regard  hereof  refusde  and  thought  unfit. 


Unto  this  place  whenas  the  elfin  knight 
Approcht,   him  seemed  that  the  merry  sound 
Of  a  shrill  pipe  he  jilaving  heard  on  hi;;ht, 
And  many  feete  fast  thumping  th'  hnllow  ground, 
That  through  the  woods  their  eccho  did  rebound. 
He  nigher  drew,  to  weete  what  mote  it  be: 
There  he  a  trou]ie  of  ladies  dauncing  found 
Full  merrily,  and  making  gladfull  glee. 
And  in  the'midst  a  shepheard  pi}iiiig  he  did  see. 


330 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


[Boox  VI. 


He  durst  not  enter  into  th'  open  greens, 

For  dreiul  of  them  unwares  to  be  descrytle, 

For  breaking  of  their  daunce,  if  lie  were  seene  ; 

But  in  tliR  corert  of  the  wood  did  byde, 

Beboliling  all,  yet  of  them  unespyde  : 

There  he  did  see,  that  pleased  much  his  sight, 

That  even  he  himselfe  his  eyes  envyde, 

An  hundred  naked  maidens  lilly  white 

All  raunged  in  a  ring,  and  (iauncing  in  delight. 


All  thev  without  were  raunged  in  a  ring, 
And  daunced  round  ;  but  in  tlie  midst  of  them 
Three  o'her  ladies  did  both  daunce  and  sing, 
The  wliilest  the  rest  them  round  about  did  hemme. 
And  like  a  girlond  did  in  compasse  stemme ; 
And  in  the  middest  of  those  same  three  was  placed 
Another  damzell,  as  a  precious  gemme. 
Amidst  a  ring  most  richl)-^  well  enchaced, 
That  with  her  goodly   presence    all  the   rest  much 
o^  raced. 


Looke  !  how  the  crowne,  which  Ariadne  wore 

Upon  her  vvory  forehead  that  same  day 

That  Theseus  her  unto  his  bridale  bore, 

When  the  bold  Centaures  made  that  bloudy  fray 

With  the  fierce  Lapithes  which  did  them  dismay  ; 

Being  now  placed  in  the  firmament. 

Through  the  bright  heaven  doth  her  beams  display, 

And  is  unto  the  starres  an  ornament, 

Which  round  about  her  move  in  order  excellent. 


Such  was  the  beauty  of  this  goodly  band. 

Whose  sundry  parts  were  here  too  long  to  tell: 

But  she,  that  in  the  midst  of  them  did  stand, 

Seem'd  all  the  rest  in  beauty  to  excell, 

Crownd  with  a  rosie   girlond  that  right  well 

Did  her  beseeme  :  and  ever,  as  the  crew 

About  her  daunst,  sweet  flowres  that  far  did  smell 

And  fragrant  odours  they  uppon  lier  threw  ; 

But,  most  of  all,  those  three  did  her  with  gifts  endew, 


Those  were  the  Graces,  daughters  of  delight, 
Handmaides  of  Venus,  which  are  wont  to  haunt 
Uppon  this  hill,  and  daunce  there  day  and  night: 
Those  three  to  men  all  gifts  of  grace  do  graunt ; 
And  all,  that  Venus  in  herself  doth  vaunt. 
Is  borrowed  of  them  :   but  that  faire  one. 
That  in  the  midst  was  placed  paravaunt. 
Was  she  to  whom  that  shepheard  pypt  alone  ; 
That  made  him  i)ipe  so  merrily,  as  never  none. 


She  was,  to  weete,  that  iolly  shepbeards  lasse, 
\\  hich  piped  there  unto  that  merry  rout; 
That  inlly  shepheard,  which  there  piped,  was 
J^oore  Colin  Clout,  (who  knows  not  Colin  Clout?) 
lie  l)yi)t-  apace,  wliilest  they  him  daunst  about. 
Pyjje,  iolly  bliej]lieard,  pyjie  thou  now  apace 
Unto  thy  love  that  made  thee  low  to  lout  ; 
'lliy  love  is  present  tin  re  with  thee  in  place  ; 
Thy  love  is  there  advaunst  to  be  another  grace. 


Much  wondred  Calidore  at  this  strauiige  sight, 

Whose  like  before  his  eye  had  never  seene  ; 

And  standing  long  astonished  in  spriglit. 

And  rapt  with  ])leasaunce,  wist  not  what  to  weene  ; 

Whether  it  were  the  traine  of  beauties  ipieene, 

Or  nymphes,  or  faeries,  or  enchaunted  show, 

With  which  his  eyes  mote  have  deluded  beene. 

Therefore,  resolving  wliat  it  was  to  know. 

Out  of  the  wood  be  rose,  and  toward  them  did  go 


But,  soone  as  he  appeared  to  their  vew. 
They  vanisht  all  away  out  of  his  sight, 
And  cleane  were  gone,  which  way  he  never  knew 
All  save  the  shepheard,  who,  for  fell  des])ight 
Of  that  displeasure,  broke  his  bag-pipe  quight, 
And  made  great  mone  for  that  unhap[)y  turne  : 
But  Calidore,  though  no  lesse  sorv  wight 
For  that  mishap,  yet  seeing  him  to  mourne. 
Drew  neare,  that  he  the  truth  of  all  by  him  mute 
learne : 


And,  first  him  greeting,  thus  unto  him  spake  ; 
"  Haile,  iolly  shepheard,  which  thy  iovous  dayes 
Here  leadest  in  this  goodly  merrv-make, 
Frequented  of  these  gentle  nymphes  ahvaves, 
Which  to  thee  flocke  to  heare  thy  lovely  hiyes  ! 
Tell  me  what  mote  these  dainty  damzels  be, 
Which  here  with  thee  doe  make  their  pleasant  [ilayes 
Right  happy  thou,  that  mayest  them  freelv  sei'  ! 
But  why,  when  1  them  saw,  fled  they  away  from  me  ? 


"  Not  I  so  happy,"  answerd  then  that  swaine, 
"  As  thou  unhappy,  which  them  thence  didst  chacp. 
Whom  by  no  meanes  thou  canst  recall  agaiiie  ; 
For,  being  gone,  none  can  them  bring  in  place, 
But  whom  they  of  themselves  list  so  to  grace." 
"  Right  sorry  I,"  saide  then  Sir  Calidore, 
"  I'hat  my  ill-fortune  did  them  hence  displace  : 
But  since  things  passed  none  may  now  restore. 
Tell  me  what  were  they  all,  whose  lacke  thie grieves 
so  sore." 

XXI. 

Tho  gan  that  shepheard  thus  for  to  dilate  ; 

"  Then  wote,  thou  shepheard,  whatsoe'er  thou  bee, 

That  all  those  ladies  which  thou  sawest  late. 

Are  Venus  damzels,  all  within  her  fee. 

But  differing  in  honour  and  degree  ; 

They  all  are  graces  which  on  her  depend  ; 

Besides  a  thousand  more  which  ready  bee 

Her  to  adoriie,  wheiiso  she  forth  doth  wend  , 

But  those  three  in  the  midst,  doe  chiefe  on  her  attend, 


"  They  are  the  daughters  of  sky-ruling  love. 
By  him  begot  of  faire  Eurynome, 
The  Oceans  daughter,  in  this  pleasant  grove. 
As  he,  this  way  camming  from  feastful  glee 
Of  Thetis  wedding  with  Aecidee, 
In  sommers  shade  himselfe  here  rested  weary. 
The  first  of  them  bight  mylde  Euphrosyne, 
Next  faire  Aglaia,  last  'I'halia  merry  ; 
Svveete  goddesses  all  tlire«,   which  me  in  mir<i"A 
cherry! 


Canto  X.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


931 


"  These  tlirce  on  men  all  gracious  shifts  bestow, 
W'liicli  (lecke  tlie  body  or  adoine  the  mynde. 
'I'o  make  them  lovely  or  well-favoured  show  ; 
As  coraelv  carriage,  entertainment  kinde, 
Sweete  semblaunt,  i'riendlv  offices  tlia^  bynde, 
And  all  (he  complements  of  cuitesie: 
Thev  teach  us,  how  to  each  degree  and  kynde 
We  should  ourselves  demeane,  to  low,  to  liie, 
To  friends,  to  foes  ;  which  skill  men  call  civility. 


"  Therefore  they  alwaies  smoothly  seeme  to  smile, 
That  we  likewise  should  nulde  and  gentle  be  ; 
And  also  naked  are,  that  witliout  guile 
Or  false  dissemblaunce  all  them  ]>laine  may  see, 
Simple  and  true  from  covert  malice  free  ; 
And  eeke  themselves  so  in  their  daunce  they  bore, 
That  two  of  them  still  froward  seem'd  to  bee, 
But  one  still  towanls  shew'd  herselfe  afore  ; 
That  good  should  from  us  goe^  then  come  in  greater 
store. 


"  Such  were  those  goddesses  which  ye  did  see  : 

But  that  fourth  mayd,  which  there   amidst  them 

Who  can  aread  what  creature  mote  she  bee,  [traced, 

\\  hether  a  creature,  or  a  goddesse  graced 

With  heavenly  gifts  from  heven  first  enraced  ! 

But  whatso  sure  she  was,  she  worthy  was 

To  be  the  fourth  with  those  three  otlier  placed : 

Yet  was  she  certes  but  a  countrey  lasse  ; 

Vet  she  all  other  coantrey  lasses  farre  did  passe  : 


''  So  farre,  as  doth  the  daughter  of  the  day 

All  other  lesser  lights  in  light  excell ; 

So  farre  doth  she  in  beautvtuU  arrav 

Above  all  other  lasses  beare  the  bell  ; 

Ne  lesse  in  vertue  that  be.seemes  her  well 

Doth  she  exceede  the  rest  of  all  her  race  ; 

J'or  which  the  graces,  that  here  wont  to  dwell, 

Have  for  more  honor  brought  her  to  this  place, 

And  graced  her  so  much  to  be  another  grace. 


"  Another  grace  she  well  deserves  to  be. 
In  whom  so  many  graces  gathered  are, 
Excelling  much  the  meane  of  her  degree 
Divine  resemblaunce,  beauty  soveraine  rare, 
Firme  chastity,  that  spight  ne  blemish  dart-  ! 
All  which  she  with  such  courtesie  dotl;  grace, 
Tiiat  all  her  peres  cannot  with  her  compare. 
But  quite  are  dimmed  when  she  is  in  place: 
6he  made  me  often  pipe,  and  now  to  pipe  apace. 


"  Sunne  of  the  world,  great  glorv  of  the  sky, 

That  all  the  earth  doest  lighten  with  thy  raves. 

Great  Gloriana,  greatest  majesty! 

Pardon  thy  Shepheard,  niongsl  so  many  layes 

As  he  hath  sung  of  thne  in  ad  his  dryes, 

To  make  one  minime  of  thy  poore  handmayd. 

And  underneath  thy  fe-te  to  place  her  prayse  ; 

That,  when  thy  glory  shall  be  farre  displavd 

lo  future  age,  of  her  this  mention  may  be  made  !' 


When  thus  that  shepheard  ended  had  his  speach, 
Sayd  Calidore  ;  "  Now  sure  it  yrketh  mee. 
That  to  thy  blisse  1  made  this  luckelesse  breach. 
As  now  the  author  of  thy  bale  to  be. 
Thus  to  bereave  thv  loves  deare  sight  fiom  thee  : 
But,  gentle  shepheard,  pardon  thou  my  shame, 
\\  ho  rashly  sought  that  which  1  mote  not  see." 
Thus  did  the  courteous  knight  excuse  his  blame. 
And  to  recomfort  him  all  comely  meanes  did  iraine. 


In  such  discourses  they  together  spent 
Long  time,  as  fit  oc(  asion  forth  tlieai  led  ; 
With  which  the  knight  him.-elfe  did  much  content, 
And  with  delight  his  greedy  fancy  fed 
Both  of  his  words,  which  he  with  reason  red. 
And  also  of  the  place,  who>e  pleasures  rare 
\\  ith  such  regard  his  sences  ravislied, 
That  thence   he  had  no  will  away  to  far,e. 
But  wisht  that  with  that  shepheard  he  mote  dwelling 
share. 


But  that  envenimd  sting,  the  which  of  yore 
His  povsnous  point  deepe  fixed  in  his  iiart 
Had  left,  now  gan  afresh  to  rancle  sore. 
And  to  renue  tl'e  rigour  of  his  smart; 
Which  to  recure,  no  skill  of  leaches  art 
iMote  him  availe,  but  to  returne  againe 
To  his  wounds  worker,  that  with  lovely  dart 
Dinting  his  brest  had  bred  his  restlesse  paine  ; 
Like  as  the  wounded  whale  to  shore  flies  from  the 
maine. 


So,  taking  leave  of  that  same  gentle  swaine. 
He  backe  returned  to  his  rusticke  wonne. 
Where  his  faire  Pastorella  did  remaine  : 
To  wliome  in  sort,  as  he  at  first  begonne, 
He  daily  did  apply  himselfe  to  doune 
All  dewfull  service,  voide  of  thoughts  impure, 
Ne  any  paines  ne  perill  did  be  shonne, 
By  which  he  might  her  to  his  love  allure. 
And  liking  in  her  yet  untamed  heart  procure 


And  evermore  the  shepheard  Coridon, 
Whatever  thmg  he  did  her  to  aggrate. 
Did  strive  to  match  with  strong  contention. 
And  all  his  paines  did  closely  emulate  ; 
Whether  it  were  to  caroll,  as  they  sate 
Keeping  their  sheejje,  or  games  to  exercize, 
Or  to  present  her  with  their  labours  late  : 
Through  which  if  any  grace  chaunst  to  arize 
Toiiim,  tiie  shepheard  straight   with  iealousie  did 
frize. 


One  day,  as  they  all  three  together  went 

To  the  greene  wood  to  gather  strawberies. 

There  chaunst  to  them  a  dangerous  accident ; 

A  tigre  forth  out  of  the  wood  did  rise. 

That  with  fell  clawes  full  of  fierce  gourmandize. 

And  greedy  mouth  wide-gaping  like  hell-gate. 

Did  runne  at  I'astorell  her  to  surprize  ; 

Whom  she  beholding,  now  all  desolate, 

Gan  cry  to  them  aloud  to  helpe  her  all  too  late. 


335i 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  VL 


Which  Coridon  first  hearing,  rnn  in  hast 

To  reskue  her  ;   but,  when  lie  saw  the  feend, 

Through  cowlierd  feare  he  fled  away  as  fast, 

Ne  durst  abide  tlie  daunger  of  the  end  ; 

His  life  he  steenied  dearer  then  his  frend  : 

Hut  Calidore  soone  comming  to  her  ayde, 

When  he  the  beast  saw  ready  now  to  rend 

His  loves  deare  spoile,  in  which  his  heart  was  prayde, 

He  ran  at  him  enraged,  instead  of  being  frayde. 


He  had  no  weapon  but  liis  shepheards  hooke 
To  serve  the  vengeaunce  of  his  wrathfull  will; 
With  which  so  steniely  he  the  monster  strooke. 
That  to  the  ground  astonished  he  fell  ; 
Whence  ere  he  could  recou'r,  he  did  him  quell; 
And  hewing  off  his  head,  it  presented 
Before  the  feete  of  the  faire  Pastorell  ; 
Who,  scarcely  yet  from  former  feare  exempted, 
A  thousand  times  him  thanktthat  bad  her  death  pre- 
vented. 


From  that  day  forth  she  gan  him  to  affect. 

And  dailv  more  her  fovour  to  augment ; 

But  Coridon  for  cowherdize  reiect, 

Fit  to  keepe  sheepe,  unfit  for  loves  content  : 

The  gende  heart  scornes  base  disparagement. 

Yet  Calidore  did  not  despise  him  quight. 

But  usde  him  friendly  'or  further  intent, 

That  by  his  fellowship  he  colour  might 

Both  his  estate  and  love  from  skill  of  any  wight. 


So  well  he  wood  her,  and  so  well  he  wrought  her, 

With  humble  service,  and  with  daily  sute. 

That  at  the  last  unto  his  will  he  brought  her; 

Wliich  lie  so  wisely  well  did  prosecute, 

'I'hat  of  his  love  he  reapt  the  timely  frute. 

And  ioyed  long  in  close  felicity  : 

Till  Fortune,  fraught  with  malice,  blinde  and  brute, 

That  envies  lovers  long  prosperity. 

Blew  up  a  bitter  storme  of  foule  adversity. 


It  fortuned  one  day,  when  Calidore 
Was  hunting  in  the  woods,  as  was  his  trade, 
A  lawlesse  people,  brigants  higlit  cf  yore, 
That  never  usde  to  live  by  jilough  nor  spade. 
But  fed  on  spoile  and  booty  which  they  made 
Upon  their  neighbours,  which  did  nigh  them  border, 
The  dwelling  of  the>e  shepheards  did  invade; 
And  sj)oyld  their  houses,  and  themselves  did  murder. 
And  drove  away  their  flocks  :  with  other  much  dis- 
order. 


Amongst  the  rest,  the  which  they  then  did  pray. 

They  spoyld  old  Melibee  of  all  he  had, 

And  all  his  people  captive  led  away ; 

Mongst  which  this  lucklesse  mayd  away  was  lad, 

Faire  Pastorella,  sorrowful!  and  sad. 

Most  sorrowfull,  most  sad,  that  ever  sigh't, 

Now  made  the  spoile  or  theeves  and  brigants  bad, 

Which  was  the  conquest  of  the  gentlest  knight 

That  ever  liv'd,  and  th'  onely  glory  of  his  might. 


With  them  also  was  taken  Coridon, 

And  carried  captive  by  those  theeves  away  ; 

WJio  in  the  covert  of  the  night,  that  none 

Mote  them  descry,  nor  reskue  from  their  pray, 

Unto  their  dwelling  did  them  close  coavay : 

Their  dwelling  in  a  little  island  was. 

Covered  with  shrubby  woods,  in  which  no  way 

Appeared  for  people  in  nor  out  to  pas 

Nor  any  footing  fynde  for  overgrowen  gras  : 


For  underneath  the  ground  their  way  was  made 
Through  hollow  caves,  that  no  man  mote  discover 
For  the  thicke  shrubs,  which  did  themalwaies  shade 
From  view  of  living  vi-ight  and  covered  over  ; 
But  Darkenesse  dred  and  daily  Night  did  hover 
Through  all  the  inner  parts,  wherein  they  dwelt ; 
Ne  lightned  was  with  window,  nor  with  lover. 
But  with  conlinuall  candle  light,  which  delt 
A  doubtfuU  sense  of  things,  not  so  well  seene  as  felt. 


Hither  those  brigants  brought  their  present  pray. 
And  kept  them  witli  continuall  watch  and  ward; 
Meaning,  so  soone  as  they  convenient  may, 
For  slaves  to  sell  them  for  no  small  reward 
To  merchants,  which  them  ke|>t  in  bondage  hard. 
Or  sold  againe.     Now  when  faire  Pastorell 
Into  this  pl.ice  was  brought,  and  kept  with  gard 
Of  griesly  theeves,  she  tliougbt  herself  in  hell, 
Where  with  such  damned  fiends  she  should  in  dark' 
nesse  dwell. 


r.ut  for  to  tell  the  dolefull  dreriment 
And  pittifull  complaints  which  there  she  made, 
(  Where  dav  and  night  she  nought  did  but  lament 
Iler  wretched  life  siiut  up  in  deadly  shade, 
And  waste  her  goodly  beauty,  which  did  fade 
Like  to  a  flowre  that  feeles  no  heate  of  sunne 
Which  niav  her  feeble  leaves  with  comfort  glade  ;) 
And  what  befell  her  in  that  theevish  wonne 
Will  in  another  Canto  better  be  begoiine. 


Canto  XL] 


THE  FAERIE   QUEENE. 


333 


CANTO  XL 


The  theeves  fall  out  for  Pastorell, 
Whilest  IMelibee  is  slain : 

Her  Calidore  from  them  redeemes, 
And  brins;eth  backe  ao-aine. 


The  ioys  of  love,  if  they  should  ever  last 

Without  affliction  or  disquietnesse 

That  worldly  chaunces  doe  amongst  them  cast, 

Would  be  on  earth  too  great  a  blessednesse, 

Liker  to  heaven  then  mortall  wretchednesse  : 

Therefore  the  winged  god,  to  let  men  weet 

That  here  on  earth  is  no  sure  happinesse, 

A  thousand  sowres  hath  tempred  with  one  sweet, 

'J'o  make  it  seeme  more  deare  and  dainty,  as  is  meet 


Like  as  is  now  befalne  to  this  faire  mayd, 
Faire  Pastorell,  of  whom  is  now  my  song : 
Who  being  now  in  dreadfull  darknesse  layd 
Amongst  those  theeves,  which  her  in  bondage  strong 
Detayud  ;  Yet  Fortune,  not  with  all  this  wrong 
Contented,  greater  mischiefe  on  her  threw. 
And  sorrowes  heapt  on  her  in  greater  throng  ; 
That  whoso  heares  her  heavinesse,  would  rew 
And  pitty  her  sad  plight,  so  chang'd  from  pleasaunt 
hew. 


Whylest  thus  she  in  these  hellish  dens  remayned. 
Wrapped  in  wretched  cares  and  hearts  unrest. 
It  so  befell,  as  Fortune  had  ordayned, 
That  he  which  was  their  capitaine  profest. 
And  had  the  chiefe  commaund  of  all  the  rest. 
One  day,  as  he  did  all  his  prisoners  vew, 
W^th  lustfull  eyes  beheld  that  lovely  guest, 
Faire  Pastorella,  whose  sad  mournefuU  hew 
Like  the  faire  morning  clad  in  misty  fog-  did  shew. 


At  sight  whereof  his  barbarous  heart  was  fired. 

And  inly  burnt  with  flamts  most  raging  whot, 

'1  hat  her  alone  he  for  his  part  desired 

Of  all  the  other  pray  v\hich  they  had  got, 

And  her  in  mynde  did  to  himselfe  allot. 

From  that  day  forth  he  kyndnesse  to  her  showed. 

And  sought  her  love  by  all  the  meaneshe  mote  ; 

With  looks,  with  words,  with  gifts  he  oft  her  wowed, 

And  mixed  threats  among,  and  much  unto  her  vowed. 


But  all  that  ever  he  could  doe  or  sav 

Her  constant  mynd  could  not  a  whit  remove. 

Nor  draw  unto  the  lure  of  his  lewd  lay, 

'I'o  graunt  liim  favour  or  afford  him  love  : 

Yet  ceast  he  not  to  sew,  and  all  waies  prove, 

By  which  he  mote  accomplish  his  request, 

Saying  and  doing  all  that  mote  behove; 

IS"^  day  nor  night  he  sulFred  her  to  rest, 

But  her  all  night  did  watch,  and  all  the  day  molest. 


At  last,  when  him  she  so  importune  saw, 
Fearing  least  he  at  length  the  raines  would  lend 
Unto  his  lust,  and  make  his  will  his  law, 
Sith  in  his  powre  slie  was  to  foe  or  friend ; 
She  thought  it  best,  for  sliadow,  to  pretend 
Some  shew  of  favour,  by  him  gracing  small. 
That  she  thereby  mote  either  freely  wend. 
Or  at  more  ease  continue  tliere  his  thrall  : 
A  little  well  is  lent  that  o-aineth  more  withall. 


So  from  thenceforth,  when  love  he  to  her  made, 

With  better  tearmes  she  did  him  entertaine, 

Which  gave  him  hope,  and  did  him  halfe  perswade, 

That  he  in  time  her  ioyance  should  obtaine  : 

But  wlien  she  saw,  through  that  small  favours  gaine. 

That  further  then  she  willing  was  he  prest ; 

Rlie  found  no  meanes  to  barre  him,  but  to  faine 

A  sodaine  sickenesse  which  her  sore  opprest, 

And  made  unfit  to  serve  his  lawlesse  mindes  behest. 


By  meanes  whereof  she  would  not  him  permit 

Once  to  approach  to  her  in  privity. 

But  onely  mongst  the  rest  by  her  to  sit, 

JMourning  the  rigour  of  her  malady. 

And  seeking  all  things  meete  for  remedy  : 

But  she  resolv'd  no  remedy  to  fynde. 

Nor  better  cheare  to  shew  in  misery, 

Till  Fortune  would  her  captive  bonds  unbynde  . 

Her  sickenesse  was  not  of  the  body  but  the  mynde. 


During  which  space  that  she  thus  sicke  did  lie, 
It  chaunst  a  sort  of  merchants,  which  were  wount 
To  skim  those  coastes  for  bondmen  there  to  buy. 
And  by  such  trafficke  after  gaines  to  hunt 
Arrived  in  this  isle,  though  bare  and  blunt, 
T'  inquire  for  slaves ;  wliere  being  readie  met 
By  some  of  these  same  theeves  at  th'  instant  brunt, 
W  ere  brought  unto  their  captaine,  who  was  set 
By  his  faire  patients  side  with  sorrowfuU  regret. 


To  whom  they  shewed,  how  those  marchants  were 

Arriv'd  in  place  their  bondslaves  for  to  buy  ; 

And  therelbre  pray'd  that  those  same  captives  there 

Mote  to  them  for  their  most  commodity 

Be  sold,  and  mongst  them  shared  equally. 

This  their  request  the  captaine  much  apjialled  ; 

Yet  could  he  not  their  iust  demaund  deny, 

And  willed  streight  the  slaves  should  I'orth  be  called, 

And  sold  for  most  advantaj-e  not  to  be  forstalled. 


334 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book    VI. 


Then  forth  the  c:ood  old  iMelibee  was  brought, 
And  Coridon  with  many  other  moe, 
\\  horn  they  before  in  diverse  spoyles  had  caug-ht; 
All  which  lie  to  the  mnrchants  sale  did  showe: 
Till  some,  which  did  the  sundry  prisoners  knowe, 
Gan  to  inquire  for  that  faire  shejjherdesse, 
Whicli  with  the  rest  they  tooke  not  long  agoe  ; 
And  gan  her  forme  and  feature  to  expresse, 
The  m;)re  t'  augment  her  price  through  praise  of 
couilinesse. 


To  whom  the  ca])taine  in  full  angry  wize 
]\Irtde  answere,  tiiat  "  the  mayd  of  whom  the)'  spake 
Was  his  owne  purchase  and  his  onelv  prize  ; 
\\  itii  which  none  had  to  doe,  ne  ought  partake, 
l$ut  he  himselfe  which  did  that  conquest  make  ; 
Lille  for  him  to  have  one  silly  lasse  ; 
Besides  through  sicknesse  now  so  wan  and  weake, 
That  nothing  meet  in  merchandise  to  ])asse  :" 
So  shew'd  them  her,  to  prove  how  pale  and  weake 
she  was. 


The  sight  of  whom,  though  now  decayd  and  mard, 

And  eke  hut  hardly  scene  by  candle-light, 

Yet,  like  a  diamond  of  rich  regard. 

In  doubtfull  shadow  of  the  darkesome  night 

With  starrie  beames  about  lier  shining  bright, 

These  marchants  fixed  eyes  did  so  amaze. 

That  what  through  wonder,  and  what  through  delight, 

A  while  on  her  they  greedily  did  gaze, 

And  did  her  greatly  like,  and  did  her  greatly  praize. 


At  last  when  all  the  rest  them  offred  were. 
And  jirises  to  them  placed  at  their  pleasure. 
They  all  refused  in  regard  of  her; 
Ne  ought  would  buy,  however  prisd  with  measure, 
Vi  ithouten  her,  whose  worth  above  all  threasure 
They  did  esteeme,  and  oft'red  store  of  gold  : 
But  then  the  captaine,  fraught  with  more  displeasure. 
Bad  tliem  be  still  ;  "  his  love  should  not  be  sold  ; 
The  rest  take  if  they  would  ;  he  her  to  him  would 
hold." 


Therewith  some  otner  of  the  chiefest  theeves 

Boldly  him  bad  such  iniurie  forbeare  ; 

For  that  same  mayd,  however  it  him  greeves, 

Should  with  the  rest  be  sold  before  him  theare. 

To  make  the  prises  of  the  rest  more  deare. 

That  with  great  rage  he  stoutly  doth  denay  ; 

And,  fiercely  drawing  forth  his  blade,  doth  sweare 

That  whoso  bardie  hand  on  her  doth  lay. 

It  dearely  shall  aby,  and  death  for  handsell  pay. 


Thus,  ns  they  words  amongst  them  multiply, 
They  fall  to  strokes  the  frute  of  too  much  talke, 
And  the  mad  Steele  about  doth  fiercely  ily, 
Not  sjiaring  wight,  ne  leaving  any  baike. 
But  making  way  for  Death  at  large  to  walke  ; 
Who,  the  horror  of  the  griesly  night. 
In  thousand  dreadful  shapes  doth  mongst  them  stalke, 
And  nialies  huge  havocke  ;   whiles  the  candle-light 
Out-quenched  leaves  no  skill  nor  dift'ercnce  of  wight. 


Like  as  a  sort  of  hungry  dogs,  ymet 

About  some  carcase  by  the  common  way, 

Doe  fall  together,  stryving  each  to  get 

The  greatest  portion  of  the  greedie  pray  ; 

All  on  confused  heapes  themselves  assa}', 

And  snatch,  and  byte,  and  rend,  and  tug,  and  teare; 

That  who  them  sees  would  wonder  at  their  fray, 

And  who  sees  not  would  be  afFrayd  to  heare  : 

Such  was  the  conflict  of  those  cruell  brifcants  there. 


But,  first  of  all,  their  captives  they  doe  kill, 

Least  they  should  ioyne  against  the  weaker  side, 

Or  rise  against  the  remnant  at  their  %vill  • 

Old  IMelibee  is  slaine  ;  and  him  beside 

His  aged  wife  ;  with  many  others  wide : 

liut  Coridon,  escaping  craftily, 

Creepes  forth  of  dores,  whilst  darknes  him  doth  hide, 

And  flyes  away  as  fast  as  he  can  hye, 

Ne  stayeth  leave  to  take  before  his  friends  doe  dye. 


But  Pastorella,  wofull  wretched  elfe, 
W^as  by  the  captaine  all  this  while  defended, 
Who,  minding  more  her  safety  then  himselfe, 
His  target  alwayes  over  her  pretended  ; 
By  meanes  whereof,  that  mote  not  be  amended. 
He  at  the  length  was  slaine  and  layd  on  ground, 
Yet  holding  fast  twixt  both  his  armes  extended 
Fayre  Pastorell,  who  with  the  selfe  s  ime  wound 
Launcht  through   the   arme  fell  down  with  him  in 
drearie  swound. 


There  lay  she  covered  with  confused  preasse 
Of  carcases,  which  dying  on  her  fell  : 
Tho,  whenas  he  was  dead,  the  fray  gan  ceasse  ; 
And  each  to  other  calling  did  compell 
To  stay  their  cruell  hands  from  slaughter  fell, 
Sith  they  that  were  the  cause  of  all  were  gone  : 
Thereto  they  all  attonce  agreiid  well ; 
And,  lighting  candles  new,  gan  search  anone, 
How  many  of  their  friends  were  slaine,  how  inajiy 
fone. 


]    Their  captaine  there  thev  cruelly  found  kild. 
And  in  his  armes  the  dreary  dying  mayd, 
Like  a  sweet  angell  twixt  two  clouds  uphild  ; 
Her  lovely  light  was  dinniied  and  decayd 
^Vith  cloud  of  death  ujion  her  eyes  disjdayd  ; 
Yet  did  the  cloud  make  even  that  dimmed  light 
Seenie  much  more  lovely  in  that  darknesse  layd, 
And  twixt  the  twinckling  of  her  eye-lids  bright 
To  sparke  out   litle    beames,  like   starres  in    foggie 
nitiht. 


But,  when  they  mov'd  the  carcases  aside, 

They  found  that  life  did  yet  in  her  remaine  ; 

Then  all  their  helpes  thev  busily  applyde 

To  call  the  soule  backe  to  her  iioine  againe : 

And  wrought  so  well,  with  labour  and  long  paine. 

That  they  to  life  recovered  her  at  last  : 

Who,  sighing  sore,  as  if  her  hart  in  tv,-aine 

Had  riven  bene  and  all  her  hart-strings  brast, 

With  drearie  drouping  eynelookt  uplike  one  aghast. 


CAMO    XI.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


336 


'I'lieve  she  helielJ,  tliat  sore  her  griev'd  to  see, 
Her  iatlier  and  lier  friends  about  her  lying, 
Herselfe  sole  left  a  second  spoyle  to  bee 
Of  tliose,  that  having-  saved  her  from  dying 
Renew'd  her  death  by  timely  death  denying. 
What  non-  is  left  her  but  to  wavie  and  weeps, 
Wrinkling  her  hands,  and  ruefully  loud  crying  ! 
Ne  cared  she  her  wound  in  teares  to  steepe, 
Albe   with   all  their  might  those  brigants  her  did 
keepe. 


But  when  they  saw  her  now  reliv'd  againe, 

i  hev  left  her  so,  in  charge  of  one,  the  best 

Of  many  worst,  who  witli  unkind  disdains 

And  cruell  rigour  her  did  much  molest  ; 

Scarse  yeelding-  her  due  food  or  timely  rest. 

And  scarsely  suftring  her  infestred  wound, 

That  sore  her  pavn'd,  by  any  to  be  drest. 

So  leave  we  her  in  wretched  thraldome  bound, 

And  turns  we  back  to  Calidors,  where  we  him  found. 


Who  when  be  backe  returned  from  the  wood. 
And  saw  his  shepheards  cottage  spoyled  quight, 
And  his  love  reft  away  ;  he  wexed  wood 
And  halfe  enraged  at  that  ruefuU  sight  ; 
That  even  his  hart,  for  very  fell  despight, 
And  his  owne  flesh  he  readie  was  to  teare  : 
He  chauft,  he  griev'd,  he  fretted,  and  he  sigh't, 
And  fared  like  a  furious  wyld  beare, 
\Vhose  whelpes  are  stolne  away,  she    being  other- 
where. 


Ne  wight  he  found  to  whom  hs  might  complaine, 
Ne  wight  he  found  of  whom  he  might  inijuire  ; 
That  more  increast  the  anguish  of  his  paine  : 
He  sought  the  woods,  but  no  man  could  see  there  ; 
He  sought  the  plaines,  but  could   no  tydings  heare  : 
The  woods  did  nought  but  ecchoes  vaine  rebound ; 
The  playnes  all  waste  and  emptie  did  appeare; 
Where  wont  the  shepheards  oft  their  pypes  resound. 
And  feed  an  hundred  flocks,  there  now  not  one  he 
found. 


At  last,  as  there  he  romed  up  and  downe, 
He  chaunst  one  coming  towards  him  to  sp)', 
That  seem'd  to  be  some  ^ro!e  simple  clowne, 
With  ragged  weedes,  and  lockes  upslaring  hye, 
As  if  he  did  from  some  late  daunger  fly. 
And  yet  his  feare  did  follow  him  behynd  : 
Who  as  he  unto  him  approached  nye, 
He  mote  perceive,  by  signes  which  he  did  fynd. 
That  Coridon  it  was,  the  silly  shepheards  hynd. 


Tho,  to  him  running  fast,  he  did  not  stay 
To  greet  him  first,  but  askt  where  were  the  rest, 
^Vhere  Pastoiell? — who  full  of  fresh  dismay, 
And  gushing  forth  in  teares,  was  so  opprest, 
'J  hat  he  no  word  could  speake,  but  smit  his  brest. 
And  up  to  heaven  his  eyes  fast-streming  threw  : 
Whereat  the  knight  amaz'd,  yet  did  not  rest, 
But  askt  againe.  What  ment  that  rufull  hew  ; 
Where   was  his   Pastorell  ?       Where  all  the  other 
crew  ? 


"  Ah  !  well  away,"  sayd  he,  .then  sighing  sore, 
"  That  ever  I  did  live  this  day  to  see, 
This  dismall  day,  and  was  not  dead  befcre. 
Before  I  saw  faire  Pastorella  dye  !  " 
"  Die  !  out  alas  !"  then  Calidors  did  cry, 
"  How  could  the  death  dare  ever  her  to  quell  ! 
But  read  thou,  Shepheard,  read  what  destiny 
Or  otlier  dyrefull  hap  from  heaven  or  hell 
Hath  wrought  this  wicked   deed  :  doe  feare    av.  ay, 
and  tell." 


Tho,  when  the  sliepheard  breathed  had  awlivle, 
He  thus  beg;an  ;  "  Where  shall  1  then  commence 
This  wofuU  tale  ?   or  how  those  brigants  vyle 
With  cruell  rage  and  dreadful!  violence 
Spoyld  all  our  cots,  and  cariod  us  from  hence  ; 
Or  how  faire  Pastorell  should  have  bene  sold 
To  marchants,  but  was  sav'd  with  strong  defence  ; 
Or  hovv  those  theeves,whilest  one  sought  her  to  hold 
Fell  all  at  ods,  and   fought  through  fury  fierce  anci 
bold. 


"  In  that  same  conflict  (woe  is  me  !)  befell 
'i'his  fatall  chaunce,  this  doleful!  accident. 
Whose  heavy  tydings  now  1  have  to  tell. 
First  all  the  captives,  wliich  ihey  here  had  hent, 
Were  by  them  slaiiie  by  genprall  consent  ; 
Old  Melibee  and  his  good  wife  withall 
'J'hese  eyes  saw  die,  and  dearely  did  lament 
But,  when  the  lot  to  Pastorell  did  fall, 
Their  Captaine  long   withstood,   and  did  her  death 
forstall, 

XXSII. 

"  But  what  could  he  gainst  all  them  doe  alone  ? 
It  could  not  boot;  needs  mole  slie  die  at  last  ! 
I  onely  scapt  through  great  confusione 
Of  tryes  and  claraois,  which  amongst  them  past. 
In  dreadlull  darknesse,  dreadfully  aghast; 
That  better  were  with  them  to  have  bene  dead, 
Then  here  to  see  all  desolate  and  wast, 
Despoyled  of  those  ioyes  and  ioUyliead, 
Whicli  with  those  gentle  shepheards  here  I  wont  to 
lead." 

XXXIU. 

When  Calidore  these  ruefull  newes  had  raught. 
His  hart  quite  deiided  was  with  anguish  great. 
And  all  his  wits  with  doole  were  nigh  distraught, 
That  he  is  face,  his  head,  his  brest  did  beat. 
And  death  itselfe  unto  himselfe  did  threat ; 
Oft  cursing  th' heavens,  that  so  cruell  were 
To  her,  whose  name  he  often  did  repeat  ; 
And  wishing  oft,  that  he  were  present  there 
When  she  was  slaine,  or  had  bene  to  her  succour, 
nere. 


But  after  griefe  awhile  had  had  Iiis  course, 
And  spent  itselfe  in  mourning,  he  at  last 
Began  to  mitigate  his  swelling  sourse, 
And  in  his  mind  with  better  reason  cast 
How  he  might  save  her  life,  if  li^e  did  last  ; 
Or,  if  that  dead,  how  he  her  death  might  wreaks  ; 
Sith  otherwise  he  could  not  mend  thing  past, 
Or,  if  it  to  revenge  he  were  too  weake. 
Then  for  to    die  with   her,  and  his  lives  threed  to 
breake. 


336 


THE  FAERIE  QUtLNE. 


[DooK  VI 


XX  xv. 

Tho  Condon  he  prayd,  sitli  he  well  knew 
The  revidie  way  unto  that  theev^ish  wonne, 
To  wend  with  him,  and  be  his  conduct  trew 
Unto  the  place,  to  see  what  should  be  donne  : 
But  he,  whose  hart  through  ieare  was  late  fordonne, 
Would  not  for  ought  be  drawne  to  former  drt-de  ; 
But  bv  all  meanes  the  daun<;er  knowne  did  shonne  : 
Yet  (alidore  so  well  him  wrouglit  with  meed. 
And  faire  bespoke  with  words,  that  he  at  last  agreed. 


So  forth  thev  g;oe  together  (God  before) 
Both  cUnd  i.i  shepheards  weeds  agreeably, 
And  both  with  shepheards  hookes  ;  but  Calidore  | 

Had,  underneath,  him  armed  privily  : 
Tho,  to  the  place  when  they  ajiproached  nye, 
Thev  chaunst,  upon  an  hill  not  farre  away. 
Some  flockes  of  sheepe  and  she])heards  to  espy  ; 
To  whom  they  both  agreed  to  take  tlieir  way, 
In  hope  there  newes  to  learne,  how  they  mote  best 
assay. 

XXXVII. 

There  did  they  find,  that  which  they  did  not  feare. 
The  self-same  flocks  the  which  those  theeves  had  reft 
From  Melibee  and  from  themselves  whyleare  ; 
And  certaine  of  the  tlieeves  there  by  them  left. 
The  which,  for  want  of  heards,  themselves  then  kept : 
Right  well  knew  Coridon  his  owne  late  sheepe. 
And,  seeing  them,  for  tender  pittie  wept : 
But,  when  "he  saw  tne  theeves  which  did  them  keepe, 
His  hart  gan  fayle,  albe  he  saw  them  all  asleepe. 


But  Calidore  recomforting  his  griefe,  [wade  ; 

Though   not  his   feare;  for  nought  may  feare  diss- 
Him  hardly  forward  drew,  whereas  the  thiefe 
Lay  sleeping  soundly  in  the  bushes  shade. 
Whom  Coridon  him  counseld  to  invade 
Now  all  unwares,  and  take  the  spoyle  away  ; 
But  he,  that  in  his  mind  hud  closely  made 
A  further  purpose,  would  not  so  them  slay, 
But  gently  waking  them  gave  them  the  time  of  day. 


Tho,  sitting  downe  by  them  upon  the  greene, 
Of  sundrie  things  he  purpose  gan  to  faine, 
That  he  by  them  might  certaine  tydings  weene 
Of  Pastorell,  were  she  alive  or  slaine  : 
Mongst  which  the  theeves  them  questioned  againe, 
What  mister  men,  and  eke  from  whence  they  were. 
To  whom  they  answer'd,  as  did  ajjpertaine,         [lere 
That  they  were  poore  heardgroomes,  the  which  why- 
Had  from  their  maisters  fled,  and  now  sought  hyre 
elsewhere. 


Whereof  right  glad  they  se(^m'd,  and  offer  made 
To  lure  them  well  if  they  their  flockes  would  keepe  : 
For  they  themselves  were  evill  groomcs,  tliey  sayd, 
Unwont  with  heards  to  watch  or  jiasture  sheepe. 
But  to  fonay  the  land,  or  secure  the  deepe. 
Ihereto  they  soone  agreed,  and  earnest  tooke 
To  keepe  their  flockes  for  litle  hyre  and  chepe  ; 
For  thev  for  better  hvre  did  shortly  looke  : 
So  there  all  day  they  b  ;de,  till  light' the  sky  forsooke. 


Tho,  whenas  towards  darksome  night  it  drew. 
Unto  their  hellish  dens  those  theeves  them  brought  _ 
Where  shortly  they  in  great  acquaintance  grew. 
And  all  the  secrets  of  their  entrayles  sought  : 
There  did  thev  find,  contrarie  to  their  thought, 
That  I'astorell  yet  lived  ;  but  all  the  rest 
Were  dead,  right  so  as  Coridon  had  taught ; 
Whereof  thev  both  full  glad  and  blyth  did  rest. 
But  chiefly  Calidore,  whom  griefe  had  most  possest 


At  leng'^'li,  when  they  occasion  fittest  found, 

In  dead  of  night,  when  all  the  theeves  did  rest 

After  a  late  forray,  and  slept  full  sound, 

Sir  Calidore  him  arm'd,  as  he  thought  best; 

Having  of  late  by  diligent  intjuest 

Provided  him  a  sword  of  meanest  sort  ; 

With  which  he  streight  went  to  the  captaines  nest : 

But  Coridon  durst  not  with  him  consort, 

Ne  durst  abide  behind  for  dread  of  worse  effort 


When  to  the  cave  they  came,  they  found  it  fast 
But  Calidore  with  huge  resistlesse  might 
The  dores  assayled,  and  the  locks  up  brast  : 
With  novse  whereof  the  theefe  awaking  light 
Unto  tlie  entrance  ran  ;  where  the  bold  Knight 
Encountering  him  with  small  resistence  slew  : 
The  whdes  faire  Pastorell  through  great  affright 
Was  almost  dead,  misdoubting  least  of  new 
Some  uprore  were  like  that  which  lately  she  did  vew 


But  whenas  Calidore  was  comen  in. 

And  gan  aloud  for  Pastorell  to  call. 

Knowing  his  V(  ice,  although  not  heard  long  sin, 

She  sudden  was  revived  therewithal!. 

And  wondrous  ioy  felt  in  her  spirits  thrall : 

Like  him  that  beuig  long  in  teinjiest  tost. 

Looking  each  houre  into  Ueathes  mouth  to  fall, 

At  length  espyes  at  hand  tlie  happie  cost. 

On  which  he  safety  hopes  that  earst  feared  to  be  lost 


Her  gentle  hart,  that  now  long  season  past 

Had  never  ioyance  felt  nor  chearefull  tliought, 

Began  some  ^macke  of  comfort  new  to  tast, 

Like  lyfeful  heat  to  nummed  senses  brought. 

And  life  to  feele  that  long  for  death  had  sought . 

Ne  lesse  in  hart  reioyced  Calidore, 

When  he  her  found  ;  but,  like  to  one  distraught 

And  robd  of  reason,  towards  her  liim  bore; 

A  thousand  times  embrast,  and  kist  a  thousand  mote 


But  now  by  this,  with  noyse  of  late  uprore, 
The  hue  and  cry  was  raysed  all  about ; 
And  all  the  brigants  flockiuij  in  great  store 
Unto  the  cave  gan  preasse,  nouglit  having  dou 
Of  that  was  doen,  and  entered  in  a  rout. 
But  Calidore  in  th'  entry  close  did  stand. 
And,  entertayning  them  with  courage  stout. 
Still  slew  the  formost  that  came  first  to  hand  ; 
So  long,  till  all  the  entry  was  with  bodies  mand. 


Casio  XII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


337 


1 1)0,  when  no  more  could  nij;h  to  him  approch, 
He  breath'ii  his  sword,  and  rested  hipa  till  das' ; 
\\  liicl)  wJien  he  spyde  upon  the  earth  t'  encroch, 
'I  hrouj;h  the  dead  carcases  he  made  his  way, 
iVlong:st  which  he  found  a  sword  of  better  say, 
With  whicli  he  forth  went  into  th'  open  light. 
Where  all  the  rest  for  him  did  readie  stay, 
And.  fierce  assayling  him,  with  all  their  mis^ht 
Gan  all  upon  him  lay :  there  gan  a  dreadful!  fight. 


How  many  flyes  in  whottest  summers  day 
Do  seize  upon  some  beast,  whose  fles-h  is  bare, 
'J'hat  all  the  place  with  swarmes  do  overlay. 
And  with  their  litle  stings  right  felly  fare  ; 
So  many  theeves  about  him  swarming  are. 
All  which  do  him  assayle  on  every  side. 
And  sore  oppresse,  ne  any  him  doth  spare ; 
But  he  doth  with  his  raging  brond  divide 
Their  thickest  troups,  and  round  about  him  scattreth 
wide. 


Like  as  a  lion  mongst  an  heard  of  dere, 
Disperseth  them  to  catch  Ids  choysest  pray  ; 
So  did  he  fly  amongst  th.em  here  and  there. 
And  all  that  nere  him  came  did  hew  and  slay 
1'ill  he  had  strowd  wilh  bodies  all  the  way  ; 
i'hat  none  his  daunger  daring  to  abide 
Fled  from  his  wrath,  and  did  themselves  convay 
Into  their  caves,  their  heads  from  death  to  hide, 
Ne  any  left  that  victorie  to  him  envide. 


Then,  backe  returning  to  his  dearest  dearo, 

He  her  gan  to  recomfort,  all  he  might. 

With  gladfull  speaches  and  with  lovely  cheare  ; 

And  forth  her  bringing  to  the  ioyous  light. 

Whereof  she  long  had  lackt  the  wishfull  sight, 

Deviz'd  all  goodly  rneanes  from  her  to  drive 

Tl'e  sad  remembrance  of  her  wretched  plight  : 

So  her  uneath  at  last  he  did  revive 

That  long  had  lyen  dead,  and  made  againe  alive. 


This  doen,  into  those  theevish  dens  he  went, 

And  thence  did  all  the  spoyles  and  threasures  take, 

\Vhich  ihev  from  many  long  had  robd  and  rent  : 

But  fortune  now  the  victors  meed  did  make ; 

Of  which  the  best  he  did  his  love  betake  ; 

And  also  all  those  flockes,  which  they  before 

Had  reft  from  Melibee  and  from  his  make, 

He  did  them  all  to  Coridon  restore  : 

So  drove  them  all  away,  and  his  love  with  him  bore. 


CANTO  XII. 


Fayre  Pastorella  by  great  hap 
Her  parents  understands. 

Calidore  doth  the  blatant  bea^t 
Subdew,  and  byndin  bands. 


Like  as  a  ship,  that  through  the  ocean  wyde 
Directs  her  course  unto  one  certaine  cost. 
It  met  of  many  a  counter  winde  and  tyde. 
With  which  her  winged  speed  is  let  and  crost. 
And  she  herselfe  in  stormie  surges  tost ; 
Yet,  making  many  a  horde  and  many  a  bay. 
Still  winneth  way,  ne  hath  her  corapasse  lost; 
Right  so  it  fares  with  me  in  this  long  way, 
\\  hobe  course  is  often  stayd,  yet  never  is  astray. 


For  all  that  hetherto  hath  long  delayd 
This  gentle  knight  from  sewing  his  first  quest. 
Though  out  of  course,  yet  hath  not  bene  mis-sayd. 
To  sliew  the  courtesie  by  Inm  profest 
Even  unto  the  lowest  and  the  least. 
But  now  I  come  into  my  course  againe, 
'Jo  his  atchievement  of  the  blatant  beast ; 
W'ht)  all  this  while  at  will  did  range  and  raine, 
Whilst  none  was  him  to  stop,  ncr  none  him  to  ro- 
stra ine. 


Sir  Calidore,  when  thus  he  now  had  raught 
Faire  Pastorella  from  those  brigants  powre. 
Unto  the  Castle  of  Belgard  her  brought. 
Whereof  was  lord  the  good  Sir  Bellamoure  ; 
Who  whylome  was,  in  his  vouthes  freshest  flowre, 
A  lustie  knight  as  ever  wielded  speare, 
And  had  endured  many  a  dreadful!  stoure 
In  bloiidy  battell  for  a  ladie  deare, 
The  fayrest  ladie  then  of  all  that  living  were  . 


Her  name  was  Clarihell ;  whose  father  hight 
The  lord  of  many  ilaods,  farre  renound 
For  his  great  riches  aal  his  greater  might: 
He,  through  the  wealth  wheiein  he  did  abound. 
This  daughter  thought  in  wediocke  to  have  bound 
Unto  the  Prince  of  Piciehtiid,  bordering  nere  ; 
But  she,  whose  sides  before  with  secret  wound 
Of  love  to  Bellamoure  ein])ieiced  were, 
By  all  meanes  shund    to  match  with  any  forreign 
fere  •  z 


'■39 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Book  VI. 


And  Bellamour  ngaine  so  well  hev  pleased 

With  diuly  service  and  attendaiiL-e  dew, 

I'hat  of  lier  luve  he  was  eiitvrely  seized, 

And  closely  did  her  wed,  but  knuwne  to  few  : 

Which  when  her  fat;]ier  understood,  he  grew 

In  so  •;reat  rage  that  them  in  dungeon  deepe 

VVithout  compassion  cruellv  he  threw  ; 

\et  did  so  streightly  them  asundei-  keepe, 

'J'hat  neither  could  to  conqrany  of  th'  other  creepe. 


Nathlesse  Sir  Bellnmour,  whether  through  grace 
Ur  secret  guifts,  so  with  his  keepers  wrought, 
I'hat  to  his  love  sometimes  lie  came  in  place  ; 
Whereof  her  wombe  unwist  to  wight  was  fraught, 
And  HI  dew  time  a  mayden  child  forth  brought : 
Which  she  streightway  (for  dread  least  if  her  syre 
Should  know  thereof  to  slay  he  wouhi  have  sought) 
Delivered  to  her  handmayd,  that  for  hyre 
She  should  it  cause  be  fostred  under  straunge  attyre. 


The  trustie  damzell  bearing  it  abrode 

Into  the  emptie  fields,  where  living  wight 

Mote  not  bewray  the  secret  of  her  lode. 

She  forth  gan  lay  unto  the  open  light 

The  litle  babe,  to  take  thereof  a  sight : 

AVhom  whylest  she  did  with  watrie  eyne  behold, 

Upon  the  litle  brest,  like  christall  bright, 

She  mote  perceive  a  little  purple  mold, 

That  like  a  rose  her  silken  leaves  did  faire  unfold. 


Well  she  it  markt,  and  pittied  the  more, 
Yet  could  not  remedie  her  wretched  case  ; 
But,  closing  it  againe  like  as  before, 
LJedeaw'd  with  teares  there  left  it  in  the  place; 
Yet  left  not  quite,  but  drew  a  little  space 
Behind  the  hushes,  where  she  her  did  liyde, 
To  weet  what  mortall  hand,  or  heavens  grace, 
W'ould  for  the  wretched  iniaiits  helpe  provyde ; 
For  which  it  loudly  cald,  and  pittifully  cryde. 


At  length  a  shepheard,  wliich  thereby  did  keepe 

His  iieecie  flocke  upon  the  phiynes  around, 

Led  with  the  infants  cry  that  loud  did  weepe, 

Came  to  the  place;  where  when  he  wrapped  found 

Th'  abandond  spoyle,  he  softly  it  unbound; 

And,  seeing  there  that  did  him  jiiltie  sore. 

He  tooke  it  up  and  in  his  mantle  wound ; 

So  home  unto  his  honest  wife  it  bore, 

Who  as  her  owne  it  nurst  and  named  evermore. 


I'lius  long  continu'd  Claribell  a  thrall, 
.ind  Bellamour  in  bands  ;  till  tliat  her  syre 
I)e])aited  life,  and  left  unto  them  all: 
Then  all  the  stormes  of  fortunes  former  yre 
Were  tiirnd,  vuid  they  to  freedome  did  retyre. 
Jhencefurth  they  ioy'd  in  li,ii)innesxe  together. 
And  lived  long  in  peace  and  love  entyre, 
Without  disquiet  or  dislike  of  ether, 
Till  time  that  Culidore  brought  I'astorella  thother. 


Both  whom  they  goodly  well  did  entertaine  ; 

For  15ellamour  knew  Calidore  risihr,  well. 

And  loved  tor  Ins  prowesse,  siih  tliev  twame 

Long  since  had  fought  in  field  :  als  Claribell 

Ne  lesse  did  tender  the  faire  Pastorell, 

Seeing  her  weake  and  wan  through  durance  long 

There  they  awhile  together  thus  did  dwell 

In  much  delight,  and  many  ioyes  among, 

Untill  the  damzell  oan  to  wex  more  sound  and  strong 


The  gan  Sir  Calidore  him  to  advize 
Of  his  first  quest,  which  he  had  long  forlore, 
Asham'd  to  thnike  how  he  that  enterprize. 
The  whicii  the  Faery  Queene  had  long  afore 
Bequeath'd  to  him,  forslacked  had  so  sore; 
That  much  he  feared  least  reproachfull  blame 
With  foule  dishonour  him  mote  blot  therefore; 
Besides  the  losse  of  so  much  loos  and  fame, 
As  through  the  world  thereby  should  glorifie  his 
name. 


Tlierefore,  resolving  to  returne  in  hast 

Unto  so  great  atchievement,  he  bethought 

To  leave  his  love,  now  perill  being  past, 

\Vith  Claribell ;  whylest  he  that  monster  sought 

Throughout  the  world,  and  to  destruction  brought. 

So  taking  leave  of  his  faire  Pastorell, 

W  hom  to  reconifort  all  the  meanes  he  wrought, 

With  thanks  to  Bellamour  and  Claribell, 

He  went  forth  on  his  quest,  and  did  that  him  befell. 


But  first,  ere  I  doe  his  adventures  tell 
In  this  ex|iloite,  me  needeth  to  declare 
What  did  betide  to  the  faire  Pastorell, 
During  his  absence  left  in  heavy  care. 
Through  daily  mourning  and  nightly  mislare  : 
Yet  did  that  auncient  matrone  all  she  might, 
To  cherish  her  with  all  tilings  choice  and  rare  ; 
And  her  owne  handmayd,  that  Melissa  hight, 
Appointed  to  attend  her  dewly  day  and  night. 


Who  in  a  morning,  when  this  maiden  faire 

Was  dighting  her,  having  lier  snowy  hrest 

As  yet  not  laced,  nor  her  golden  haire 

Into  tlieir  comely  tresses  dewly  drest, 

Chaunst  to  espy  upon  her  yvory  chest 

The  rosie  marke,  wliich  she  remembred  well 

That  litle  infant  had,  which  forth  she  kest. 

The  daughter  of  her  Lady  Claribell, 

The  which  she  bore  the  whiles  in  jirison  she  did  dwell. 


Which  well  avising,  streight  she  gan  to  cast 
In  her  conceijitfull  mynd  that  this  faire  mayd 
Was  that  same  infant,  which  so  long  sith  past 
She  in  the  ojien  fields  had  loosely  layd 
To  fortunes  sjioile,  unable  it  to  ayd  : 
So,  full  of  ioy,  streight  forth  she  ran  in  hast 
U'lto  her  mi.-tresse,  being  halfo  dismayd, 
T'J  tell  her,  how  the  heavens  had  her  graste, 
T  >  save  her  chylde,  which  in  misfortunes  mouth  was 
plaste. 


Canto  XIL] 


THE  FAEERIE  Ql  EENE. 


,-?.Ti 


Tlie  sober  mother  seeing;  sucli  her  mood, 

Yet  knowing-  not  wliat  meant  tliat  sodaine  thro 

Askt  her,  how  mote  lier  words  be  understood, 

And  what  the  matter  was  that  mov'd  her  so. 

"  My  liefe,"  sayd  she,  "  ye  know  that  long  ygo, 

Whilest  ye  in  durance  dwelt,  ve  to  me  gave 

A  little  mayde,  the  which  ye  chylded  tho  ; 

The  same  againe  if  now  ve  list  to  have, 

The  same  is  yonder  lady,  whom  High  God  did  save.' 


Much  was  the  lady  trAibled  at  that  speach. 
And  gan  to  question  streiglit  how  she  it  knew. 
"  Most  certaine  markes,"  sayd  she,  "  do  me  it  teach ; 
For  on  her  bretist  1  with  these  eyes  did  vew 
The  little  purp]«j  rose  which  thereon  grew. 
Whereof  her  name  ye  then  to  her  did  give. 
Besides,  her  countenaunce  and  her  likely  hew, 
Matched  with  equall  years,  do  surely  prieve 
That  yond  same  is  your  daughter  sure,  which  yet 
doth  live." 


The  matrone  stayd  no  lenger  to  enquire, 
But  forth  in  hast  ran  to  the  straunger  mavd ; 
M'hom  catching  greedily,  for  great  desire 
Rent  up  her  brest,  and  bosome  open  layd, 
In  which  that  rose  she  ])lainely  saw  displayd: 
Then,  her  embracing  twixt  her  armes  tviaine, 
She  long  so  held,  and  softly  weeping  sayd  ; 
■'  And  livest  thou,  my  daughter,  now  againe  ? 
And  art  thou  yet  alive,  whom  dead  Ilong did  faine?' 


Tho  further  asking  her  of  sundry  things, 

And  times  comparing  with  tlieir  accidents, 

She  found  at  last,  by  very  certaine  signes 

And  speaking  markes  of  passed  monuments. 

That  tliis  young  mayd,  wliom  chance  to  her  presents, 

Is  her  owne  daughter,  her  owne  infant  deare. 

Tho,  wondring  long  at  tliose  so  straunge  events, 

A  thousand  times  she  her  embraced  nere, 

^Vlth  many  a  ioyfull  kisse  and  many  a  melting  teare. 


Whoever  is  the  mother  of  one  chylde. 

Which  having  thought  long  dead  she  fyndes  alive, 

Let  her  by  proofe  of  that  which  slie  hath  fylde 

In  lier  owne  breast,  this  mothers  ioy  descrive  : 

For  other  none  sucli  passion  can  contrive 

In  perfect  forme,  as  this  good  lady  felt, 

\\  hen  she  so  faire  a  daughter  saw  survive, 

As  Pastorella  was  ;  that  nigh  she  swelt 

For  passing  ioy,  which  did  all  into  pitty  melt. 


Thence  running  forth  unto  her  loved  lord, 
She  unto  him  recounted  all  that  fell : 
Who,  ioyning  ioy  with  her  in  one  accord, 
Acknowledg'd,  for  his  owne,  faire  Pastorell. 
There  leave  we  them  in  ioy,  and  let  us  tell 
Of  C^alidore  ;  who,  seeking  all  this  while 
That  monstrous  beast  by  final!  force  to  quell. 
Through  every  place  wi^.h  restlesse  paine  and  toile 
Uim  foUow'd  by  the  Lraot  of  his  outragious  spoile. 


Through  all  estates  he  found  that  he  had  past. 
In  wliich  he  many  massacres  had  left, 
And  to  the  clergy  now  was  come  at  last  ; 
In  which  such  spoile,  such  havocke,  and  such  tlipft 
He  wrought,  that  tlience  all  goodnesse  he  bereft 
That  endlesse  were  to  tell.     'The  elfin  kniglit, 
\\  ho  now  no  place  besides  unsought  had  left, 
At  length  into  a  monasters  did  light, 
Where  he  him  found  despoyling  all  with  maine  and 
might. 


Into  their  cloysters  now  he  broken  had. 
Through  which  the  monckes  he  chaced  here  and  there. 
And  them  pursu'd  into  their  dortours  sad, 
And  searched  all  their  eels  and  secrets  neare ; 
In  which  what  filth  and  ordure  did  appears, 
Were  yrkesome  to  report ;  yet  that  foule  beast, 
Nought  sparing  them,  the  more  did  tosse  and  teare, 
And  ransacke  all  their  dennes  from  most  to  least, 
Reearding  nought  religion  nor  their  holy  heast. 


From  thence  into  the  sacred  church  he  broke, 

And  robd  the  chancell,  and  the  deskes  downe  threw, 

And  altars  fouled,  and  blasphemy  spoke. 

And  the  images,  for  all  their  goodly  hew, 

Did  cast  to  ground,  whilest  none  was  them  to  rew ; 

So  all  confounded  and  disordered  there  : 

Bu  ,  seeing  Calidore,  away  he  flew, 

Knowing  his  fatall  hand  by  former  feare  ; 

But  he  him  fast  pursuing  soone  approached  neare. 


Him  in  a  nari'ow  place  he  overtooke, 
And  fierce  assailing  forst  him  turne  againe  : 
Sternely  he  turnd  againe,  when  he  him  strooke 
With  his  sharpe  Steele,  and  ran  at  him  amaine 
^Vith  open  mouth,  that  seemed  to  containe 
A  full  good  peeks  within  the  utmost  brim, 
Ail  set  with  yron  teeth  in  raunges  twaine, 
"J'hat  terrifide  his  foes,  and  armed  him. 
Appearing  like  the  mouth  of  Orcus  griesly  grim  ; 


And  therein  were  a  thousand  tongs  empight 
Of  sundrv  kindes  and  sundry  quality  ; 
Some  were  of  dogs,  that  barked  day  and  night ; 
And  some  of  cats,  that  wrawling  still  did  cry; 
And  some  of  beares,  tliat  gr(pynd  continually  ; 
And  some  of  tygres,  that  did  seeme  to  gren 
And  snar  at  all  that  ever  passed  by  : 
But  most  of  them  were  tongues  of  mortall  men, 
Which  spake   reproacfully,   not  caring   where    nor 
when. 


And  them  amongst  were  mingled  hers  and  there 
The  tongues  of  .-erpents,  with  three-forked  stinu  s. 
That  spat  out  poyson,  and  gore-bloudy  gere, 
At  all  that  came  within  his  ravenings  ; 
And  spake  licentious  words  and  hateful!  things 
Of  good  and  bad  alike,  of  low  and  hie, 
Ne  kesars  spared  he  a  whit  nor  kings  , 
But  either  blotted  them  with  infamie, 
Or  bit  them  with  liis  banefuU  teeth  of  iniiiry, 

z2 


340 


THE  FARRIE  QUEEN E. 


[Book  VI. 


But  Calidore,  thereof  no  whit  afrayd, 

Rencountred  him  with  so  impetuous  might, 

That  ih'  outrage  of  his  violence  lie  stayd, 

And  bet  a'jacke  tbreatning  in  vaine  to  bite, 

Ai;d  spitting  forth  the  poyson  of  his  spight 

That  t'omed  all  about  his  bloody  iawes : 

Til';,  rearing  up  his  former  feete  on  bight, 

lie  rarapt  u])on  him  witii  his  ravenous  pawes, 

As  it  he  would  have  rent  him  with  bis  cruell  clawes  ; 


l?ut  he  right  well  aware,  his  rage  to  ward, 

Llul  cast  bis  shield  atweene  ;  and,  therewithal! 

l*iitting  his  puissaunce  fortli,  pursu'd  so  hard, 

riiat  backeivard  he  enforced  him  to  fall ; 

And,  being  downe,  ere  he  new  belpe  could  call, 

His  sljield  be  on  him  threw,  and  fast  downe  held  ; 

Like  as  a  bullocke,  that  in  bloudy  stall 

Of  butchers  balefull  hand  to  ground  is  feld, 

Is  forcibly  kept  downe,  till  he  be  throughly  queld. 


Full  cruelly  the  beast  did  rage  and  rore 

To  be  downe  held,  and  maystred  so  with  might, 

That  he  gan  fret  and  fome  out  bloudy  gore, 

Striving  in  vaine  to  rere  himself  upright : 

For  still,  the  more  he  strove,  the  more  the  knight 

Did  him  suppresse,  and  forcibly  subdew  ; 

Tliat  made  him  almost  mad  for  fell  despight : 

He  grind,  he  bit,  he  scracbt,  be  venim  threw. 

And  fared  like  a  feend  ri"ht  horrible  in  hew  : 


Or  like  the  hell-borne  hydra,  which  they  faine 
That  great  Alcides  whilome  overthrew, 
After  that  he  had  labourd  long  in  vaine 
To  crop  his  thousand  heads,  the  which  still  new 
Forth  budded,  and  in  greater  number  grew. 
Such  was  the  fury  of  this  hellish  beast, 
Wildest  Calidore  him  under  him  downe  threw  ; 
Who  nathemore  his  heavy  load  releast, 
But  aye,  the  more  he  rag'd,   the  more  his  powre 
iucreast. 


Tho,  when  the  beast  saw  be  mote  nought  availe 
By  force,  he  gan  his  hundred  tongues  apply, 
And  sbarpely  at  him  to  revile  and  raile 
With  bitter  termes  of  shamefuU  infamy; 
Oft  interlacing  many  a  forged  lie, 
Whose  like  he  never  once  did  speake,  nor  heare, 
Nor  ever  thought  thing  so  unwortliily  : 
Yet  did  he  nought,  for  all  that,  him  forbeare, 
But   strained   him  so  streightly  that  he  chokt  him 
neare. 

XXXIV. 

At  last,  whenas  he  found  his  force  to  shrincke 

And  rage  to  qnaile,  he  tooke  a  muzzle  strong 

Of  surest  yron  made  with  many  a  lincke; 

'J'herevvilh  be  mured  up  his  mouth  along. 

And  therein  shut  uj)  his  blasjdieinous  tong, 

For  never  more  defainir.g  gentle  knight, 

Or  unto  lovely  lady  doing  wrong: 

And  thereunto  a  great  long  cliaine  he  tight,  [spight. 

With  which  he  drew  him  forth,  even  in  his  own  de- 


Like  as  whyl6me  that  strong  Tir3'nthian  swaine 
Brought  forth  with  him  the  dreadfull  dog  of  hell 
Against  his  will  fast  bound  in  yron  chaine. 
And  roring  horribly  did  him  compell 
To  see  the  hatefull  sunne,  that  he  might  tell 
To  griesly  Pluto,  what  on  earth  was  donne. 
And  to  the  other  damned  ghosts  which  dwell 
For  aye  in  darkenesse  which  day-light  doth  shonne  : 
So  led  this  knight  his  captyve  with  like  con(|uest 
wonne. 


Yet  greatly  did  the  beast  repine  at  those 
Straunge  bands,  whose  like  till  then  he  never  bore, 
Ne  ever  any  durst  till  then  impose  ; 
And  chauft'ed  inly,  seeing  now  no  more 
Him  liberty  was  left  aloud  to  rore: 
Yet  durst  he  not  draw  backe,  nor  once  withstand 
The  proved  powre  of  noble  Calidore  ; 
But  trembled  underneath  bis  might  hand. 
And  like  a  fearefull  dog  him  followed  through  the 
land. 


Him  through  all  Faery  land  he  follow 'd  so, 
As  if  he  learned  had  obedience  long. 
That  all  the  people,  whereso  he  did  go, 
Out  of  their  townes  did  round  about  him  throng. 
To  see  him  leade  that  beast  in  bondage  strong  ; 
And  seeing  it,  much  wonder'd  at  the  sight : 
And  all  such  persons,  as  he  earst  did  wrong, 
Reioyeed  much  to  see  his  captive  plight. 
And  much  admyr'd  the  beast,  but  more  admyr'd  the 
knight. 

xxxvni. 

Thus  was  this  monster,  by  the  maystring  might 
Of  doughty  Calidore,  supprest  and  tamed, 
That  never  more  he  mote  endammadge  wight 
With  his  vile  tongue,  which  many  had  defamed. 
And  many  causelt-sse  caused  to  be  blamed  : 
So  did  he  eeke  long  after  this  remaine, 
UntiU  that,  (whether  wicked  fate  so  framed 
Or  fault  of  men,)  he  broke  his  vron  chaine, 
And  got  into  the  world  at  liberty  againe, 

XXXIX. 

Thenceforth    more   mischiefe    and    more    scath    he 

To  mortall  men  than  he  had  done  before;  [wrought 

Ne  ever  could,  by  any,  more  he  brought 

Lito  like  bands,  ne  maystred  any  more  : 

Albe  that,  long  time  after  Calidore, 

The  good  Sir  Pelleas  liim  l«oke  in  hand  ; 

And  after  him  Sir  Lamoracke  of  yore  ; 

And  all  his  brethren  borne  in  liritaine  land; 

Yet  none  of  them  could  ever  brinp^  him  into  band. 


So  now  be  raungeth  through  the  world  againe. 
And  rageth  sore  in  each  degree  and  state ; 
Ne  any  is  that  may  him  now  restraine. 
He  growen  is  so  great  and  strong  of  late, 
Barking  and  biting  all  that  him  doe  bate, 
Albe  they  worthy  blame,  or  cleare  of  crime  ; 
Ne  s])aretli  he  most  learned  wits  to  rnte. 
Ne  S]iaretli  lie  the  gentle  poets  rime  ; 
But  rends,  without  regard  of  person  or  of  time 


Canto  XII.]  THE  FAERIE  QUEENE, 


541 


Ne  may  this  homelj  verse,  of  rnnny  meanest, 

Hofie  to  escape  his  venemous  despite, 

ftlore  than  u  y  former  writs,  all  were  they  cleanest 

From  blamefull  blot,  and  free  from  all  that  nite 

'"Vitb  which  some  wicted  tongues  did  it  backebite, 

And  brino^  into  a  mighty  peres  displeasure. 

That  never  so  deserved  to  endite 

Therefore  do  you,  my  rimes,  keep  better  measure, 

And  seeke  to  please ;  that  now  is  counted  wise  men  tbreasure. 


*A1 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


fCANTO  VI. 


TWO  CANTOS 

OP  MUTABILITIE: 

WHICH,  BOTH   FOR  FORME  AND   MATTER, 

APPEARE    TO  BE  PARCELL  OF  SOME  FOLLOWING   BOOKE  OP 

THE    FAERIE    QUEENE, 


UNDER  THE 


LEGEND  OF  CONSTANCIE. 


CANTO  VI. 

Proud  Change  (not  pleasd  in  mortall  things 

Beneath  the  moons  to  raigne) 
Pretends,  as  well  of  gods  as  men, 

To  be  the  soveraine. 


What  man  that  sees  the  ever-whirling  wheele 
Of  Change,  the  whicli  all  mortall  things  doth  sway, 
But  that  thereby  doth  find,  and  plainly  feele, 
How  Mutability  in  them  doth  play 
Her  cruell  sports  to  many  mens  decay  ? 
Which  that  to  all  may  better  yet  appeare, 
I  will  rehearse,  that  whylome  I  heard  say, 
How  she  at  first  herselfe  began  to  reare 
Gainst  all  the  gods,  and   th'  empire   sought  from 
them  to  beare. 


But  first,  here  falleth  fittest  to  unfold 

Her  antique  race  and  linage  ancient, 

As  I  have  found  it  registred  of  old 

In  Faery  land  mongst  records  ]'ermanent. 

She  was,  to  weet,  a  daughter  by  descent 

Of  those  old  Titans  that  did  whylome  strive 

With  Saturnes  sonne  for  lieavens  regiment ; 

Whom  tiiough  high  love  of  kingdome  did  deprive, 

Yet  many  of  their  stemme  long  after  did  survive ; 


And  many  of  them  afterwards  obtain'd 
Great  j)0wer  of  love,  and  high  autiiority  : 
As  Hecate,  in  whose  almighty  hand 
He  plac't  all  rule  and  principality. 
To  he  hy  her  disposed  diversly 
To  siods  and  men,  as  she  them  list  divide  ; 
And  drad  Bellona,  that  doth  sound  on  hie 
Warres  and  allarums  unto  nations  wide, 
That  makes  both  heaven  and  earth  to  tremble  at  her 
pride. 


So  likewise  did  this  Titanesse  aspire 
Rule  and  dominion  to  herselfe  to  gaine  ; 
Tliat  as  a  goddesse  men  might  her  admire, 
And  lieavenly  honours  yield,  as  to  them  twaine 
And  first,  on  earth  she  sought  it  to  obtaine ; 
Where  she  such  proofe  and  sad  examples  shewed 
Of  her  great  power,  to  many  ones  great  paine, 
That  not  men  onely  (whom  she  soone  subdewed) 
But  eke  all  other  creatures  her  bad  dooings  rewed. 


For  she  the  face  of  earthly  tilings  so  changed, 

That  all  which  Nature  had  establisht  first, 

In  good  estate,  and  in  meet  order  ranged, 

She  did  j)ervert,  and  all  their  statutes  burst: 

And  all  the  woilds  faire  frame  (^ which  none  yet  durst 

Of  gods  or  men  to  alter  or  misguide) 

She  alter'd  quite  ;  and  made  them  all  accurst 

That  Gild  had  blest,  and  did  at  first  provide 

In  that  still  hapjty  state  for  ever  to  abide. 


Ne  shee  the  lawes  of  Nature  onely  brake. 
But  eke  of  iustice.  and  of  policie  ; 
And  wrong  of  right,  and  bad  of  good  did  make, 
And  death  for  life  exchanged  foolishlie  : 
Since  wliich,  all  living  wights  have  learned  to  die, 
And  all  iliis  world  is  woxen  daily  worse. 
O  jiittious  worke  of  Mutabilitie, 
Ry  which  we  all  are  subiect  to  that  curst 
And  death,  instead  of  life,  have  sucked   from  our 
nurse ! 


Canto  VI.] 


thp:  faj'.rie  queene. 


34£ 


And  now,  when  all  the  earth  she  thus  had  brought 

To  her  behest  and  tliralled  to  her  might, 

Slie  gan  to  Ciist  in  her  ambitious  thought 

I'  aitempt  the  empire  of  the  heavens  liiglit. 

And  love  himselt'e  to  shoulder  from  his  right. 

And  first,  she  past  the  region  of  tlie  ayre 

And  of  the  fire,  whose  substance  tliin  and  slight 

]\l;ule  no  resistance,  ne  could  lier  contraire. 

Hut  ready  to  her  pleasure  did  prepaire. 


Thence  to  the  circle  of  the  moone  she  clambe, 

W  hi  re  Cynthia  raignes  in  everlasting  glory, 

1  u  whose  bright  shining  palace  straight  she  came, 

All  fau-elv  deckt  with  heavens  goodly  story  ; 

\\  hose  silver  gates  (bv  which  there  sate  an  hory 

(fid  aged  dire,  with  hower-glasse  in  hand, 

llit;ht   Ivnie.)  she  entered,  were  be  liefe  or  sory; 

Ne  staide  till  she  the  highest  stage  had  scand, 

V\    ere  C)  ntliia  did  sit,  that  never  still  did  stand. 


Her  sitting  on  an  ivory  throne  shee  found, 
Drawne  of  two  steeds,  th' one  black,  the  other  white, 
Kiiviron'd  with  teiine  thousand  starres  around, 
That  dulv  her  attended  day  and  night 
And  by  her  side  there  ran  a  page,  that  hight 
\  esper,  whom  we  the  evening-starre  intend  ; 
That  with  his  torche,  still  twinkling  like  twylight 
Her  lightened  all  the  way  where  she  would  wend 
And  ioy  to  weary  wandering  travellers  did  lend  : 


That  when  the  hardy  Titanesse  beheld 
The  goodlv  Imildinj  of  her  palace  bright, 
Made  of  the  heavens  substance,  and  up-held, 
W  ith  thousand  crvstall  pillors  of  huge  hight ; 
Shee  gan  to  bunie  in  her  ambitious  spriglit 
And  t'  envie  her  that  in  such  gloria  raigned. 
f-ftsoones  she  cast  by  lorce  and  tortious  might 
Her  to  displace,  and  to  berselfe  t'  have  gained 
'1  he    kiiigdome   of  the    night,   and    waters  by   her 
waintd. 


Boldlv  she  bid  the  goddesse  downe  descend, 

And  let  htrselfe  into  that  ivory  throne  ; 

Fi<r  she  lierselfe  more  worthy  thereof  wend, 

And  better  able  it  to  guide  alone  ; 

W  hether  to  men  whose  fall  she  did  bemone. 

Or  unto  gods  whose  state  she  did  maligne, 

Or  to  th'  iiiteniall  powers  her  need  give  lone 

Of  her  faiie  light  and  bounty  most  benigne, 

Herselfe  of  all  that  rule  shee  deemed  most  condigne. 


But  shee  that  had  to  her  that  soveraigne  seat 

By  highest  love  assign"d,  therein  to  beare 

iNights  burning  lam]),  regarded  not  her  threat, 

Ne  yielded  ought  for  favour  or  fi  r  feare ; 

but,  with  Sterne  countenance  and  disdainful!  cheare 

Bending  her  horned  browes,  did  put  iier  back; 

And,  boldly  blaming  her  for  loniing  there, 

Bade'^her  attonce  irom  heavens  cost  to  pack. 

Or  at  her  perill  bide  the  wrathfull  thunders  wrack. 


Yet  natliemore  the  giaiitesse  forbare  ; 

But  boldly  preacing  on,  raught  forth  her  hand 

To  pluck  her  downe  perforce  from  off  her  chaire  ; 

And,  there-with  lilting  up  her  golden  wand. 

Threatened  to  strike  her  if  she  did  with-stand  : 

Whereat  the  starres,  which  round  about  her  blazed. 

And  eke  the  moones  bright  wagon  still  did  stand, 

All  becing  wiih  so  bold  attempt  amazed. 

And  on  her  uncouth  habit  and  stenie  looke  still  gazed 


Meanwhile  the  lower  world,  which  nothing  knew 
Of  all  that  chaunced  here,  was  darkened  quite, 
And  eke  the  heavens,  and  all  the  heavenly  crew 
Of  happy  wights,  now  unpiirvaide  of  light, 
Were  much  afraid  and  w{.nd  •£  1  at  that  sight ; 
Fearing  lest  Chaos  broken  haa  his  cbaine. 
And  brought  agauie  on  them  eternall  night  ; 
But  chiefly  Wercuiy,  that  next  doth  raigne. 
Ran  forth  in  baste  unto  the  king  of  gods  to  plaine. 


All  ran  together  with  a  great  out-cry 

To  loves  faire  palace  lixt  in  heaven's  hight ; 

And,  beating  at  his  gates  full  earnestly, 

Gan  call  to  liim  aloud  with  all  their  might, 

'I'o  know  what  meant  that  suddaine  lack  of  light. 

The  father  of  the  gods,  when  this  he  heard, 

Was  troubled  much  at  their  so  strange  affright, 

Doubting  least  Typhon  were  agaiiie  uprear'd. 

Or  other  his  old  foes  that  once  him  sorely  fear'd. 


Eftsoones  the  sonne  of  Maie  forth  he  sent 

Downe  to  the  circle  of  the  moone,  to  knowe 

"1  he  cause  of  this  so  strange  astonishment, 

And  why  shee  did  her  wonted  course  forslowe  ; 

And,  if  that  any  were  on  earth  belowe 

That  did  with  charmes  or  magick  her  molest. 

Him  to  attache,  and  down  to  Jiell  to  throwe  ; 

But  if  from  heaven  it  were,  then  to  arrest 

The  author,  and  him  bring  before  his  presence  prest 


The  wingd-foot  god  so  fast  his  plumes  did  beat, 
I'hat  soon  he  came  whereas  the  J  itanesse 
Was  striving  with  faire  Cynthia  for  her  seat ; 
At  whose  strange  sight  and  haughty  hardinesse 
He  wondred  much,  and  feared  her  no  lesse; 
Yet,  laying  feare  aside  to  doe  his  charge. 
At  last  he  bade  her,  with  bold  stedfastnesse, 
Ceasse  to  molest  tlie  moone  to  walke  at  large, 
Or  come  belore  high  love  her  dooings  to  discharge. 

XVIII. 

And  therewithall  he  on  her  shoulder  la  d 
His  snaky-wreathed  mace,  whose  aw  full  power 
Doth  make  both  gods  and  Ijellish  tiends  affraid  . 
W  bereat  the  Titanesse  did  sternely  lower, 
And  stoutly  answer'd  ;  That  in  evill  bower 
He  from  his  love  such  message  to  her  brought. 
To  bid  her  leave  faire  Cynthias  silver  bower  j 
Sith  shee  his  love  and  him  esteemed  nought, 
Ao  more  then  Cynthias  selfe ;  but  all  their  king- 
doms souoht 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


[Hanto  VL 


The  heavens  lierald  staid  not  to  reply, 

I'.ut  past  auay,  his  doings  to  relate 

Unto  his  lord  ;  who  now,  in  th'  highest  slcy, 

Was  placed  in  his  principall  estate, 

With  al!  the  gods  about  him  congregate: 

iV)  whom  wlien  Hermes  had  his  message  told. 

It  (lid  them  all  exceedingly  amate,  [bold, 

Save  love  ;  who  changing  nought  his  count'nance 

Did  unto  them  at  length  these  speeches  wise  unfold. 


"  Harken  to  mee  awhile,  ye  heavenly  powers  : 
Ye  may  remember  since  th'  earths  cursed  seed 
bought  to  assaile  the  heavens  eternall  towers, 
And  to  us  all  exceeding  feare  did  breed  ; 
But,  how  we  then  defeated  all  their  deed, 
Yee  all  doe  knowe,  and  them  destroied  quite ; 
Yet  not  so  quite,  but  that  there  did  succeed 
An  oft'-spring  of  their  bloud.  which  did  alite 
Upon  the  fruitful!  earth,  which  doth  us  yet  despite. 


"  Of  that  bad  seed  is  this  bold  woman  bred, 
That  now  with  bold  presumption  doth  aspire 
To  thrust  faire  Phorbe  from  her  silver  bed, 
And  eke  ourselves  from  heavens  high  empire. 
If  that  lier  might  were  match  to  her  desire  : 
Wherefore  it  now  behoves  us  to  advise 
What  way  is  best  to  drive  her  to  retire  ; 
\Vhether  by  open  force,  or  counsell  wise : 
Areed,  ye  sonnes  of  God,  as  best  ye  can  devise." 


So  having  said,  he  ceast ;  and  with  his  brow 

(His  black  eye-brow,  whose  doornefuU  dreaded  beck 

Is  wont  to  wield  the  world  unto  his  vow, 

And  even  the  highest  powers  of  heaven  to  check,) 

IMade  signe  to  them  in  their  degrees  to  speake  : 

Who  straight  gan  cast  their  counsell  grave  and  wise. 

Meanewhde  th'  earths  daughter,  though  she  nought 

(lid  reck 
Of  liermes  message,  yet  gan  now  advise 
What  course  were  best  to  take  in  ihis  hot  bold  em- 
prize. 

XXIII. 

Eftsoones  she  thus  resolv'd  ;  that  whil'st  the  gods 

(After  returne  of  Hermes  embas»ie) 

Were  troubled,  and  amongst  themselves  at  ods  ; 

Before  they  could  new  couiisells  re-allie. 

To  set  iijion  them  in  that  extasie, 

And  take  wi:at  fortune,  lime,  and  jilace  would  lend: 

So  forth  she  rose,  and  through  the  ])urest  sky 

To  loves  high  palace  straight  cast  to  ascend, 

To  jirosecute  her  plot :   good  onset  beads  good  end. 

XXIV. 

Sliee  there  arriving  boldly  in  did  pass  ; 

\\  here  all  the  gods  she  found  in  counsell  close. 

Ail  (juite  unarm'd,  as  then  licr  manner  was. 

At  sight  of  her  they  suddaine  all  arose 

In  great  amaze,  ne  wist  what  way  to  chose: 

But  love,  all  fearlesse,  forc't  them  to  aby  ; 

And  in  his  soveraine  tlirone  gan  straij;ht  dispose 

Jliiuselfe,  more  lull  of  grace  and  niaiestie. 

That  mote  encheare  his  friends,  and  foes  mote  ternfie. 


That  wlien  the  haughty  Titanesse  belield, 

All  were  she  fraught  with  pride  and  impudence. 

Yet  with  the  sight  thereof  was  almost  (jueld  ; 

And,  inly  cpiaking.  seem'd  as  reft  of  sense 

And  voyd  of  speech  in  that  drad  audience; 

Untill  that  love  himselfe  herselfe  bespake  : 

"  Speake,  thou  fraile  wonidU,  speaka  with  confidenc  e  ; 

Whence   art   thou,  and  what  doc  st  thou  here  now 

make  ? 
What  idle  errand  hast  thou  eartLs  mansion  to  for- 
sake V 


Shee,  halfe  confused  with  his  grait  commaund, 
Yet  gathering  spirit  of  her  natures  pride, 
Him  boldly  answer'd  thus  to  his  demnuiid  ; 
"  I  am  a  daugliter,  by  the  mothers  side, 
Of  her  that  is  grand-mother  magnifide     • 
Of  all  the  gods,  great  Earth,  great  Chaos  child  : 
But  bv  the  fathers,  be  it  not  envide, 
I  greater  am  in  bloud,  whereon  I  build, 
Then  all  the  gods,  though  wrongfully  from  heaven 
exil'd. 


"  For  Titan,  as  ye  all  acknowittlge  must, 
Was  Saturnes  elder  brother  L>  birtli-right; 
Both  sonnes  of  Uranus  ;   but  bv  uniust 
And  guilefull  meanes,  throu'^h  Curvbantes  slight. 
The  younger  tlirust  the  eldei;  from  his  riglit : 
Since  wliich  thou,  love,  iniuriously  hast  held 
The  heavens  rule  from  Titans  sonnes  by  might ; 
And  them  to  hellisli  dungeons  downe  hast  fel(l  : 
Witnesse,  ye  heavens,  the  truth  of  all  that  1  have 
teld!" 


Whil'st  she  thus  spake,  the  gods  that  gave  good  e«.re 
To  her  bold  words,  and  marked  well  her  grace, 
(Beeing  of  stature  tall  as  any  there 
Of  all  the  gods,  and  beautifull  of  face 
As  any  of  the  goddesses  in  ])lace,) 
Stood  all  astonied  ;  like  a  sort  of  steeres, 
Mongst  whom  some  beast  of  strange  and  forraine  rac« 
Unwares  is  chaunc't,  far  straying  from  his  jieere^  : 
So  did  their  ghastly  gaze  bewray  their  hidden  feare* 

XXIX. 

Till,  liaving  pauz'd  awhile,  love  tlius  bespake, 
"  \\  ill  never  mortall  thouglits  cease  to  aspire 
In  this  bold  sort  to  Iieaven  claime  to  make. 
And  touch  celestiall  seates  with  earthly  mire? 
1  would  have  thought  that  bold  Procrustes  hire. 
Or  I'vphons  fall,  or  jiroud  Ixions  paiiie 
Or  great  Prometheus  tasteing  of  our  ire, 
\Vould  have  sufKz'd  the  rest  for  to  restraiiie. 
And  waru'd  all  men,  by  their  example,  to  refraine 


"  But  now  this  ofT-scum  of  that  cursed  fry 
Uare  to  renew  the  like  bold  enterprize, 
And  clialenge  th'  heritage  of  this  our  skie  : 
Whom  what  should  hinder,  but  that  we  likewise 
Should  liandle  as  the  rest  of  her  allies. 
And  thunder-drive  to  hell  ?"     With  that  he  shooke 
His  neciar-deawed  locks,  with  which  the  fckyes 
And  all  the  world  beneath  for  terror  quooke, 
And  eft  bis  burning  levin-brond  in  hand  he  tooke. 


Canto  VI.J 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENTE. 


345 


I5ut  when  he  looked  on  her  lovely  face, 

111  which  faire  beanies  of  beauty  did  appeare 

That  could  the  greatest  wrath  soone  turne  to  grace, 

(Such  sway  doth  beauty  even  in  heaven  beare,) 

He  staide  his  hand;  and,  having  chang'd  his  cheare, 

He  thus  againe  in  milder  wise  began  ; 

"  But  ah  !  if  gods  should  strive  with  flesh  yfere, 

Then  shortly  should  the  progeny  of  man 

Be  rooted  out,  if  love  should  doe  still  what  he  can  ! 


"  But  thee,  faire  Titans  child,  I  rather  weene, 
Til  rough  some  vaine  errour,  or  inducement  light, 
To  see  that  mortall  eyes  have  never  seene  ; 
Or  through  ensample  of  thy  sisters  might, 
Bellona,  whose  great  glory  thou  doost  spight, 
Since  thou  uast  seene  her  dreadful!  power  belowe  : 
JMongst  wretched  men,  dismaide  with  her  affright. 
To  bandie  crownes,  and  kingdoms  to  bestovve : 
And  sure  thy  worth  no  lesse  then  hers  doth  seem  to 
showe. 


"  But  wote  thou  this,  thou  hardy  Titanesse, 
That  not  the  wortli  of  any  living  wight 
Mav  challenge  ought  in  heavens  interesse  ; 
Much  lesse  the  title  of  old  Titans  right : 
For  we  by  conquest,  of  our  soveraine  might. 
And  by  eternall  doome  of  Fates  decree. 
Have  wonne  the  empire  of  the  heavens  bright; 
Which  to  ourselves  we  hold,  and  to  wiioni  wee 
Shall  worthy  deeme  partakers  of  our  blisse  to  bee. 


''  Then  ceasse  thy  idle  claime,  thou  foolish  gerle ; 

And  seeke  by  grace  and  goodnesse  to  obtaine 

That  place,  from  which  by  folly  Titan  fell ; 

1  iierto  thou  maist  perhaps,  if  so  thou  faine. 

Have    ove  thy  gracious  lord  and  soveraigne." 

So  having  said,  she  thus  to  him  replyde  , 

"  Ceasse,  Saturnes  sonne,  to  seeke  by  proffers  vaine 

t)f  idle  hopes  t' allure  raee  to  thy  side, 

For  to  betray  my  right  before  I  have  it  tride. 


"  But  thee,  0  love,  no  equal  iudge  I  deeme 

Of  my  desert,  or  of  my  de  a  full  right ; 

That  in  thine  owne  behalfe  maist  parliall  seeme: 

But  to  the  highest  him,  that  is  behight 

Father  of  gods  and  men  by  equall  might. 

To  weet,  the  god  of  Nature,  I  appeale." 

Thereat  love  wexed  wroth,  and  in  his  spright 

Did  inly  grudge,  yet  did  it  well  conceale  ; 

And  bade  Dan  Phoebus  scribe  her  appellation  seale. 


Eftsoones  the  time  and  place  appointed  were, 
Where  all,  both  heavenly  powers  and  earthly  wights. 
Before  great  Natures  presence  should  appeaire, 
For  triall  of  their  titles  and  best  rights  : 
That  was,  to  weet,  upon  the  highest  bights 
Of  Arlo-hill  (who  knowes  not  Arlo-hill  ?) 
That  is  the  highest  head,  in  all  mens  s-ights, 
(if  my  old  father  Moi.e,  whom  Shejiheards  quill 
Renowmed  hath  with  hymnes  fit  for  a  rurall  skill. 


And,  were  it  not  ill  fitting  for  this  file  [knights. 

To   sing  of  hilles   and  woods  mongst   warres  and 
I  would  abate  the  sternenesse  of  my  stile, 
Mongst  these  Sterne  stounds  to  mingle  soft  delights  ; 
And  tell  how  Arlo,  through  Dianaes  spights, 
(Beeing  of  old  the  best  and  fairest  hill 
That  was  in  all  this  Holy-Islands  bights,) 
Was  made  the  most  unpleasant  and  most  ill : 
Meane  while,  O  Clio,  lend  Calliope  thy  quill. 


Whylome  when  Ireland  florished  in  fame 
Of  weiilth  and  goodnesse,  far  above  the  rest 
Of  all  that  beare  the  British  Islands  name. 
The  gods  then  used,  for  jdeasure  and  for  rest. 
Oft  to  resort  thereto,  when  seem'd  them  best: 
But  none  of  all  therein  more  pleasure  found 
Then  Cynthia,  that  is  soveraine  queene  profest 
Of  woods  and  forrests,  which  therein  abound, 
Sprinkled  with  wholsora  waters  more  then  most  oa 
ground : 

XXXIX 

But  mongst  them  all,  as  fittest  for  her  game, 
(Either  for  chace  of  beasts  with  hound  or  bowe. 
Or  for  to  shroude  in  shade  from  Phoebus  flame. 
Or  bathe  in  fountaines  that  doe  freshly  flowe 
Or  from  high  hilles,  or  from  the  dales  belowe,) 
She  chose  this  Arlo  ;  where  shee  di<l  resort 
With  all  her  nymphes  enranged  on  a  rowe, 
With  whom  the  woody  s;ods  did  oft  consort ; 
For  with  the  nymphes  the  satyres  love  to  play  and 
sport : 

XL. 

Amongst  the  which  there  was  a  n\Tnph  that  hight 
Molanna:  daughter  of  old  Father  .Mole, 
And  sister  unto  Mulla  faire  and  bright: 
Unto  whose  bed  false  Bregog  whylome  stole 
That  Shepheard  Colin  dearely  did  condole. 
And  made  her  lucklesse  loves  well  knowne  to  be: 
But  this  Molanna,  were  she  not  so  shole, 
Were  no  lesse  faire  and  beautifull  then  shee: 
Yet,  as  she  is,  a  fairer  flood  may  no  man  see. 


For  first  she  springs  out  of  two  marble  rocks. 
On  which  a  grove  of  oakes  high-mounted  growes 
That  as  a  girlond  seemes  to  deck  the  locks   [showes 
Of  some   faire  bride,  brought  forth  with   pompoua 
Out  of  her  bowre,  that  many  flowers  s'rowes  ; 
So  through  the  flowry  dales  she  tumbling  dowiie 
Through  many  woods  and  shady  coverts  flowes 
That  on  each  side  her  silver  channell  crowne, 
Till  to  the  plaine  she  come,  whose  valleyes  shee 
drowne. 


In  her  sweet  streames  Diana  used  oft. 
After  her  sweatie  chace  and  toilesonie  pla^', 
'i"p  bathe  hersell'e  ;  and,  after,  on  the  soft 
And  downy  grasse  her  daintv  limbes  to  lay 
In  covert  shade,  where  none  beliold  her  may. 
For  much  she  hated  sight  of  living  eye : 
Foolish  god  Fnunus,  though  full  many  a  day 
He  saw  her  clad,  vet  longed  foolishly 
To  see  her  naked  mongst  her  nymphes  in  privity. 


U6 


THE  FAEIUK.  QUEENE. 


[Canto  VI 


No  way  he  found  to  compasse  liis  desire, 

But  to  corrupt  i\Iolanna,  this  her  maid, 

Her  to  discover  for  some  secret  hire: 

So  her  witli  flattering  words  lie  first  assaid  ; 

And,  after,  ])leasinLC  gifts  for  lier  j)urvaid, 

Queene-apples,  and  red  cherries  from  the  tree, 

\Vith  wliich  he  her  allured  and  betraid 

To  tell  what  time  he  might  her  lady  see 

When  she  herselfe  did  bathe,  that  he  might  secret  bee. 


Thereto  hee  promist,  if  she  would  him  pleasure 
AVith  this  small  boone,  to  quit  her  witli  a  better; 
To  weet,  that  whereas  shee  had  out  of  measure 
Long-  lov'd  the  Fanchin,  who  by  nought  did  set  her, 
That  he  would  undertake  lor  this  to  get  her 
To  be  his  love,  and  of  him  liked  well: 
Besides  all  which,  he  vow'd  to  be  her  debter 
For  many  moe  good  turnes  then  lie  would  tell  ; 
The  least  of  which  this  little  pleasure  should  excell. 


The  sim[)le  maid  did  yield  to  him  anone  ; 

And  eft  him  jihiced  where  he  close  might  view 

Tliat  never  any  saSv,  save  onely  one, 

Who,  for  his  hire  to  so  foole-hardy  dew. 

Was  of  his  hounds  devour'd  in  hunters  hew. 

Tho,  as  her  manner  was  on  sunny  day, 

Diana,  with  her  nymphes  about  her,  drew 

To  this  sweet  spring ;  wliere,  dotRng  her  array, 

She  bath'd  her  lovely  limbes,  for  love  a  likely  pray, 


There  Faunus  saw  that  jileased  much  his  eye. 
And  made  his  hart  to  tickle  in  his  brest, 
'J'hat,  for  great  ioy  of  somewhat  he  did  spy, 
He  could  him  not  containe  in  silent  rest  ; 
But,  breaking  forth  in  laughter,  loud  profest 
His  foolish  liiought  :  a  toolish  faune  indeed. 
That  couklst  not  hold  tlivselfe  so  hidden  blest, 
Hut  wouldest  needs  thine  owiie  conceit  areed ! 
Babblers  unworthy  been  of  so  divine  a  meed. 


The  goddesse,  all  abashed  with  that  noise. 
In  haste  forth  started  from  the  guilty  brooke  ; 
And,  running  straight  whereas  she  lieiird  his  voice, 
Enclos'd  the  bush  about,  and  there  him  tooke 
J. ike  darred  hirke,  not  daring  up  to  looke 
On  hi  r  whose  sight  before  so  much  he  sought. 
'I'liH'ice  forth  they  drew  him  by  tiie  homes,  and  shooke 
Ni'jh  all  to  peeces,  that  they  left  him  nought; 
And  then  into  the  open  light  they  forth  him  brought. 


Like  as  an  huswife,  that  with  busie  care 
I  liinks  of  her  dairie  to  make  wondrous  gaine, 
Finding  whereas  some  wicked  beast  unware 
'I'liai  breakes  into  her  dayr'  house,  there  doth  draine 
Her  creaming  pannes,  and  frustrate  all  her  paine  ; 
It. lib,  in  some  snare  or  gin  set  close  behind, 
I- iilrapjied  him,  and  caught  into  her  traiiie, 
Then  thinkes  w  bat  puiusluneiit  were  be>t  as>ign'd. 
And    thousand   dealhes   deviseth  in  her    vengefuU 
mind  : 


XTIX. 

So  did  Diana  and  her  mavdens  all 
Use  silly  Faunus,  now  within  their  baile  : 
They  mocke  and  scorne  him,  and  him  ibule  miscall ; 
Some  by  the  nose  him  pluckt,  sonie  by  the  taile, 
And  by  his  goatish  beard  some  did  him  haile  : 
Yet  he  (poore  soule!)  with  patience  all  did  beare ; 
For  nought  against  their  wils  might  countervails  : 
Ne  ought  ne  said,  whatever  he  did  heare  ; 
But,    hanging  downe    his    head,   did    like   a  mome 
appeare. 

L. 

At  length,  when  they  had  flouted  him  their  fill. 
They  gan  to  cast  what  penaunce  him  to  give,     [spill 
Some  would   have  gelt  Jiim  ;  but  that  same  would 
Tlie  wood-gods  breed,  which  must  for  ever  live: 
Others  would  through  the  river  him  have  drive 
And  ducked  deepe  ;  but  that  seem'd  penaunce  light : 
J5ut  most  agreed,  and  did  this  sentence  give, 
Him  in  deares  skin  to  clad  ;  and  in  that  plight 
To  hunt  liim  with  their  hounds,  himsell'e  save  how 
hee  might. 


But  Cynthia's  selfe,  more  angry  then  the  rest. 
Thought  not  enough  to  punish  him  in  sport. 
And  of  her  shame  to  make  a  gamesome  iest : 
]5ut  gan  examine  him  in  straighter  sort. 
Which  of  her  nymphes,  or  other  close  consort. 
Him  thither  brought,  and  her  to  him  betraid. 
He,  much  afleard,  to  her  confessed  short 
That  'twas  Molanna  which  her  so  bewraid. 
Then  all  attonce  their  hands  upon  Molanna  laid 


But  him  (according  as  they  had  decreed) 
Witii  a  deeres-skin  they  covered,  and  then  chast 
\\'ith  all  their  hounds  that  after  him  did  speed  ; 
But  he,  more  speedy,  from  them  fled  more  fast  ' 
Then  any  deere  ;  so  sore  him  dread  aghast. 
They  afier  follow'd  all  with  shrill  out-cry, 
Shouting  as  they  the  heavens  would  have  brast ; 
That  all  the  woods  and  dales,  where  he  did  flie. 
Did  ring  againe,  and  loud  reeccho  to  the  skie. 


So  they  him  follow'd  till  they  weary  were; 
When,  back  returning  to  Molann'  againe, 
They,  by  commaund'ment  of  Diana,  there       [paine. 
Her   whelm'd  with    stones:     \'et    Faunus,  for  her 
Of  her  beloved  Fanchin  did  obtaine, 
'i'hat  iier  he  would  receive  unto  his  bed. 
So  now  her  waves  passe  through  a  pleasant  plaine. 
Till  witli  the  Fanchin  she  herselfe  doe  wed. 
And,  both  combiii'd,  themselves  in  one  faire  river 
spred. 

nv. 

Nath'lesse  Diana,  full  of  indignation, 
Tlienceforth  abandoiid  her  delicious  brooke : 
In  whose  sweete  streame,  before  that  bad  occasion, 
So  much  delight  to  bathe  her  limbes  she  tooke: 
Is'e  onely  her,  but  also  (juite  forsooke 
All  those  faire  forrests  about  Arlo  hid  ; 
And  all  that  mouiitaine,  \\  Inch  doth  overlooke 
The  richest  champian  that  may  else  be  rid  ; 
And  the  faire  Shure,  in  wiiich  are  thousand  salmonji 
bred. 


Canto  Y^Q 


THE  FAi:UlK-  QUEEN'E. 


347 


Tlieni  all,  and  all  that  she  so  deare  did  way, 
Thenceforth  she  left ;  and,  parting-  from  the  place, 
Thereon  an  heavy  huplesse  curse  did  lay  ; 
To  weet,  that  vvolv^es,  where  she  was  wont  to  apace 
Shou'd  harbour'd  be  and  all  those  woods  deface, 
And  thieves  should  rob  and  spoile  that  coast  around. 
Since  which,  those  woods,  and  all  that  goodly  chase 
Doth  to  this  day  with  wolves  and  thieves  abound  : 
Which  too-too  true  that  lands  in-dwellers  since  have  found 


CANTO  VII. 

Pealing  from  love  to  Natures  bar. 

Bold  Alteration  pleades 
Large  evidence  :   but  Nature  scone 

Her  righteous  dooine  areads. 


Ah  !  whither  dost  thou  now,  thou  greater  muse, 

lS\e  from  these  woods  and  pleasing  forrests  bring  ? 

And  my  fraile  spirit,  that  dooth  oft  refuse 

This  too  liigh  flight  unfit  for  her  weake  wing, 

Lift  up  aloft,  to  tell  of  heavens  king 

(Thy  soveraine  sire)  his  fortunate  successe  ; 

And  victory  in  bij;ger  iioates  to  sing, 

W  hich  he  obtaia'd  against  that  litanesse, 

That  him  of  heavens  empire  sought  to  dispossesse? 


Yet,  sith  I  needs  must  follow  thy  behest, 

Doe  thou  my  weaker  wit  witli  skill  inspire, 

tit  for  this  turne  ;  and  in  niv  sable  brest 

Kindle  fresh  sparks  of  that  inimortail  fire 

W  hich  learned  minds  indanieth  with  desire 

Of  heavenly  things  :  for  who,  but  ihou  alone 

'i  hat  art  yborne  of  heaven  and  heavenly  sire. 

Can  tell  things  doen  in  heaven  so  long  ygone. 

So  farre  past  memory  of  man  that  may  be  knowne  1 


Now,  at  the  time  that  was  before  agreed, 
The  gods  assembled  all  on  Arlo  Hill  ; 
As  well  those  that  are  sprung  of  heavenly  seed. 
As  those  that  all  die  other  world  doe  fill. 
And  rule  both  sea  and  land  unto  tlieir  will  : 
Onely  tli'  infernal!  powers  might  not  appeare  ; 
As  well  for  horror  of  their  count'naunce  ill, 
As  forth'  unruly  fiends  which  thev  did  (eare; 
Yet  Pluto  and  Proserpina  were  present  there. 


And  thitb?r  also  came  all  other  creatures, 
Whatever  life  or  motion  doe  letame, 
According  to  their  sundry  kinds  of  features  ; 
That  Arlo  scarsly  could  ihein  sdl  containe  ; 
So  full  they  filled  every  hill  and  jilaine: 
And  had  not  Natures  Sergeant  (that  is  Order) 
Them  well  disposed  by  las  buisie  paine, 
And  rauiiged  furre  abroad  in  eveiy  border, 
T-iiey  would  have  caused  much  confusion  and  dis- 
order 


Then  forth  issew'd  (great  goddesse)  great  Dame 
With  goodly  port  and  gracious  maiesty,        [Nature, 
Being  far  greater  and  more  tall  of  stature 
Then  any  of  the  gods  or  powers  on  hie  ; 
Yet  certes  by  her  face  and  physnomy. 
Whether  she  man  or  woman  inly  were. 
That  could  not  any  creature  well  descry  ; 
For,  with  a  veile  that  wimpled  every  where. 
Her  head  and  face  was  hid  that  mote  to  none  ap- 
peare. 

vr. 

That,  some  doe  sav,  was  so  by  skill  devized. 

To  hide  the  terror  of  her  uncouth  hew 

From  mortall  eyes  that  should  be  sore  agrized  : 

For  that  her  face  did  like  a  lion  shew, 

That  eye  of  wight  could  not  iiidure  to  view  : 

But  other5  tell  that  it  so  beautious  was. 

And  round  about  such  beames  of  splendor  threw 

'i'hat  it  the  sunne  a  thousand  times  did  pass, 

Ne  could  be  seene  but  like  an  image  in  a  glass. 


That  well  mav  seemen  true ;  for  well  I  weene 
'I'hat  this  same  day,  when  she  on  Arlo  sat, 
Her  garment  was  so  briglit  and  wondrous  sheene, 
1  hat  my  fraile  wit  cannot  devize  to  what 
It  to  compare,  nor  finde  like  s'utle  to  that: 
As  those  three  sacred  saints,  though  else  most  wise, 
Yet  on  J.Iount  Thabor  (juite  their  wits  for>>at 
When  thev  their  glorious  lord  in  strange  disguise 
Transfigur'd  sawe ;  his  garments  so  did  aaze  their 
eves. 


In  a  fayre  plaine  upon  an  equall  hill 

She  [ilaced  was  in  a  pavilion  : 

Not  such  as  craf'tesmeii  bv  their  idle  skill 

Are  wont  for  princes  slates  to  fashion  ; 

But  th'  earth  herself,  of  lier  owiie  motion, 

Out  of  her  fruitfuU  bosoiiie  made  to  growe 

Most  daiiiiy  liees,  that    shuotino-  up  anon. 

Did  seeme  to  bow  their  liloosming  beads  full  lOT^a 

For  homage  unto  her,  and  I'.Ke  a  throne  aid  snevr 


348 


TflK  FAKRIF,  QUKKXE. 


[Canto  V' II 


So  Irani  it  is  for  any  living  wight 
All  liei-  array  and  vestimeiits  to  tell, 
'"J'liat  okl  Dan  Geffrey  (in  whose  gentle  spright, 
J'lie  ])ure  well-head  of  poesie  did  dwell) 
In  his  Foutes  Partetj  durst  not  with  it  mell, 
Hut  it  traiisterd  to  Alane,  wlio  he  thought 
Had  in  his  I'luint  nj'  Kiiides  desc.nh'd  h  well  : 
W  hich  who  will  read  set  forth  so  as  it  ought, 
Liu  seek  lie  out  that  Alane  where  he  may  be  sought. 


And  all  tlie  earth  far  underneath  her  feete 
Was  dight  with  flowers,  that  voluntary  grew 
Out  of  the  ground,  and  sent  forih  odours  sweet; 
Tenne  thousand  mores  of  sundry  sent  and  hew, 
That  might  delight  the  smell,  or  please  the  view, 
The  which  the  nymphes  from  all  the  i)rooks  thereby 
Had  gathered,  they  at  her  foot-stoole  threw  ; 
That  richer  seem'd  then  any  tapestiy. 
That  princes  bowres  adorne  with  painted  imagerv. 


And  Mole  himselfe,  to  honour  her  the  more, 
L)id  deck  himself  in  freshest  faire  attire  ; 
And  his  high  head,  that  seemeth  alwaies  hore 
With  hardned  frosts  of  former  winters  ire. 
He  with  an  oaken  girlond  now  did  tire. 
As  if  the  love  of  some  new  nymph  late  seene 
Had  in  him  kindled  youthfull  fresh  desire. 
And  made  him  change  his  gray  attire  to  greene : 
Ah  !    gentle   Mole,   such    icyance   haih    thee   well 
beseene. 


AVns  never  so  great  icyance  since  the  day 

'i  hat  all  the  gods  whylome  assembled  were 

On  Hicmus  hill  in  their  divine  array, 

'l"o  celebrate  the  solemne  bridall  cheare 

'I  w  ixt  Peleus  and  Dame  Thetis  pointed  there  ; 

^Vhere  Phoebus  self,  that  god  of  poets  Iiiglit, 

They  say,  did  sing  the  spousall  hyrane  full  cleere. 

That  all  the  gods  were  ravisht  with  delight 

Of  his  celestiall  song  and  musicks  wondrous  might. 


This  great  grandmotlier  of  all  creatures  bred. 

Great  Nature,  ever  young,  yet  full  of  eld  ; 

Stdl  mooving,  yet  unmoved  from  her  sted  ; 

Unseene  of  any,  yet  of  all  beheld  ; 

Thus  sitting  ia  her  throne,  as  1  have  teld. 

Before  her  came  Dame  iMutabilitie; 

And,  being  lowe  before  lier  jiresence  feld 

With  meek  obavsance  and  huir.ilitie. 

Thus  gan  her  plainiif  plea  with  words  to  amplifie  : 


To  thee,  O  greatest  goddesse,  onely  great, 
An  humble  sujipliant  lot;!   1  lowely  jly, 
Seeking  for  right,  which  1  of  thee  entreat; 
Who  right  to  all  dost  deale  indilferently. 
Damning  all  wrong  and  torlunis  iniurie, 
Which  any  of  thy  creatures  doe  to  other 
Oppressing  them  with  power  uneipially, 
Sith  of  them  all  thou  art  the  e()ua.l  mother, 
Ana  knittes;:  each  to  each,  as  bro'h'ir  u'l   >  brother. 


"  To  thee  therefore  of  this  same  love  J  plaine, 

And  of  his  fellow  gods  that  faine  to  be. 

That  challenge  to  themselves  the  whole  worlds  raign, 

Of  which  the  greatest  part  is  due  to  me, 

And  heaven  itselfe  by  heritage  in  fee: 

For  heaven  and  earth  I  both  alike  do  deeme, 

Sith  heaven  and  earth  are  both  alike  to  tiiee; 

And  gods  no  more  then  men  thou  doest  esteenie  : 

For  even  the  gods  to  thee,  as  men  to  gods,  do  seeme. 


"Then  weigh,  O  soveraigne  goddesse,  by  what  right 

'J'liese  gods  do  claime  the  worlds  whole  soverainty  , 

And  that  is  onely  dew  unto  mv  might 

Arrogate  to  themselves  ambitiously  : 

As  for  the  gods  owne  principality, 

Which  love  usurpes  uniustly,  that  to  be 

My  heritage,  love's  selfe  cannot  deny, 

From  my  great  grandsire  Titan  unto  mee 

Deriv'd  by  dew  descent ;  as  is  well  known  to  thee. 


"  Yet  mauger  love,  and  all  his  gods  beside, 

I  doe  possesse  the  worlds  most  regiment; 

As  if  ye  jdease  it  into  parts  divide, 

And  every  parts  inholders  to  convent. 

Shall  to  your  eyes  apjieare  incontint.nt. 

And  first,  the  earth  (great  mother  of  us  all) 

That  only  seems  unmov'd  and  permanent. 

And  unto  Mutability  not  thrall. 

Yet  is  she  chang'd  in  part,  and  eeke  in  generall : 


"  For  all  that  from  her  springs,  and  is  ybredde. 

However  favre  it  flourish  for  a  time. 

Yet  see  we  soone  decay  ;  and,  being  dead. 

To  turne  again  unto  their  earthly  slinie 

Yet,  out  of  their  decay  and  mortall  crime. 

We  daily  see  new  creatures  to  arize, 

And  of  their  Winter  spring  another  Prime, 

Unlike  in  forme,  and  chang'd  by  strange  disguise  • 

So  turne  they  still  about,  and  change  in  restlesse  wise. 


"As  for  her  tenants  ;  that  is,  man  and  beasts ; 

The  beasts  we  daily  see  massacred  dy 

And  thralls  and  vassals  unto  mens  beheasts  ; 

And  men  themselves  doe  change  continually, 

From  youth  to  eld,  from  wealth  to  poverty, 

F'rora  good  to  bad,  from  bad  to  worst  of  all : 

Ne  doe  their  bodies  only  flit  and  fly  ; 

But  eeke  their  minds  (which  they  imroortall  call) 

Still  change  and  vary  thoughts,  as  new  occasions  fall 


"  Ne  is  the  water  in  more  constant  case  ; 
Whether  those  same  on  high,  or  these  belowe : 
For  th'  oce;in  moveth  siil!  from  pi. ice  to  place; 
And  every  river  still  doth  ebbe  and  flowe  ; 
Ne  any  lake,  that  seems  most  still  and  slowe, 
Ne  ])0(de  so  small,  that  can  his  smoothiiesse  holde 
When  any  wiiirie  do'h  under  heaven  blowe ; 
Will)  which  the  cl.md-.  are  also  tost  and  rcdl'd. 
Now  like  great  hills;   ami  streighl,  like  sluces,  thein 
unfold. 


Canto  VII.] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEENE. 


5-19 


"  So  likewise  are  all  watry  living'  wight3 
till  test  and  turned  with  continuall  cliange, 
ever  abyding  in  their  stedi'ast  plights: 
The  lish,  still  floting,  doe  at  random  range, 
And  never  rest,  but  evermore  exchange 
rheir  dwelling  places,  as  the  streames  them   carrie : 
Ne  have  the  watry  foules  a  certaine  grange 
Wherein  to  rest,  ne  in  one  stead  do  tarry ; 
but  flitting  still  doe  flie,  and  still  their  places  vary. 


"  Next  is  the  ayre  :  which  who  feeles  not  by  sense 

(For  of  all  sense  it  is  the  middle  meane^ 

i'o  flit  still,  and  with  subtill  influence 

Of  his  thin  spirit  all  creatures  to  maintaine 

In  state  of  life?  O  weake  life  !  that  does  leane 

On  thing  so  tickle  as  th'  unsteady  ayre. 

Which  every  howre  is  chang'd,  and  altred  cleans 

With  every  blast  that  bloweth  fowle  or  faire  : 

The  faire  doth  it  prolong;  the  fowle  doth  it  irapaire. 


"  Therein  the  changes  infinite  beholde, 
Which  to  her  creatures  every  minute  chaunce  ; 
Now  boyling  hot ;  streight  friezing  deadly  cold  ; 
N  ovv  faire  sun-shine,  that  makes  all  skip  and  daunce  ; 
Streight  bitter  storms,  and  balefull  countenance 
That  makes  them  all  to  shiver  and  to  shake  : 
Ravne,  hayle,  and  snowe  do  pay  them  sad  penance. 
And  dreadfull  thunder-claps  (that  make  them  quake) 
W  ith  flames  and  flashing  lights  that  thousand  changes 
make. 


'  Last  is  the  fire;  which,  though  it  live  for  ever, 

Ne  can  be  quenched  quite ;  yet,  every  day. 

We  see  his  parts,  so  soone  as  they  do  sever, 

lo  lose  their  heat  and  shortly  to  decay; 

So  makes  himself  his  owne  consuming  pray; 

Ne  any  living  creatures  doth  he  breed; 

But  all,  that  are  of  others  bredd,  doth  slay; 

And  with  their  death  his  cruell  life  dootli  feed  ; 

Nought  leavinor  but  their  barren  ashes  without  seede. 


XXV. 

"  Thus  all  these  fower  (the  which  the  groundwork 
Of  all  the  world  and  of  all  living  wights)  [bee 

To  thousand  sorts  of  change  we  subject  see  : 
Vet  are  they  chang'd  by  other  wondrous  slights 
Into  themselves,  and  lose  their  native  mights  ; 
I  he  fire  to  aire,  and  th'  ayre  to  water  sheere. 
And  water  into  earth  ;  yet  water  fights 
With  fire,  and  aire  with  earth,  approaching  neere  ; 
Vet  all  are  in  one  body,  and  as  one  appeare. 

XXVI. 

"  So  in  them  all  raignes  Mutabilitie; 

However  these,  that  gods  themselves  do  call. 

Of  them  doe  claime  the  rule  and  soverainty  ; 

As  Vesta,  of  the  fire  sethereall  ; 

Vulcar,  of  this  witii  us  so  usuall  ; 

Ops,  of  the  earth  ;  and  luno,  of  the  ayra; 

Neptune,  of  seas  ;  und  nymphes,  of  rivera  all  : 

For  all  those  rivers  to  me  subiect  are; 

And  all  the  rest,  which  they  usurp,  be  all  my  share. 


"  W'hich  to  apprnven  true,  as  I  have  told. 
Vouchsafe,  O  goddesse,  to  thy  presence  call 
The  rest  which  doe  the  world  in  being  hold ; 
As  times  and  seasons  of  the  yeare  that  fall : 
Of  all  the  which  demand  in  generall. 
Or  iudge  thyselfe,  by  verdit  of  thine  eve. 
Whether  to  me  they  are  not  subiect  all." 
Nature  did  yeeld  thereto;  and  by-and-by 
Bade  Order  call  them  all  before  her  maiestv. 


XXVIII. 

So  forth  issew'd  the  seasons  of  the  yeare  : 
First,  lusty  Spring  all  dight  in  leaves  of  flowres 
That  freshly  budded  and  new  bloosmes  did  beare. 
In  vi'liich  a  thousand  birds  had  built  their  bowres 
That  sweetly  sung  to  call  forth  paramours  ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  iavelin  he  did  beare. 
And  on  his  head  (as  fit  for  warlike  stoures) 
A  guilt  engraven  morion  he  did  weare  ; 
That  as  some  did  him  love,  so  others  did  him  feare 


Then  came  the  iolly  Sommer,  being  dight 
In  a  thin  silken  cassock  coloured  greene. 
That  was  uiilyned  all,  to  be  more  light : 
And  on  his  head  a  girlond  well  beseene 
He  wore,  I'rom  which  as  he  had  chaufted  been 
'i'he  sweat  did  drop ;  and  in  his  hand  he  bore 
A  bovve  and  shaftes,  as  he  in  forrest  greene 
Had  hunte<l  late  the  libbard  or  the  bore, 
And  now  would  bathe  his  limbes  with  labor  heated 
sore. 


Then  came  the  Autumne  all  in  yellow  clad 
As  though  he  ioyed  in  his  plentious  store. 
Laden  with  fruits  that  made  him  laugh,  full  glad 
'J'hat  he  had  banisht  hunger,  which  to-fore 
Had  by  the  belly  oft  him  pinched  sore  : 
Upon  his  head  a  wreath,  that  was  eiirold 
With  cars  of  corne  of  every  sort,  he  bore 
And  in  his  hand  a  sickle  he  did  holde. 
To  reape  the  ripened  I'ruits  the  which  the  earth  had 
yold. 


Lastly,  came  Winter  cloathed  all  in  irize, 
Chattering;  his  teeth  for  cold  that  did  him  chill; 
Wjiil'st  on  his  hoary  beard  his  breath  did  frease. 
And  ihe  dull  drops,  that  from  his  purpled  bill 
As  from  a  limbeck  did  adown  distill: 
In  his  right  hand  a  tipjied  stafte  he  held. 
With  which  his  feeble  steps  he  stayed  still ; 
For  he  was  faint  with  cold,  and  weak  with  eld; 
That  scarse  his  loosed  limbes  he  hable  was  to  weld. 


These,  marching  softly,  thus  in  order  went. 

And  after  them  the  monthes  all  riding  car.io  ; 

First,  sturdy  March,  with  brows  full  sternly  bent 

And  armed  strongly,  rode  upon  a  ram. 

The  same  which  over  Hellespontus  swam; 

Yet  in  Lis  hand  a  spade  he  also  bent, 

And  in  a  bag  all  sorts  of  seeds  ysame, 

Which  on  the  earth  he  strowed  as  he  went,     [ment. 

And   fild  her  womb  with  fruiifull  hope  of  nourish- 


350 


THE  FAERIE  QUKKXE. 


Canto  VJI. 


Next  came  fresh  Aprill,  full  of  histvlied, 
And  wanton  as  a  kid  whose  home  new  buds  : 
Upon  a  bu"  he  rode,  the  same  which  led 
Europa  floting-  throng-h  th'  Arp;olick  fluids  : 
His  homes  were  gilden  all  with  golden  studs, 
And  srarnished  with  garlonds  goodly  dight 
Of  all  the  fairest  flowres  and  fresliest  buds        [s'gl't 
Which  th'  earth  brings  forth  ;  and  wet  he  seem'd  in 
With  waves,  through  which  he  waded  for  his  loves 
delight. 


Then  came  faire  May,  the  fayrest  mavd  on  ground, 
Deckt  all  with  dainties  of  her  seasons  pryde, 
And  throwing  flowres  out  of  her  lap  around  : 
Upon  two  brethrens  shoulders  she  did  ride, 
The  twinnes  of  Leda ;  which  on  evther  side 
Supported  her  like  to  their  soveraine  queene  : 
Lord  !  how  all  creatures  laught  when  her  they  spide, 
And  leapt  and  daunc't  as  they  had  ravisht  beenel 
And  Cupid  selfe  about  her  fluttred  all  in  greene. 


And  after  her  came  iolly  lune,  arraj^d 
All  in  greene  leaves,  as  he  a  player  were: 
Yet  in  his  time  he  wrought  as  well  as  playd, 
That  by  his  plough-yrons  mote  right  well  appeare  : 
Upon  a  crab  he  rode,  that  him  did  beare 
With  crooked  crawling  steps  an  uncouth  pase, 
And  backward  yode,  as  bargemen  wont  to  fare 
] lending  their  force  contrary  to  their  fiice  ;        [grace 
Like  that  ungracious  crew  which   faines  demurest 


Then  came  hot  luly  boyling  like  to  fire. 
That  all  his  garments  he  had  cast  away  : 
L'pon  a  lyon  raging  yet  with  ire 
He  boldly  rode,  and  made  li,im  to  obay  : 
(It  was  the  beast  that  whylome  did  forray 
The  Nemaean  forrest,  till  th'  Amphytrionide 
Him  slew,  and  with  his  hide  did  him  array  :) 
IJehinde  his  backe  a  sithe,  and  by  his  side 
Under  his  belt  he  bore  a  sickle  circling  wide 


The  sixt  was  August,  being  rich  arrayd 
1 II  garment  all  of  gold  downe  to  the  ground  : 
\'et  rode  he  not,  but  led  a  lovely  mavd 
Forth  by  tne  lilly  hand,  the  which  was  cro^.id 
With  eares  of  come,  and  full  her  hand  was  found : 
'J'hat  was  the  righteous  virgin,  which  of  old 
Liv'd  here  on  earth,  and  plenty  made  abound; 
15ut,  after  Wrong  was  lov'd  and  Justice  solde, 
She  left  th'  unrig-hteous  world,  and  was  to  heaven 
extol** 


Next  him  September  marched  eeke  on  foote; 
Yet  was  he  heavy  laden  with  the  spoyle 
Of  harvests  riches,  which  he  made  his  boot, 
And  him  enricht  with  bounty  of  the  soyle : 
In  his  one  hand,  as  fit  for  harvests  toyle., 
He  held  a  knife-hook  ;  and  in  th'  other  hand 
A  paire  of  waigjits,  with  which  he  did  assoyle 
Both  more  and  lesse,  where  it  in  doubt  did  stand, 
And  equall  gave  to  each  as  lustice  duly  scann'd. 


Then  came  October  full  of  merry  glee  ; 

For  yet  his  noule  was  totty  of  the  must. 

Which  he  was  treading  in  the  wine-fats  see, 

And  of  the  ioyous  oyle,  whose  gentle  gust 

Made  him  so  frollick  and  so  full  of  lust : 

Upon  a  dreadfuU  scorpion  he  did  ride. 

The  same  which  by  Dianaes  doom  uniust 

Slew  great  Orion  ;  and  eeke  by  his  side 

He  had  his  ploughing-shaie  and  coulter  ready  tyde. 


Next  was  November ;  he  full  grosse  and  fat 

As  fed  with  lard,  and  that  right  well  might  seeme  ; 

For  he  had  been  a  fatting  hogs  of  late. 

That  yet  liis  browes  with  sweat  did  reek  and  steem. 

And  yet  the  season  was  full  sharp  and  breem  ; 

In  planting  eeke  he  took  no  small  delight : 

Whereon  he  rode,  not  easie  was  to  deeme  ; 

For  it  a  dreadfull  centaure  was  in  sight. 

The  seed  of  Saturne  and  faire  Nais,  Chiron  bight. 


And  after  him  came  next  the  chill  December : 
Yet  he,  through  merry  feasting  which  he  made 
And  great  bonfires,  did  not  the  cold  remember  ; 
His  Saviours  birth  his  mind  so  much  did  glad  : 
Upon  a  shasgy-bearded  goat  he  rode, 
The  same  wherewith  Dan  love  in  tender  yeares, 
'I  hey  say,  was  nourisht  by  th'  Inean  mayd ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  broad  dee])e  bowle  he  beares, 
Of  which  he  freely  drinks  an  health  to  all  his  peeres. 


Then  came  old  lanuary,  wrapped  well 
In  many  weeds  to  keep  the  cold  away  ; 
Yet  did  he  quake  and  quiver  like  to  quell, 
And  blowe  his  navies  to  warme  them  if  he  may  ; 
For  they  were  numbd  with  holding  all  the  day 
An  hatchet  keene,  with  which  he  felled  wood 
And  from  the  trees  did  lop  the  needlesse  spray : 
Upon  an  huge  great  earth-pot  sleane  he  stood, 
From  whose  wide  mouth  there  flowed  forth  the  Ro- 
mane  flood. 


And  lastly  came  cold  February,  .sitting 
In  an  old  wagon,  for  he  could  not  ride, 
Drawne  of  two  fishes  for  the  season  fitting, 
Which  through  the  flood  before  did  softly  slyde 
And  swim  away;  yet  had  he  by  his  side 
His  ])lough  and  liarnesse  fit  to  till  the  ground, 
And  tooles  to  (iruno  the  trees,  before  tlie  pride 
Of  hasting  Prime  did  make  them  burgein  round. 
So  past  the  twelve    months  forth,  and  their  dew 
jiliices  found. 

xi.iy. 

And  after  these  there  came  the  Day  and  Night, 
lading  together  both  with  equall  pase; 
'J"h'  one  on  a  palfrey  blacke,  the  other  white : 
But  Night  had  covered  her  uncomely  face 
With  a  blacke  veile,  and  held  in  liand  a  mace. 
On  top  whereof  the  moon  and  stars  were  pight, 
And  Sleep  and  Darknesse  round  about  did  trace. 
But  Day  did  beare  upon  his  scepters  hight 
The  goodly  sun  encompast  all  with  beamiis  bright. 


Canto  VIL] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEXE. 


351 


Then  came  the  Howres,  faire  daughters  of  high  love 
And  timelv  Night ;  the  which  wpre  all  endewed 
With  wondrous  beauty  fit  to  kindle  love  ; 
But  tliey  were  virgins  all,  and  love  esche>ved 
That  might  forslack  the  charge  to  them  foreshewed 
By  mighty  love  ;  who  did  them  porters  make 
Of  heavens  gate  (whence  all  the  gods  issued) 
Which  they  did  dayly  watch,  and  nightly  wake 
By  even  turnes,  ne  ever  did  their  charge  forsake. 


And  after  all  came  Life  ;  and  lastly  Death : 
Death  with  most  grim  and  griesly  visage  seene, 
^  et  is  he  nought  but  parting  of  the  breath  ; 
Ne  ought  to  see,  hut  like  a  shade  to  weene, 
Unbodied,  unsoul'd,  unheard,  unseene: 
But  Life  was  like  a  faire  young  lusty  boy, 
Such  as  thev  faine  Dan  Cupid  to  have  bet-ne, 
Full  of  delightfuU  health  and  lively  ioy, 
Deckt  all  with  flowres  and  wings  of  gold  fit  to  em- 
ploy. 

XLVII. 

W^hen  these  were  past,  thus  gan  the  Titanesse ; 
"  7^0  !  mighty  mother,  now  be  iudge,  and  say 
Whether  in  all  tliy  creatures  more  or  lesse 
CiiAXCE  doth  not  raign  and  beare  the  greatest  sway  ; 
For  who  sees  not  that  time  on  all  doth  pray? 
But  times  do  change  and  move  continually  : 
So  nothing  here  long  standeth  in  one  stay : 
Wherefore  this  lower  world  who  can  deny 
But  to  be  subiect  still  to  Mutabditie'!" 


Then  thus  gan  love  ;  "  right  true  it  is,  that  these 
And  all  things  else  that  under  heaven  dwell 
Are  chaung'd  of  time,  who  doth  them  all  disseise 
Of  being  :  but  who  is  it  (to  me  tell) 
That  Time  himselfe  doth  move  and  still  compell 
To  keepe  his  course?     Is  not  that  namel\'  wee, 
\Vliich  ])onre  that  vertue  from  our  heavenly  cell 
That  moves  them  all,  and  makes  them  changed  be? 
So  them  we  gods  doe  rule,  and  in  them  also  thee." 
I 


To  whom  thus  Mutability  ;  "  The  things. 
Which  we  see  not  how  they  are  mov'd  and  swayd, 
\'e  may  attribute  to  yourselves  as  kings. 
And  say,  they  b}'  jour  secret  power  are  made: 
But  what  we  see  not,  who  shall  thus  perswade? 
But  were  they  so,  as  ye  them  faine  to  be, 
Mov'd  by  your  might,  and  ordered  by  your  ayde. 
Yet  what  if  I  can  prove,  that  even  yee 
\  ourselves  are  likewise  chang'd,  and  subiect  unto 
mee? 


"  And  first,  concerning  her  that  is  the  fiist, 
Even  you,  faire  Cyntiiia  ;  whom  so  much  ye  make 
loves  dearest  darling,  she  was  bred  and  nurst 
On  Cvnlhus  hill,  whence  she  her  name  did  take  ; 
Then  is  shee  mortall  borne,  howso  ye  crake : 
l^esides,  lier  face  and  countenance  every  day 
W  e  changed  see  and  sundry  forms  partake,    [gray : 
Now  hornd,  now  round,  now  bright,  now  brown  and 
So  that  IIS  cliiiiigefiiU  an  thp,  moone  men  use  to  say. 


"  Next  Mercury ;  who  though  he  lesse  appeare 

To  change  his  hew,  and  ahvayes  seeme  as  one  ; 

^'et  he  his  course  dolh  alter  every  yeare, 

And  is  of  late  far  out  of  order  gone  : 

So  Venus  eeke,  that  goodlv  para>;one, 

TJiough  faire  all  night,  yet  is  she  darke  all  day : 

And  Phoebus  self,  who  lightsome  is  alone. 

Yet  is  he  oft  eclipsed  by  tiie  way. 

And  fills  the  darkned  world  with  terror  and  dismay. 


"  Now  Mars,  that  valiant  man,  is  changed  most; 
For  he  sometimes  so  far  runs  out  of  square. 
That  he  his  way  doth  seem  (piite  to  have  lost. 
And  cl^ane  without  his  usuall  s|)liere  to  fare  ; 
That  even  these  star-gazers  stonisht  are 
At  sight  thereof,  and  damne  their  lying  hookes : 
So  likewise  grim  Sir  Saturne  oft  doth  spare 
His  Sterne  aspect,  and  calme  his  crabbed  lookes  : 
So  many  turning  cranks  these  have,  so  many  crookes. 


"  But  you,  Dan  love,  that  only  constant  are. 

And  king  of  all  the  rest,  as  ye  do  clame, 

Are  you  not  subject  eeke  to  this  misfare? 

Then  let  me  aske  you  this  witliouten  blame  ; 

Where  were  ye  borne?  Some  say  in  Crete  by  name, 

Others  in  Thebes,  and  others  otherwhere  ; 

Bat,  wheresoever  they  comment  the  same, 

They  all  consent  that  ye  begotten  were 

And  borne  here  in  this  world  ;  ne  other  can  appeare 


"  Then  are  ye  mortall  borne,  and  thrall  to  me ; 
Unlesse  the  kingdome  of  the  sky  ye  make 
Immortall  and  unchangeable  to  be  : 
Besides,  that  power  and  vertue,  which  ye  spake. 
That  ye  here  worke,  doth  many  changes  take. 
And  your  owne  natures  change:  for  each  of  you, 
That  vertue  have  or  this  or  that  to  make, 
Is  chekt  and  changed  from  his  nature  trew, 
By  others  opposition  or  obliquid  view. 


"  Besides,  the  sundry  motions  of  your  spheares, 
So  sundry  waies  and  fashions  as  clerkes  faine. 
Some  in  short  space,  and  some  in  longer  yeares; 
What  is  the  came  but  alteration  plaine  ? 
Onely  the  starrie  skie  doth  still  remaine  : 
Yet  do  the  starres  and  signes  therein  still  move, 
And  even  itself  is  mov'd,  as  vi-izards  saine  : 
But  all  that  moveth  doth  mutation  love: 
Therefore  both  you  and  them  to  me  I  subiect  prove 


"  Then  since  within  this  wide  great  universe 
Nothing  doth  firme  and  permanent  apjieare, 
But  all  things  tost  iuid  turned  by  transverse; 
What  then  should  let,  but  I  aloft  should  reare 
J\Iy  trophee,  and  from  all  the  triumph  beare? 
Now  iudge  then,  O  thou  greatest  goddesse  tr  ;w, 
According  as  thyselfe  doest  see  and  heare, 
And  unto  me  addoom  that  is  my  dew: 
That  is.  the  rule  of  aii ;  all  being  rul'd  by  you." 


352 


THE  FAER'E  QUEENE. 


Canto  VIII 


So  liaving  ended,  silence  long  ensewed  ; 
Ne  Nature  to  or  fro  spake  for  a  space, 
But  with  firrae  eyes  atfixt  the  ground  still  viewed. 
Meane  while  all  creatures,  looking  in  her  face, 
Expecting  tli"  end  of  this  so  douhtfull  case. 
Did  hang  in  long  suspence  what  would  ensew, 
I'o  wliether  side  should  fall  the  soveraigne  place  : 
A  t  length  she,  looking  up  with  chearefull  view, 
The  silence  brake,  and  gave  her  doome  in  speeches 
few: 


"  I  well  consider  all  that  ye  have  savd  ; 
And  find  that  all  things  stedfastnes  doe  hate 
And  changed  be  ;  yet,  being  rightly  vvayd. 
They  are  not  changed  from  tlieir  first  estate  ; 
But  by  their  change  their  being  doe  dilate  ; 
And,  turning  to  themselves  at  length  againe. 
Doe  worke  their  owne  perfection  so  by  fate  : 
Then  over  them  Change  doth  not  rule  and  raigne  ; 
But  they  raigne  over  Change,  and  doe  their  stales 
maintaine. 


"  Cease  therefore,  daughter,  further  to  aspire. 

And  thee  content  thus  to  be  rul'd  by  me  : 

For  thy  decay  thou  seekst  by  thy  desire  : 

But  time  shall  come  that  all  shall  changed  bee. 

And  from  thenceforth  none  no  more  change  shall  see !" 

So  was  the  Titaness  put  downe  and  whist. 

And  love  confirm'd  in  his  imperiall  see. 

Then  was  that  whole  assembly  quite  dismist, 

And  Natures  selfe  did  vanish,  whither  no  man  wist. 


THE  VIIIth  CANTO,  UNPERFITE. 


When  I  bethinke  me  on  that  speech  whyleare 
Of  Mutability,  and  well  it  way  ; 
]\Ie  seemes,  that  though  she  all  unworthy  were 
Of  the  heav'ns  rule  ;  yet,  very  sooth  to  say. 
In  all  things  else  she  bears  the  greatest  sway : 
H'hich  makes  me  loath  this  state  of  life  so  tickle. 
And  love  of  things  so  vaine  to  cast  away ; 
Whose  flowring  pride,  so  fading  and  so  fickle, 
iihort  Time  shall  soon  cut  down  with  bis  consuming 
sickle ! 


I'hen  gin  I  thinke  on  that  which  Nature  say4. 
Of  that  same  time  when  no  more  change  shall  be. 
But  stedfasi  rest  of  all  things,  firmely  stayd 
Upon  the  pillours  of  Eternity, 
That  is  contrayr  to  INIutabilitie  : 
For  all  that  moveth  doth  in  change  delight : 
But  thenceforth  all  shall  rest  eternally 
With  him  that  is  the  God  of  Sabaoth  bight : 
O  !  that  great  Sabaoth  God,  grant  me  that  Sabbaths 
sight ! 


MISCELLA      ES. 


COLIN    CLOUTS    COME    HOME    AGAINE. 


BY  ED.  SP. 
1595. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  WORTHY  AND  NOBLE  KNIGHT 
SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH, 

CAPTAINE   OF   HER   MAIESTIES   GUARD,   LORD  WARDEIN  OF    THE   STANNERIES, 
AND  LIEUTENANT  OF  THE  COUNTIE  OF  CORNWALL. 


Sir, 

That  you  may  see  that  I  am  not  alwaies  ydle  as  yee  thinke,  though  not  greatly  well  occupied,  nor  alto- 
gither  undutifull,  though  not  precisely  officious,  I  make  you  present  of  this  simple  Pastoral!,  unvr.-rthie  of 
vour  higher  conceipt  for  the  meanesse  of  the  stile,  hut  agreeing  with  the  truth  in  circumstance  and  matter. 
The  which  I  humhly  beseech  you  to  accept  in  part  of  paiment  of  the  infinite  debt,  in  which  I  acknowledge 
ray  selfe  bounden  unto  you  for  your  singular  favours,  and  sundrie  good  turnes,  sliewed  to  me  at  my  late 
being  in  England  ;  and  with  your  good  countenance  protect  against  the  malice  of  evill  mouthes,  which  are 
alwaies  wide  open  to  carpe  at  and  misconstrue  my  simple  meaning.  I  pray  continually  for  your  happinesse. 
From  my  house  of  Kilcolman,  the  S7.  of  December. 

1591.  [rather  perhaps  15P3.] 

Yours  ever  humbly, 

Ed.  Sp.      . 


The  shepheards  boy  (best  knowen  by  that  name) 

That  after  TitjTus  first  sung  his  lay, 

Laies  of  sweet  love,  without  rebuke  or  blame. 

Sate  (as  his  custome  was)  upon  a  day. 

Charming  his  oaten  pipe  unto  his  peres,  5 

The  >hepbeard  swaines  that  did  about  him  play  : 

Who  all  the  while,  with  greedie  listfuU  eares. 

Did  stand  astonisht  at  his  curious  skill, 

Like  Ir.irtlesse  deare,  dismayd  with  thunders  sound. 

At  last,  when  as  he  piped  had  his  fill,  10 

'ie  rested  him  :  and,  sitting  then  around, 

One  of  ihose  groomes  (aiolly  groome  was  he, 

As  ever  piped  on  an  oaten  reed, 

And  lovVi  iliis  shepheard  dearest  in  degree, 

ili^lii  ilobbiiif)! ;)  i;an  thus  to  him  areed,  13 


"Colin,  my  liefe.my  life,  how  great  a  losse 
Had  all  the  shepheards  nation  by  thy  lacke  ! 
And  I,  poore  swaine,  of  many,  greatest  crosse  ! 
That,  sith  thy  muse  first  since  thy  turning  hacke 
AV'as  heard  to  sound  as  she  was  wont  on  hye,        20 
Hast  made  us  all  so  blessed  and  so  biythe. 
Whilest  thou  wast  hence,  all  dead  in  dole  did  lie  : 
The  woods  were  heard  to  waile  full  many  a  sythe, 
And  all  their  birds  with  silence  to  complaine : 
The  fields  witli  faded  flowers  did  seem  to  mourne,  iS 
And  all  their  flocks  from  feeding  to  refraine  : 
The  running  waters  wept  for  thy  returne, 
And  all  their  fish  with  languour  did  lament : 
But  now  both  woods  and  fields  and  floods  revive, 
Sith  thou  art  come,  their  cause  of  merriment,         30 


354 


COLIN  CLOUTS  COME  HOME  AGAINE. 


That  us,  late  dead,  hast  made  asjaine  alive  ; 

But  were  it  not  too  painefuU  to  repeat 

The  passed  fortunes,  which  to  tliee  befell 

III  thy  late  voyage,  we  thee  would  entreat, 

Now  at  thv  leisure  them  to  us  to  te'l."  35 

To  whom  the  sheplieard  gently  answered  thus  ; 
"  Hobbin.thou  temptest  me  totliat  I  covet: 
For  of  good  ])assed  newly  to  discus, 
By  dubble  usurie  doth  twise  renew  it. 
And  since  I  saw  that  angels  blessed  eie,  40 

Her  worlds  bright  sun,  her  heavens  fairest  light, 
My  mind,  full  of  my  thoughts  satietie, 
Doth  feed  on  sweet  contentment  of  that  sight: 
Since  that  same  day  in  nought  I  take  delight, 
Ne  feeling  have  in  any  earthly  pleasure,  45 

Jjut  in  remembrance  of  that  glory  bright, 
]\ly  lifes  sole  blisse,  my  hearts  eternall  threasure. 
Wake  then,  my  pipe  ;  my  sleepie  muse,  awake  ; 
Till  I  have  told  her  praises  lasting  long: 
Hobbln  desires,  thou  maist  it  not  forsake  ; —         50 
Harke  then,  ye  iolly  shepheards,  to  my  song." 

With  that  they  all  gan  throng  about  him  neare, 
With  hungrie  eares  to  lieare  liis  liarmonie  : 
The  whiles  their  flocks,  devoyd  of  dangers  feare, 
Did  round  about  them  feed  at  libertie.  55 

"  One  day  (quotli  he)  I  sat  (as  was  my  trade) 
Under  the  foote  of  Mole,  that  mountaine  here. 
Keeping  my  sheepe  among-st  the  cooly  shade 
Of  the  greene  alders  bv  the  MuUaes  shore  ; 
There  a  straunge  sheplieard  chaunst  to  find  me  out,  60 
Whether  allured  with  my  pipes  delight, 
Whose  pleasing  sound  yshrilled  far  about, 
Or  thitlier  led  Ijy  cliaunce,  I  know  not  right  : 
AVhora  when  I  asked  from  what  place  he  came, 
And  how  he  hight,  himselfe  he  did  ycleepe  65 

The  Sheplieard  of  the  Ocean  by  name. 
And  s;nd  he  came  far  from  the  main-sea  deepe. 
He,  sitting  me  beside  in  tliat  same  shade. 
Provoked  me  to  plaie  some  pleasant  fit ; 
And,  when  he  heard  the  musicke  which  I  made,    70 
He  found  himselfe  full  greatly  pleased  at  it : 
Yet,  ivmuling  my  pipe,hetooke  in  bond 
My  pipe,  before  that  a^muled  of  many. 
And  plaid  theron  ;   (for  well  that  skill  he  cond  ;) 
Himselfe  as  skilfull  in  that  art  as  any.  75 

He  pip'd,  I  sung  ;  and,  wiien  he  sung,  I  piped  ; 
By  chaunge  of  turnes,  each  making  other  mery; 
A' either  envying  other,  nor  envied. 
So  ])iped  we,  untill  we  both  were  weary." 

1  here  interrupting  him,  a  bonie  swaine,  Ht 

Tliat  Cuddy  liight,  him  thus  atweene  bespake  : 
'■  And,  should  it  not  thy  readie  course  restraine, 
I  would  nnjuest  thee,  Colin,  for  my  sake, 
'J"o  tell  what  thou  didst  sing,  when  he  did  plaie  ; 
For  well  I  weene  it  worth  recounting  was,  85 

W  hether  it  were  some  bymne,  or  morall  laie. 
Or  carol  made  to  praise  thy  loved  lasse." 

"  Nor  of  my  love,  nor  of  my  lasse  (quoth  he,) 
I  then  did  sing,  as  then  occasion  fell  : 
for  love  had  me  forlorne,  forlorne  of  me,  90 

That  made  me  in  that  desart  choose  to  dwell. 
But  of  my  river  Bregogs  love  I  soong, 
U  Inch  to  the  shiny  Mulla  he  did  beare, 
And  yet  doth  beare,  and  ever  will,  so  long 
As  water  doth  within  his  bancks  appeare."  95 

"  Of  fellowship  (said  then  that  bony  boy) 
Record  to  us  that  lovely  lay  againe  : 
'J  he  staie  whereof  shall  nought  these  eares  annoy, 
W  ho  all  that  ('olin  makes  do  covet  faine." 

"  IJenre  then  (quoth  he)  the  tenor  of  my  tale,    100 


In  sort  as  I  it  to  that  shepheard  told  : 
No  leasing  new,  nor  gr.nidams  fable  stale. 
But  auncient  truth  confirm'd  with  credence  old. 

"  Old  father  Mole,  (  Mole  higlit  that  mountain  grav 
That  walls  th  >  northside  of  Armulla  dale  ;)  105 

He  had  a  daughter  fresh  as  floure  of  INlay, 
Which  gave  thjt  name  unto  that  pleasant  vale  ; 
iMulla,  the  daughter  of  old  Mole,  so  liight 
The    nimph,    which    of    that    water     course    has 

charge. 
That,  springing  out  of  Mole,  doth  run  downe  right  1 10 
To  Buttevant,  where,  spreading  forth  at  large, 
It  giveth  name  unto  that  auncient  clttii, 
U  liich  Kilnemullah  cleped  is  of  old; 
Whose  ragged  mines  breed  great  ruth  and  pittie 
To  travailers,  which  it  from  far  behold.  115 

Full  faine  she  lov'd,  and  was  belov'd  full  faine 
Of  her  owne  brother  river,  Bregog  hight. 
So  hight  because  of  this  deceitfull  traine, 
Which  he  witli  Mulla  wrought  to  win  delight. 
But  her  old  sire  more  carefuU  of  her  good,  120 

And  meaning  her  much  better  to  preferre, 
Did  tliinke  to  match  her  with  the  neighbour  flood. 
Which  Alio  hight,  Broad-water  called  farre  ; 
And  wrouglit  so  well  with  his  continuall  paine. 
That  he  that  river  for  his  daughter  wonne  :  1'25 

The  dowre  agreed,  the  day  assigned  plaine. 
The  place  appointed  where  it  should  be  doone. 
Nath'lesse  the  nymph  her  former  liking  held  ; 
For  love  will  not  be  drawne,  but  must  be  ledde  ; 
And  Bregog  did  so  well  her  fancie  weld,  130 

Tiiat  her  good  will  he  got  her  first  to  wedde. 
But  for  her  father,  sitting  still  on  hie, 
Did  warily  still  watch  which  way  she  went. 
And  eke  from  far  observ'd,  with  iealous  eie, 
Wliich  w»y  his  course  the  wanton  Bregog  bent ;    135 
Him  to  deceive,  for  all  his  watchful!  ward, 
The  wily  lover  did  devise  this  slight: 
First  into  many  parts  his  streame  he  sliar'd. 
That,  whilest  the  one  was  watcht,  the  other  might 
Passe  unespide  to  meete  her  by  the  way  ;  140 

And  then,  besides,  those  little  streames  so  broken 
He  under  ground  so  closely  did  convay, 
I'hat  of  tlieir  passage  doth  apjieare  no  token. 
Till  they  into  the  Mullaes  water  slide. 
So  secretly  did  he  his  love  enioy  :  145 

Yet  not  so  secret,  but  it  was  descride. 
And  told  her  father  by  a  shepheards  boy, 
Who,  wondrous  wroth,  for  that  so  foule  despight. 
In  great  revenge  did  roll  downe  from  his  hill 
Huge  mightie  stones,  the  which  eiicomber  might  150 
His  passage,  and  his  water-courses  spill. 
So  of  a  river,  which  he  was  of  old. 
He  none  was  made,    but  scattred  all  to  nought ; 
And,  lost  emong  those  rocks  into  him  rold. 
Did  lose  his  name  :  so  deare  his  love  he  bought."    155 

Which  having  said,  him  Tliestylis  bespake; 
"  Now  by  my  life  this  was  a  niery  lay, 
AV'ortliie  of  Colin  selfe,  that  did  it  make. 
But  read  now  eke,  of  triendshi])  1  thee  pray, 
Wliat  dittie  did  that  other  shepheard  sing:  160 

For  1  do  covet  most  the  same  to  heare. 
As  men  use  most  to  covet  forreine  thing." 

"'Jli.it  shall  I  eke  ((juoth  he)  to  you  declare  : 
His  song  wasal!  a  lamentable  lay 
Of  great  unkindnesse,  and  of  usage  hard,  165 

Of  ('viiihia  the  Ladie  oftlie  Sea, 
Which  from  her  presence  faultlesse  him  debard. 
And  rver  and  anon,  with  siiigulfs  rife. 
He  cryed  out,  to  make  his  undersong; 


COLIN  CLOUTS  CO:\IE  HOME  AGAINE. 


Ah  .  mv  loves  queene,  and  goddesse  of  iny  life,    170 
Wlio  shall  nie  pittie,  when  thou  doest  me  wrong  V 

Then  gaii  a  gentle  bonvlasse  to  speake, 
That  Marin  higlit  ;  "  Right  well  he  sure  did  plaine, 
'J'iiat  could  great  Cynthiaes  sore  displeasure  breake, 
And  move  to  take  him  to  her  grace  againe.  175 

I'ut  tell  on  further,  Colin,  as  befell 
Twixt  ]iim  and  thee,  that  thee  did  hence  dissuade." 

"  When  thus  our  pipes  we  both  had  wearied  well, 
(Quoth  he)  and  each  an  end  of  singing  made. 
He  gan  to  cast  great  lyking  to  my  lore,  180 

And  great  dislyking  to  my  lucklesse  lot. 
That  banisht  had  my  selfe,  like  wight  forlore, 
Into  that  waste,  where  I  was  quite  forgot. 
'Ihe  which  to  leave,  thenceforth  he  counseld  mee. 
Unmeet  for  man,  in  whom  was  ought  regardfull,    185 
And  wend  with  him,  his  Cvntliia  to  see  ; 
Whose  grace  was  great,  and  bounty  most  rewardfull. 
Besides  her  peerlesse  skdl  in  making  well, 
And  all  the  ornaments  of  wondrous  wit. 
Such  as  all  womankind  did  far  excel! ;  190 

Such  as  the  world  admyr'd,  and  praised  it: 
So  what  with  hope  of  good,  and  hate  of  ill, 
He  me  perswaded  fortli  witli  him  to  fare. 
Nought  tooke  I  with  me,  but  mine  oaten  quill  : 
Small  needments  else  need  shepheard  to  prepare.  195 
So  to  the  sea  we  came  ;  the  sea,  that  is 
A  world  of  waters  heaped  up  on  hie, 
Rolling  like  mountaines  in  wide  wildernesse. 
Horrible,  hideous,  roaring  with  hoarse  crie." 

"  And  is  the  sea(quoth  Coridon)so  fearfull  ?"  200 

"  Fearful  much  more  ^quoth  he)  then  hart  can  fear  : 
Thousand  wyld   beasts   with  deep  mouthes  gaping 
Tlierin  stil  wait  poore  passengers  to  teare.     [direful! 
Who  life  doth  loath,  and  longs  death  to  behold, 
Before  lie  die,  alreadie  dead  with  feare,  205 

And  yet  would  live  witli  heart  halfe  stonie  cold. 
Let  him  to  sea,  and  he  shall  see  it  there. 
And  yet  as  ghastlv  dreadfull,  as  it  seemes. 
Bold  men,  presuming  life  for  gaine  to  sell, 
Dare  tempt  that  gulf,  and  in  those  wandring  stremes 
Seek  waies  unknowne,  waies  leading  down  to  hell. 
For,  as  we  stood  there  waiting  on  the  strond,       212 
Behold,  an  huge  great  vessell  to  us  came, 
Dauncing  upon  the  waters  back  to  lond, 
As  if  It  scornd  the  daungerof  the  same  ;  215 

^'et  was  it  but  a  wooden  frame  and  fraile, 
Glewed  togitlier  with  some  subtile  matter. 
\  et  had  it  amies  and  wings,  and  liead  and  taile. 
And  life  to  move  it  selfe  upon  the  water.  [219 

Strange  tljing  !   liuw  bold  and  swift  the  monster  was. 
That  neither  car'd  for  wynd,  nor  haiie,  nor  raine. 
Nor  swelling  waves,  bur  thorough  them  did  passe 
So  proudly,  that  she  made  tliem  roare  againe. 
1  he  same  aboord  us  gently  did  receave, 
And  without  hurme  us  farre  away  did  beare,  225 

So  farre  that  land,  our  mother,  us  did  leave. 
And  nought  but  sea  and  heaven  to  us  appeare. 
Then  hai  telesse  quite,  and  full  of  inward  feare, 
That  shepheard  I  besought  to  me  to  tell, 
Under  what  skie,  or  in  what  world  we  were,        230 
In  which  I  saw  no  living  people  dwell. 
Who,  me  reconiforting  all  that  he  might. 
Told  me  tiiat  that  same  was  tlie  regiment 
Of  a  great  shepheardesse,  that  Cynthia  hight, 
His  liege,  his  ladie,  and  his  lifes  regent. —  235 

"  If  then  (quoth  I)  a  shepheardesse  she  bee,  [keep  ? 
Where  be  tlie  fiockes  ind  beards,  which  she  dotii 
And  where  may  1  the  hiiis  and  ]iastures  see, 
On  which  she  useth  for  to  feed  her  sheepe  I"  i 


"  These  be  tlie  hills  (quoth  he)  the  surges  hie,  240 
On  whicli  faire  Cvnthia  lier  beards  doth  feed  : 
Her  beards  be  thousand  fishes  with  their  frie, 
Wliich  in  the  bosome  of  the  billowes  breed. 
Of  tliem   the  shepheard  which  hatli  charge  in  chief. 
Is  Triton,  blowing  loud  his  wreathed  liorne  :        245 
At  sound  whereof,  thev  all  for  their  relief 
Wend  too  and  fro  at  evening  and  atmorne. 
And  Proteus  eke  with  him  does  drive  his  heard 
Of  stinking  scales  and  porcpisces  together. 
With  hoary  head  and  deawy  dropping  beard,       25( 
Compslliiig  them  wliich  way  he  list,  and  whether. 
And,  1  among  the  rest,  of  many  least. 
Have  in  tlie  Ocean  charge  to  me  assignd ; 
Where  I  will  live  or  die  at  her  beheast, 
And  serve  and  honour  her  with  faithful!  mind.    25.5 
Besides  an  hundred  nymphs  all  heavenly  borne. 
And  of  imraortall  race,  doo  still  attend 
To  wash  faire  Cynthiaes  sheep,  when  theybeshorne, 
And  fold  them  up,  when  thev  have  made  an  end. 
Those  be  the  shepheards  which  my  Cynthia  serve  260 
At  sea,  beside  a  thousand  moe  at  land  : 
For  land  and  sea  my  Cyntliia  doth  deserve 
To  have  in  her  commandl'ment  at  hand." 

1  hereat  I  wondred  much,  till,  wondring  more 
And  more,  at  length  we  land  far  off  descrvde  ;     265 
\\  liicli  sight  much  gladed  me  ;  for  much  afore 
I  feaid,  least  land  we  never  should  have  eyde  : 
Thereto  oui  ship  her  course  directly  bent. 
As  if  the  way  she  perfectly  had  knowne. 
We  Lunday  passe  ;  by  that  same  name  is  ment  270 
An  island,  which  the  first  to  west  was  showne. 
From  thence  another  world  of  land  we  kend, 
Floting  amid  the  sea  in  ieopardie, 
And  round  about  with  mightie  while  rocks  hemd. 
Against  the  seas  encroching  crueltie.  275 

Those  same,  the  shejilieard  told  me,  were  the  fields 
In  wliicli  dame  Cynthia  her  landheards  fed  ; 
Faire  goodly  fields,  tlien  wliich  Armulla  vields 
None  fairer,  nor  more  fruitful!  to  be  red. 
The  first,  to  wliich  we  nigh  approched,  was  280 

An  higli  headland  thrust  far  into  the  sea. 
Like  to  an  home,  whereof  the  name  it  has. 
Yet  seenid  to  be  a  goodly  jdeasant  lea : 
There  did  a  loftie  mount  at  first  us  greet, 
Which  did  a  stately  heape  of  stones  upreare,        285 
That  seenid  amid  the  surges  for  to  fleet, 
flluch  greater  tlien  that  frame,  wliich  us  did  beare  ; 
'J'here  did  our  shij)  her  fruitful!  wombe  unlade, 
And  ]nit  us  all  ashore  on  Cvnthias  land. 
"  \\  hat  land  is  tliat  thou  nieanst,  (then  Cuddy  sayd) 
And  is  there  other  then  whereon  we  stand  V        291 

"  All  !   Cuddy  (then  quotli  Colin)  thous  a  fon, 
lliat  hast  not  seene  least  part  of  natures  worke  : 
IMuch  nu  re  tliere  is  unkend  then  thou  doest  kon, 
xVnd  niucli  more  that  does  from  mens  knowledge  lurke. 
For  that  same  land  much  larger  is  than  this,  296 

And  other  men  and  beasts  and  birds  doth  feed  : 
There  fruitful!  coriie,  faire  trees,  fresh  herbage  is. 
And  all  tilings  else  that  living  creatures  need. 
Besides  n:ost  goodly  rivers  there  appeare,  300 

No  whit  iiiferiourto  thy  Fanchins  praise. 
Or  unto  Alio,  or  to  Mulla  cleare  : 
Nought  hast  thou,  foolish  boy,  seene  in  thy  dales." 

"  iitit  if  tliat  hind  be  there  (quoth  he)  as  here. 
And  is  tlieyr  heaven  likewise  there  all  one  1  30.H 

And,  if  )ikc^  heaven,  be  heavenly  graces  there. 
Like  as  in  this  same  world  where  we  do  woiie?" 

"  Botli  ht-aveii  and  heavenly  graces  do  mucli  more 
(Quoth  Le^  abound  in  tliat  same  land  then  this. 


356 


COLIN  CLOUTS  COMK  HOME  AGAINE. 


For  tnere  all  happie  peace  and  plenteous  store     310 
Conspire  in  one  to  make  contented  blisse  : 
No  wayling  there  nor  wretchednesse  is  beard, 
No  bloodie  issues  nor  no  leprosies, 
No  griesly  famine,  nor  no  raging  sweard, 
No  nightly  bodrags,  nor  no  hue  and  cries  j  315 

'J  lie  siiepheards  there  abroad  may  safely  lie, 
On  hills  and  downes,  withouten  dread  or  daunger  : 
No  ravenous  wolves  the  good  mans  hojie  destroy. 
Nor  outhivves  fell  atlray  the  forest  raunger. 
'J'here  learned  arts  do  tiorish  in  great  honor,         320 
And  poets  wits  are  had  in  peerlesse  price: 
Religion  hath  lay  powre  to  rest  upon  her, 
Advancing  vertue  and  suppressing  vice. 
For  end,  all  good,  all  grace  there  freely  growes. 
Had  people  grace  it  gratefully  to  use  :  325 

For  GotI  his  gifts  there  plenteously  bestowes, 
Uut  gracelesse  men  them  greatly  do  abuse." 
"  liut  sav  on  further  (then  said  Corylas) 
The  rest  of  thine  adventures,  that  betyded." 

"  Foorth  on  our  voyage  we  by  land  did  passe,  330 
.(Quotli  he)  as  that  same  shepheard  still  us  guyded, 
Untill  that  we  to  Cynthiaes  presence  came  : 
Whose  glorie  greater  then  my  simple  tliought, 
I  found  much  greater  then  the  former  fame  ; 
Such  grealnesi  cannot  compare  to  ought:  335 

But  if  1  her  like  ought  on  earth  might  read, 
I  would  her  lyken  to  a  crowne  of  lidies. 
Upon  a  virgin  brydes  adorned  head, 
With  roses  dight  and  goolds  and  daft'adillies  ; 
Or  like  the  circlet  of  a  turtle  true,  340 

In  winch  all  colours  of  the  rainbow  bee  ; 
Or  like  faire  Pliebes  garlond  shining  new, 
In  which  all  pure  perfection  one  may  see. 
But  vaine  it  is  to  thinke,  by  paragone 
Of  earthly  things,  to  iudge  of  tilings  divine :         345 
Her  power,  her  mercy,  and  her  wisdome,  none 
Can  deeme,  but  who  the  Godhead  can  define 
Why  then  do  I,  base  shepheard,  bold  and  blind, 
Piesume  the  things  so  sacred  to  ]iropliane? 
INlore  fit  it  is  t'  adore,  with  humble  mind,  350 

The  image  of  the  heavens  in  shape  humane." 

With  that  Alexis  broke  his  tale  asunder. 
Saying  ;  "  By  wondringat  tliy  Cynthiaes  praise, 
CoHn,  thy  selfe  thou  mak'st  us  more  to  wonder. 
And  her  upraising  doest  thy  selfe  upraise.  355 

But  let  us  heare  what  grace  she  sliewed  thee. 
And  how  that  shejiheard  strange  thy  cause  advanced." 

"The  Shejiheard  of  the  Ocean  (tiuoth  he) 
Unto  that  goddesse  grace  me  first  enhanced, 
And  to  mine  oaten  jiipe  enclin'd  lier  eare,  300 

'J'liat  she  thenceforth  therein  gan  take  delight; 
And  it  desir'd  at  timely  houres  to  heare. 
All  were  my  notes  but  rude  and  roughly  dight ; 
For  not  by  measure  of  her  owne  great  mytid. 
And  wondrous  worth,  she  mott  my  simple  song,  365 
But  ioyd  that  country  shepheard  ought  could  fynd 
Worth  barkening  to,  emongst  the  learned  throng." 

"  Why?  (said  Alexis  then)  what  needeth  shee 
That  is  so  great  a  shepheardesse  her  selfe, 
And  hath  so  many  siiepheards  in  her  fee,  370 

To  heare  thee  sing,  a  simple  silly  elfe? 
(^r  l)ethe  sheplieards  which  do  serve  her  laesie, 
That  they  list  net  their  mery  pipes  apjilie? 
Or  be  their  pijies  untunable  and  craesie, 
That  they  cannot  her  honour  worthylie?"  375 

All  !  nay  (said  Colin)  neither  so,  nor  so  : 
For  better  siiepheards  be  not  under skie. 
Nor  better  liable,  wiieuthcy  list  to  blow 
Their  pipes  aloud,  her  name  to  glorifie 


380 


There  is  good  Harpalus,  now  wosen  aged 

Tn  faithful  service  of  faire  Cynthia  : 

And  there  is  Corydon  though  meanly  waged. 

Yet  hablest  wit  of  most  1  know  this  day. 

And  there  is  sad  Alcyon  bent  to  mourne, 

Though  fit  to  frame  an  everlasting  dittie,  385 

Whose  gentle  spriglit  for  Daphnes  death  doth  tourn 

Sweet  layes  of  love  to  endlesse  plaints  ofpittie. 

Ah  !    pensive  boy,  pursue  that  brave  conceipt 

In  thy  sweet  Eglantine  of  INleriflure; 

Lift  up  thy  notes  unto  their  wonted  lieight,         390 

That  may  thy  muse  and  mates  to  mirth  allure. 

There  eke  is  Palin  worthie  of  great  praise, 

Albe  he  envie  at  my  rustick  quill  : 

And  there  is  pleasing  Alcon,  could  he  raise 

His  tunes  from  laies  to  matter  of  more  skill.         395 

And  there  is  old  Palemon  free  from  spight, 

Whose  carefuU  pipe  may  make  the  hearer  rew  : 

Yet  he  him  selfe  may  rewed  be  more  right. 

That  sung  so  long  untill  ([uite  hoarse  lie  grew. 

And  there  is  Alabaster  throughly  taught  400 

In  all  this  skill,  thougliknowen  yet  to  few  ; 

Y'et,  were  he  knowne  to  Cynthia  as  lie  ought, 

His  Elisess  would  be  redde  anew. 

Who  lives  that  can  match  that  heroick  song. 

Which  he  hath  of  that  mightie  princesse  made?  405 

O  dreaded  Dread,  do  not  thy  selfe  that  wrong, 

To  let  thy  fame  lie  so  in  hidden  shade  : 

But  call  it  forth,  O  call  him  forth  to  thee. 

To  end  thy  glorie  which  he  hath  begun  : 

That,  when  he  finisht  hath  as  it  should  be,  410 

j\o  braver  poeme  can  be  under  sun. 

Nor  Po  nor  Tyburs  swans  so  much  renowned. 

Nor  all  the  brood  of  Greece  so  highly  praised. 

Can  match  that  muse  when  it  with  bayes  is  crowned, 

And  to  the  pitch  of  her  perfection  raised.  415 

And  there  is  a  new  shepheard  late  up  sprong. 

The  which  doth  all  afore  him  far  surpasse ; 

Apjiearing  well  in  that  well  tuned  song. 

Which  late  he  sung  unto  a  scornfull  lasse. 

Yet  doth  his  trembling  Muse  but  lowly  flie,         420 

As  daring  not  too  rashly  mount  on  bight. 

And  doth  her  tender  plumes  as  yet  but  trie 

In  loves  soft  laies  and  looser  thoughts  delight. 

'j'hen  rouze  thy  feathers  quickly,  Daniell, 

And  to  what  course  thou  please  thy  selfe  advance  -.425 

But  most, me  seemes,  thy  accent  will  excell 

In  tragick  jdaints  and  passionate  mischance. 

And  tliere  that  Shepheard  of  the  Ocean  is. 

That  spends  his  wit  in  loves  consuming  smart : 

Full  sweetly  tempred  is  that  muse  of  his,  430 

That  can  empierce  a  ])ritices  mightie  hart. 

There  also  is  (ah  no,  he  is  not  now  !) 

I?ut  since  I  said  he  is,  he  quite  is  gone, 

Ainyntas  ipiite  is  gone,  and  lies  full  low, 

Having  liis  Amaryllis  left  to  mone.  335 

lielpe,  O  ye  siiepheards,  lielpe  ye  all  in  this, 

lleipe  Amaryllis  this  her  losse  to  mourne- 

Her  losse  is  yours,  your  losse  Amyntas  is, 

Amyntas,  floure  of  shejilieards  pride  forlorne; 

He  whilest  he  lived  was  the  noblest  swaine,  440 

That  ever  jiiped  in  an  oaten  quill : 

Both  did  he  other,  which  could  pipe,  maintaine. 

And  eke  could  pipe  himselfe  with  passing  skill. 

And  there,  though  last  not  least,  is  Aetion, 

A  gentler  shepheard  may  no  where  be  found :     445 

Whose  muse,  full  of  high  thoughts  invention, 

Doth  like  himselfe  heroically  sound. 

All  these,  and  many  others  mo  remaine, 

Now,  after  Astrofell  is  dead  and  gone : 


COLIN  CLOUTS  COME  HOMK  ACiAIXE. 


337 


But  while  as  Astrofell  did  live  and  r;iine,  450 

AnioniiSt  all  these  was  none  his  y)ar;ig-one. 

AH  these  do  florish  in  their  sundry  kvnd, 

And  do  their  Cynthia  immortall  make: 

Yet  found  I  lyking-  in  lier  rovall  mynd, 

Not  for  my  skill,  but  for  that  shepheards  sake."  455 

Then  spake  a  lovely  las^e,  higlit  l^ucida  ! 
"  Shepheard,  enough  of  she|iheards  thou  hast  told, 
\Vhic!i  favour  thee,  and  honour  Cynthia: 
But  of  so  many  nymphs,  which  slie  doth  hold 
In  her  retinew,  thou  hast  nothing  sayd  ;  460 

1'hat  seems,  with  none  of  them  thou  t'ayour  foundest, 
Or  art  ing-ratefull  to  each  gentle  mayd, 
'i  iiat  none  of  all  their  due  deserts  resoundest." 

"  Ah  far  be  it((|uoth  Colin  Clout)  (ro  me, 
That  I  of  gentle  mayds  should  ill  deserve  :  465 

For  that  my  selfe  1  do  jirofesse  to  be 
Vas.sall  to  one,  whom  all  my  dayes  I  serve  ; 
The  beame  of  beautie  sparkled  troni  above, 
The  floure  of  vertue  and  pure  chastitie. 
The  blossome  of  sweet  iov  and  perfect  love,         470 
The  pearle  of  peerlesse  grace  nnd  modestie  : 
To  her  my  thoughts  I  daily  dedicate. 
To  her  my  heart  I  nightly  martyrize  : 
To  her  my  love  1  lowly  do  prostrate, 
To  her  my  life  1  wholly  sacrifice  :  475 

My  thought,  my  heart,  my  love,  my  life  is  sbee. 
And  1  hers  ever  oneiy,  ever  one : 
One  ever  I  all  vowed  hers  to  bee, 
One  ever  I,  and  others  never  none." 

Then  thus  Melissa  said  ; "  Thrise  happie  mavd,  480 
Whom  thou  doest  so  enforce  to  deilie  . 
That  woods,  and  hills,  and  valleyes  thou  has   made 
Her  name  to  echo  unto  heaven  hie. 
But  say,  who  else  vouchsafed  thee  of  grace  V 

"  They  all  (quoth  he)  me  graced  goodly  well,  485 
That  all  I  praise  ;  but  in  the  highest  place, 
Urania,  sister  unto  Astrofell, 
In  whose  brave  mynd,  as  in  a  golden  cofer. 
All  heavenly  gifts  and  riches  locked  are  ; 
More  rich  then  pearles  of  V'nde,  or  gold  of  Opher,  490 
And  in  her  sex  more  wonderfull  and  rare. 
!Ne  lesse  piaise-worthie  I  Theana  read. 
Whose  goodly  beames  though  they  be  over  dight 
With  mourning  stole  of  carefull  wydowliead. 
Yet  through  that  darksome  vale  do  glister  bright ;  495 
She  is  the  well  of  bountie  and  brave  mynd. 
Excelling  most  in  glorie  and  great  light : 
She  is  the  ornament  of  womankind. 
And  courts  chief  garlond  with  all  vertues  dight 
Therefore  great  Cynthia  her  in  cliiefest  grace       500 
Doth  hold,  and  next  unto  her  selfe  advance, 
Well  worth. e  of  so  honourable  place. 
For  her  great  worth  and  noble  governance  ; 
Ke  lesse  praise-worthie  is  lier  sister  deare, 
Faire  Marian,  the  Muses  onely  darling  :  505 

\\  hose  beautie  shyneth  as  the  morning  cleare, 
W  ith  silver  deaw  upon  the  roses  pearling. 
Ne  lesse  praise-worthie  is  Mansilia, 
Best  knowne  by  bearing  up  great  Cynthiaes  traine  : 
That  same  is  she  to  whom  Daphnaida  510 

Upon  her  neeces  death  1  did  conii)laine  : 
She  is  the  paterne  of  true  womanhead. 
And  onely  mirrhor  of  feminitie  : 
\\  orthie  next  alter  Cynthia  to  tread. 
As  she  is  next  her  in  nobilitie.  515 

Ne  lesse  yjraiseworthie  Galathea  seemes, 
Then  best  of  all  ihat  honourable  crew, 
Faire  Galathea  with  bright  shining  bearaes, 
Inflaming  feeble  eyes  that  her  do  view. 


She  there  then  waited  upon  Cynthia,  o'iO 

Yet  there  is  not  Iier  won  ;  but  here  with  us 

About  the  borders  of  our  rich  Co.>hma, 

Now  made  of  AJaa,  the  n>mph  delitious. 

Ne  lesse  ];raiseworthie  faire  Nea-ra  is, 

Neaera  ours,  not  theirs,  though  there  she  be  ;       525 

For  of  the  famous  Shure,  the  nymjili  she  is. 

For  high  desert,  advaunst  to  that  degree. 

She  is  the  blosome  of  grace  and  curtesie. 

Adorned  with  all  honourable  part.-. : 

She  is  the  braunch  of  true  nobilitie,  530 

Belov'd  of  high  and  low  with  faithful!  harts. 

Ne  lesse  praisworthie  Stella  do  I  read. 

Though  nought  my  praises  of  her  needed  arre, 

Whom  verse  of  noblest  shepheard  lately  dead 

Hathprais'd  and  rais'd  above  each  other  starre.    535 

Ne  lesse  praisworthie  are  the  sisters  three. 

The  honor  of  the  noble  iamilie: 

Of  which  I  meanest  boast  my  selfe  to  be, 

And  most  that  unto  them  1  am  so  nie ; 

Phyllis,  Charillis,  and  sweet  Amaryllis.  540 

Phyllis,  the  faire,  is  eldest  of  the  three: 

The  next  to  her  is  bountifuU  Charillis  : 

But  th'  youngest  is  the  highest  in  degree. 

Phyllis,  the  fluure  of  rare  perfection, 

Faire  sj)reading  forth  her  leaves  with  fresh  delight, 

That,  with  their  beauties  amorous  reflexion,  546 

Bereave  of  sence  each  rash  beholders  sight. 

iiut  sweet  Charillis  is  the  paragone 

Of  peerlesse  price,  and  ornament  of  praise, 

Admyr'd  of  all,  yet  envied  of  none,  550 

'J  h rough  the  myld  temperance  of  her  goodly  raies. 

Thrise  happie  do  I  hold  thee,  noble  svvaine, 

I  he  which  art  of  so  rich  a  sj)oile  possest. 

And,  it  embracing  deare  without  disdaiiie. 

Hast  sole  possession  in  so  chaste  a  breast :  555 

Of  all  the  shepheards  daughters  which  there  bee. 

And  yet  there  be  the  fairest  under  skie, 

Or  that  elsewhere  1  ever  yet  did  see, 

A  fairer  nymph  yet  never  saw  mine  eie : 

She  is  the  pride  and  primrose  of  the  rest,  560 

Made  by  the  Maker  selfe  to  be  admired; 

And  like  a  goodly  beacon  high  addrest, 

'ihat  is  with  sparks  of  hevenlie  beautie  fired. 

But  Amaryllis,  whether  fortunate 

Or  else  unfortunate  may  1  aread,  565 

'J'hat  freed  is  from  Cupias  yoke  by  fate. 

Since  which  she  doth  new  bands  adventure  dread  ; — 

Shepheard,  whatever  thou  hast  heard  to  be 

in  this  or  that  j)raysd  diversly  aj)art, 

Jn  her  tliou  maist  them  all  assembled  see,  570 

And  seald  up  in  the  threasure  ot  her  hart. 

Ne  thee  lesse  worthie,  gentle  Flavia, 

For  thy  chaste  life  and  vertue  1  esteeme  : 

Ne  thee  lesse  worthie,  curteous  Candida, 

I'or  thy  true  love  and  loyaltie  1  deeme.  575 

Besides  yet  man^  mo  that  Cynthia  serve, 

liight  noble  nymphs,  and  high  to  be  commended  : 

But,  if  I  all  should  praise  as  they  deserve, 

'Jhis  sun  would  faile  me  ere  1  halfe  had  ended. 

Therefore,  in  closure  of  a  thankfull  mynd,  580 

1  deeme  it  best  to  hold  eternally 

'J'heir  bounteous  deeds  and  noble  favours  shrynd, 

'J'hen  by  discourse  tliein  to  mdigiufie." 

So  having  said,  Aglaura  him  bespake  : 
"  Colin,  well  worthie  were  those  goodly  favours  585 
Bestowd  on  thee,  that  so  of  them  doest  make, 
And  them  requitest  with  thy  thankfull  labours. 
Jjut  of  great  Cynthiaes  goodnesse,  and  high  grace. 
Finish  the  stone  which  thou  hast  begunne." 


358 


COLIN  CLOUTS  COME  HOME  AGAINE. 


590 


59a 


615 


'   IVlore  eath  (quoth  lie)  it  is  in  such  a  case 
how  to  begin,  then  know  how  to  liave  doiine. 
For  everie  g'it'l,  and  everie  goodly  meed, 
Which  she  on  me  bestowd,  demaund.s  a  day  ; 
And  ev^iie  day,  in  which  she  did  a  deed, 
Deiiiaunds  a  veaiv  it  duly  to  di>|dav. 
Her  words  were  hke  a  siveanie  of  honnv  fleeting, 
'('lie  which  doth  softly  trickle  from  tlie  hive: 
Hahleto  melt  the  In  arers  heart  unweetiny, 
And  eke  to  make  the  dead  a^aine  alive. 
Ilei  deeds  weie  like  great  clusters  of  rijie  giajies,  600 
^Vhicli  load  the  bunches  of  the  fruitfuU  vine  ; 
Offring  to  fall  into  each  moutli  that  gajies. 
And  fill  the  same  with  store  nf  timely  wine. 
Her  lookes  were  like  heames  of  the  morning  sun. 
Forth  looking  through  the  windowes  ol'  the  east,  605 
When  first  the  (leecie  cattell  have  begun 
Upon  the  perled  giasse  to  make  their  fe.ist. 
Her  thoughts  are  like  the  fume  of  f  ranckincence, 
\Vhich  from  a  golden  censer  forth  doth  rise, 
And    throwing    forth    sweet   odours    mounts     fro 

thence  610 

In  rolling  globes  up  to  the  vaulted  skies. 
There  she  beholds,  with  high  aspiring  thouglit, 
J  he  cradle  of  her  owne  creation, 
Emongst  the  seats  of  angels  heavenly  wrought, 
JMucli  like  an  angell  in  all  forme  and  fashion." 
"  Colin,  (said  Cuddy  then)  thou  hast  forgot 
Tliy  selfe,  me  seeiiies,  too  much,  to  mount  so  hie: 
^ucli  loftie  flight  base  shepheard  seenieth  not. 
From  flocks  an  i  fields,  to  angels  and  to  skie." 

"  True  (answered  he)  but  her  great  excellence,  620 
Lifts  me  above  the  measure  of  my  might 
'J'hat  being  fild  with  furious  insolence, 
I  feele  my  selfe  like  one  yiapt  in  upright 
P'or  when  1  thinke  of  her,  as  oft.  1  ought, 
'J'hen  want  1  words  to  sj.eake  it  fitly  lorth  625 

And,  when  1  speake  of  her  what  1  have  thought, 
J  cannot  thinke  according  to  her  worth. 
Yet  will  1  thinke  of  her,  yet  will  1  sjieake, 
So  long  as  life  my  limbs  doth  hold  together  , 
And,  when  as  death  these  vitall  h  inds  shall   breake. 
Her  name  recorded  1  will  leave  lor  ever.  6ol 

Her  name  in  eveiy  tree  1  will  endosse, 
riiat,  as  the  trees  do  grow,  her  name  may  grow  : 
And  in  the  ground  each  where  will  it  engrosse, 
And  fill  with  stones,  that  all  men  may  it  Know.    635 
The  speaking  woods,  and  murmuring  waters  fall. 
Her  nan^e  lie  teach  in  knowen  termes  to  frame: 
And  eke  my  lambs,  when  for  their  dams  they  call, 
lie  leach  to  call  for  Cynthia  by  naiije. 
And,  long  while  after  1  am  dead  and  rotten,  640 

Amongst  the  shepheiu'ds  daughters  dancing  rownd, 
INIy  layes  made  of  her  shall  not  be  forgotten, 
}5ut  sung  by  them  with  fl'iwry  >;\rloiids  ciownd. 
And  ye,  who  so  ye  he,  tliat  shall  survive, 
When  as  je  her  moniory  renewed,  6io 

Be  witnesse  of  her  hountie  here  alive, 
Which  she  to  Colm  her  jioore  shepheard  shewed." 

AJuch  was  the  whole  assembly  of  those  beards 
IVloov'd  at  his  sjieech,  so  feelingly  he  spake  : 
And  stood  awhile  aslonisht  at  his  words,  650 

Till  Thestvlisat  la>t  their  silence  hriike. 
Saving  :  "  W  hy  Colin,  since  thou  louiulstsuch  grace 
With  Cynthia  and  all  her  noble  crew  ; 
Why  didst  thou  ever  leave  that  hajipie  place, 
In  which  such  wealth  might  unto  thee  accrew  ;  655 
And  back  reiuriiedst  :o  this  bariein  so\  le, 
\\  here  cold  and  c  ire  and  jieiiurv  do  dwell. 
Here  to  keep  nlieepr,  vvuh  hunger  and  with  toyle  ? 
Most  wretched  he,  that  is  and  cannot  tell." 


660 


665 


670 


"  llapjrie  indeed  (said  Colin)  I  him  hold, 
'I'hat  may  that  blessed  presence  still  enioy, 
(if  fortrjne  and  of  envy  uricomptrold, 
^Vhich  still  are  wont  most  happie  states  t'annoy  : 
liut  I,  by  that  which  little  while  I  prooved. 
Some  part  of  those  enormities  did  see. 
The  which  in  court  continually  liooveil. 
And  followd  those  which  happie  seemd  to  bee. 
Therefore  1,  silly  man,  whose  former  dayes 
Had  in  rude  fields  bene  altogether  spent, 
Di.iVst  not  adventure  such  unknowen  wayes. 
Nor  trust  the  guile  of  fortunes  blandishment  ; 
IJut  rather  chose  back  to  my  sheep  to  tonrne. 
Whose  utmost  hardnesse  I  before  had  tryde, 
I'lien,  having  leanid  repentance  late,  to  mourne 
Emong>t  those  wretches  which  1  there  descryde." 
"  Shephe.ird,  (said  Thestylis)  it  seems  of  spight 
'I  hou  speakesi  thus  gainst  their  felicitie,  677 

Which  thou  enviest,  rather  then  of  right 
That  ought  in  them  blaineworthie  thou  doest  spie." 
"  Cause  have  I  none  (quoth  he)  of  canci-ed  will 
To  (juite  theui  ill,  that  me  denieand  so  well :       681 
But  selfe-regard  of  private  good  or  ill 
iMoves  me  of  each,  so  as  1  found,  to  tell 
And  eke  to  warne  yong  shepheards  wandring  wit. 
Which,  through  report  of  that  lives  painted  blisse,685 
Abandon  ipiiet  home  to  seeke  for  it, 
And  leave  their  lambes  to  losse  misled  amisse. 
For,  sooth  to  say,  it  is  no  sort  of  lite. 
For  shepheard  fit  to  lead  in  that  same  place. 
Where  eich  one  seeks  with  malice,  and  with  strife. 
To  thrust  dovvne  other  into  foule  disgrace, 
Himselfe  to  raise  :  and  he  doth  soonesi  rise 
That  best  can  handle  his  deceitfull  wit 
In  subtil  shifts,  and  finest  slei'^hts  devise. 
Either  by  slaundring  his  well-deemed  name, 
Through  leasini;s  lewd,  and  fained  forgerie  ; 
Or  else  by  breeding  him  some  blot  of  blame. 
By  creeping  close  into  his  secrecie  ; 
To  which  him  needs  a  guilefull  hollow  hart. 
Masked  with  faiie  dissembling  curtesie, 
A  filed  touug,  furnisht  with  tearnies  of  art. 
No  art  of  scboole,  but  courtiers  schoolery. 
For  arts  of  schoole  have  there  small  counienance. 
Counted  but  toyes  to  busie  ydle  braines  ; 
And  there  professours  find  small  maintenance,    705 
l)Ut  to  be  instiumenls  of  others  gaines. 
Ne  is  there  place  for  any  gentle  wit, 
Urdesse,  to  please,  it  selfe  it  can  applie  ; 
But  shouldred  is,  or  out  of  doore  quite  shit. 
As  base,  or  blunt,  unmeet  for  melodie.  710 

For  each  mans  worth  is  measured  bv  his  weed. 
As  harts  by  homes,  or  asses  by  their  eares  : 
^'et  asses  been  not  all  whose  eares  exceed. 
Nor  yet  all  harts  that  homes  the  highest  beaies. 
For  highest  lookts  have  not  the  highest  mynd,    715 
Nor  haughtie  wnrds  most  full  of  highest  thoughts 
lint  are  like  bladders  blowen  uj)  with  wynd. 
That  being  ])rickt  do  vanish  into  noughts. 
Even  such  is  all  their  vaunted  vanitie. 
Nought  else  but  smoke,  that  fuincth  soone  away  ;  720 
Such  IS  iliidr  glorie  that  in  simple  eie 
Seeine  greatest,  when  their  garments  are  most  gay. 
So  tl.ey  themselves  for  praise  of  fooles  do  sell. 
And  all  their  wealth  forpaumng  on  a  wail  ; 
\\  ith  jirice  whereof  they  buy  a  golden  bell.  725 

Anil  ])urchace  highest  roumes  in  howreand  hall: 
Whiles  single  Truth  and  simple  llonestie 
Do  wandei'  up  ami  doune  desjivs'd  of  all  ; 
'Iheir  jilaine  aitire  such  glorious  galhiniry 
Disdaiues  so  much,  that  none  them  in  dovh  call."  730 


691 


695 


700 


COLIN  CLOUTS  COME  HOME  AGAINE. 


359 


"Ah'  Colin,  (then  said  Hobbinol)  the  blame 
Which  thou  imputest,  is  too  generall, 
As  if  not  aiiv  t^entle  wit  of  name 
Nor  lionest  mynd  might  there  be  found  at  all. 
For  well  I  wot,  sith  1  mv  seU'e  was  there,  735 

To  wait  on  Lobbin,  (Lobbin  well  thou  knewest,) 
Full  many  worthie  ones  then  waiting-  were. 
As  ever  else  in  princes  court  thou  vewest. 
Of  which,  among  you  many  yet  remaine. 
Whose  names  I  cannot  readily  nowghesse:  740 

Those  that  poore  sutors  papers  do  retaine, 
And  those  that  skill  of  medicine  professe, 
And  those  that  do  to  Cynthia  expound 
I'he  ledden  of  straunge  languages  in  cliarge  : 
For  Cynthia  doth  m  sciences  abound,  745 

And  gives  to  their  professors  stipends  large. 
Therefore  uniustly  thou  doest  wyte  them  all, 
For  that  which  thou  mislikedst  in  a  few." 

"  Blame  is  ((juoth  he)  more  blanielesse  generall, 
Then  that  which  private  errours  doth  pursew  ;    750 
For  well  I  wot,  that  there  amongst  them  bee 
Full  many  persons  of  right  worthie  parts. 
Both  for  report  of  spollesse  honestie. 
And  for  profession  of  all  learned  arts. 
Whose  praise  hereby  no  whit  imjiaired  is,  755 

Though  blame  do  light  on  those  that  faultie  bee ; 
P'or  ail  the  rest  do  most- what  far  amis, 
And  yet  their  owne  misfaring  will  not  see  : 
For  either  they  be  pufled  up  with  pride. 
Or  fraught  with  en  vie  that  their  galls  do  swell,    760 
Or  they  their  dayes  to  ydlenesse  divide, 
Or  drovvnded  lie  in  pleasures  wastefuU  well. 
In  which  like  moldwarps  nousling  still  they  lurke, 
Unmindful!  of  chiefe  parts  of  manlinesse  ; 
And  do  themselves,  for  want  of  other  worke,       765 
Vaine  votaries  of  laesie  Love  professe. 
Whose  service  high  so  basely  they  ensew. 
That  Cupid  selfe  of  them  ashamed  is. 
And,  mustring  all  his  men  in  Venus  vew. 
Denies  them  quite  for  servitors  of  his."  770 

"And  is  Love  then  (said  Cor\las)  once  knowne 
In  court,  and  his  sweet  lore  professed  there  ? 
I  weened  sure  he  was  our  god  alone. 
And  only  woond  in  fields  and  forests  here :'" 

"  Not  so,  (quoth  he)  Love  most  aboundeth  there. 
For  all  the  walls  and  windows  there  are  writ,      776 
All  full  of  love,  and  love,  and  love  my  deare. 
And  all  their  talke  andstudie  is  of  it. 
Ne  any  there  doth  brave  or  valiant  seeme, 
Unlesse  that  some  gay  mistresse  badge  he  beares : 
Ne  any  one  himselfe  doth  ought  esteeme,  781 

Unlesse  he  swim  in  love  up  to  the  eares. 
]3ut  thev  of  Love,  and  of  his  sacred  lere, 
(As  it  should  be)  all  otherwise  devise, 
Then  we  poore  shepheards  are  accustomd  here,    785 
And  him  do  sue  and  serve  all  otherwise. 
For  with  lewd  speeches,  and  licentious  deeds. 
His  mightie  mysteries  they  do  prophane. 
And  use  his  ydle  name  to  other  needs. 
But  as  a  complement  for  courting  vaine.  790 

So  him  iheydo  not  serve  as  thev  professe, 
But  make  him  serve  to  them  for  sordid  u?es  : 
Ah  !  my  dread  lord,  that  doest  liege  hearts  possesse, 
Avenge  thy  selfe  on  them  for  their  abuses. 
But  we  poore  shepheards  whether  rightly  so,       795 
Or  through  our  rudenesse  into  errour  led. 
Do  make  religion  how  we  rashlv  go 
To  serve  that  god,  that  is  so  greatly  dred  ; 
For  him  the  greatest  of  the  gods  we  deeme, 
Borne  without  syre  or  couples  of  one  kynd  j        800 


For  Venus  selfe  doth  soly  couples  seeme. 

Both  male  and  female  througli  commixture  ioyned  : 

So  pure  and  spotlesse  Cupid  forth  she  brought. 

And  in  the  gardens  of  Adonis  nurst : 

Where  growing  he  his  owne  perfection  wroun-lit,  805 

And  shortly  was  of  all  the  gods  the  first. 

Then  got  he  bow  and  shafts  of  gold  and  lead. 

In  which  so  fell  and  puissant  he  grew, 

That  love  himselfe  his  powre  began  to  dread. 

And,  taking  up  to  heaven,  him  godded  new.        810 

From  thence  he  shootes  his  arrowes  every  where 

Into  the  world,  at  randon  as  he  will. 

On  usfraile  men,  his  wretched  vassals  here 

Like  as  himselfe  us  pleaseth  save  or  spill. 

So  we  him  worship,  so  we  him  adore  815 

With  humble  hearts  to  heaven  uplifted  he 

That  to  true  loves  he  may  us  evermore 

Preferre,  and  of  their  grace  us  dignifie  : 

Neis  there  shepheard,ne  yet  shepheards  swaine, 

What  ever  feeds  in  forest  or  in  field,  820 

That  dare  with  evil  deed  or  Lasing  vaine 

Blaspheme  his  powre,  or  termes  unworthie  yield." 

"  Shepheard.it  seemes  that  some  celestial!  rage 
Of  Love  (([uoth  Cuddy)  is  breath'd  into  thy  brest. 
That  powreth  forth  these  oracles  so  sage  825 

Of  that  high  powre,  wherewitli  thou  art  possest. 
But  never  wist  I  till  this  present  day, 
Albeof  Love  I  alwayes  humbly  deemed. 
That  he  wiis  such  an  one,  as  thou  doest  say. 
And  so  religiously  to  be  esteemed.  830 

Well  may  it  seeme,  by  this  thy  deep   nsight. 
That  of  that  god  the  priest  thou  shouldest  bee  • 
So  well  thou  wot'st  tlie  mvterie  of  his  might, 
As  if  his  godhead  thou  didst  present  see." 

"  Of  Loves  perfection  perfectly  to  speake,        835 
Or  of  his  nature  rightly  to  define. 
Indeed  (said  Colin)  passeth  reasons  reach. 
And  needs  his  priest  t'espresse  his  pov.-re  divine. 
For  long  before  the  world  he  was  ybore. 
And  bred  above  in  Venus  bosome  deare  :  840 

For  by  his  powre  tlie  world  was  made  of  yore. 
And  all  that  therein  wondrous  doth  appeare. 
For  how  should  else  things  so  far  from  attone. 
And  so  great  enemies  as  of  them  bee. 
Be  ever  dravi-ne  together  into  one  845 

And  taught  in  such  accordance  to  agree  1 
Through  him  the  cold  began  to  covet  heat. 
And  water  fire;  the  light  to  mount  on  hie. 
And  th'  heavie  downe  to  peize  ;  the  hungry  t'  eat 
And  voydnesse  to  seeke  full  satietie.  850 

So,  being  former  foes,  they  wexed  friends. 
And  gan  by  litle  learne  to  love  each  other : 
So,  being  knit,  tliey  brought  forth  other  kynds 
Out  of  the  fruitful!  wombe  of  their  great  motlier. 
Then  first  gan  heaven  out  of  darknesse  dread      855 
For  to  appeare,  and  brought  forth  chearfull  day  : 
Next  gan  the  earth  to  shew  her  naked  head. 
Out  of  deep  waters  which  her  drownd  alway  : 
And,  shortly  after,  everie  living  wight 
Crept  forth  like  wormes  out  of  her  slimie  nature.  860 
Soone  as  on  them  the  sun's  life-giving  light 
Had  powred  kindly  heat  and  formal!  featuie, 
'J'henceforth  they  gan  each  one  his  like  to  love, 
And  like  himselfe  desire  for  to  beget : 
The  Ivon  chose  his  mate,  the  turtle  dove  865 

Her  deare,  the  dolphin  las  owne  dolpliinet ; 
But  man,  tliat  had  tlie  sparke  of  reasons  might 
More  then  t'  e  rest  to  rule  iiis  passion, 
Chose  for  liis  love  the  fairest  in  his  sight, 
Like  as  himselfe  was  fairest  by  creation :  870 


360 


COLIN  CLOUTS  COME  HOME  AGAINE. 


For  beautie  is  the  bayt  wliicb  with  delight 

Dotli  man  allure  for  to  enlarge  his  kynd  ; 

Beautie,  the  burning  lamp  of  heavens  light, 

Darting  her  beames  into  each  feeble  mynd  ; 

Against  whose  powre,  nor  God  nor  man  canfynd  875 

Defence,  ne  ward  the  daunger  of  the  wound  ; 

But,  being  hurt,  seeke  to  be  medicynd 

Of  her  that  first  did  stir  that  mortall  stownd. 

'Ihen  do  thev  cry  and  call  to  love  apace. 

With  praiers  lowd  importuning  the  skie,  880 

AVhencehethemheares  ;  and,  whenhe  list  shew  grace, 

Does  graunt  them  grace  that  otherwise  would  die. 

So  Love  is  lord  of  all  the  world  by  right, 

And  rules  their  creatures  by  his  powrfuU  saw  : 

All  being  made  the  vassalls  of  his  might,  885 

'J'hrougli  secret  sence  which  therto  doth  them  draw. 

Thus  ought  all  lovers  of  their  lord  to  deeme  ; 

And  with  chaste  heart  to  honor  him  alway  : 

But  who  so  else  doth  otherwise  esteeme, 

Are  outlawes,  and  his  lore  do  disobay.  890 

For  their  desire  is  base,  and  doth  not  merit 

The  name  of  love,  but  of  disloyall  lust : 

Ne  mongst  true  lovers  they  shall  ])lace  inherit, 

But  as  exuls  out  of  his  court  be  thrust." 

So  having  said,  Melissa  spake  at  will  ;  895 

"  Colin,  thou  now  full  deepely  hast  divynd 
Of  Love  and  beautie  ;  and,  with  wondrous  skill. 
Hast  Cupid  selfe  depainted  in  his  kynd. 
To  thee  are  all  true  lovers  greatly  bound. 
That  doest  their  cause  so  mightily  defend  :  900 

But  most,  all  women  aie  thy  debtors  found, 
That  doest  their  bountie  still  so  much  commend. 

"  That  ill  (said  Hobbinol)  they  him  requite. 
For  ha  ing  loved  ever  one  most  deare  : 
He  is  repayd  with  scorne  and  foule  despite,  905 

'ihat  yrkts  each  gentle  heart  which  it  doth  heare." 

"  Indeed  (said  Lucid)  1  have  often  heard 
Faire  Bosalind  of  divers  fowly  blamed 
For  being  to  that  swaine  too  cruell  hard  ; 
That  her  bright  gloria  else  hath  much  defamed.   910 
But  who  can  tell  what  cause  had  tliat  faire  mayd 
To  use  him  so  that  used  her  so  well ; 
Or  who  with  blame  can  iustly  her  upbrayd. 


For  loving  not  ?  for  who  can  love  compell  ? 

And,  sooth  to  say,  it  is  foolhardie  thing,  935 

Rashly  to  wyten  creatures  so  divine  ; 

For  demigods  thev  be  and  first  did  spring 

From  heaven,  though  graft  in  frailnesse  feminine. 

And  well  I  wote,  that  oft  I  heard  it  spoken, 

How  one,  that  fairest  Helene  did  revile,  920 

Through  iudgeraent  of  the  gods  to  been  y  wroken, 

Lost  both  his  eyes  and  so  remaynd  long  while. 

Till  he  recanted  had  his  wicked  rimes. 

And  made  p.mends  to  her  with  treble  praise. 

Beware  therefore,  ye  groomes,  I  read  betimes,     925 

How  rashly  blame  of  Rosalind  ye  raise." 

"  Ah  !  shepheards,  (then  said  Colin)  ye  ne  weet 
How  great  a  guilt  upon  your  heads  ye  draw, 
To  make  so  bold  a  doome,  with  words  unmeet. 
Of  things  celestiall  which  ye  never  saw. 
For  she  is  not  like  as  the  other  crew 
Of  shepheards  daughters  which  emongst  you 

bee. 
But  of  divine  regard  and  heavenly  hew, 
Excelling  all  that  ever  ye  did  see. 
Not  then  to  her  that  scorned  thing  so  base. 
But  to  my  selfe  the  blame  that  lookt  so  hie  : 
So  hie  her  thoughts  as  she  her  selfe  have  place, 
And  loath  each  lowly  thing  with  loftie  eie. 
Yet  so  much  grace  let  her  vouchsafe  to  grant 
To  simple  swaine,  sith  her  I  may  not  love  :         930 
Yet  that  I  may  her  honour  paravant, 
And  praise  her  worth,  though  far  my  wit  above. 
Such  grace  shall  be  some  guerdon  for  the  griefe. 
And  long  affliction  which  1  have  endured  : 
Such  grace  sometimes  shall  give  me  some  reliefe,  945 
And  ease  of  paine  which  cannot  be  recured. 
And  ye,  my  fellow  shepheards,  which  do  see 
And  hear  the  languors  of  my  too  long  dying. 
Unto  the  world  for  ever  witnesse  bee, 
That  hers  I  die,  nought  to  the  world  denying,     950 
'Ibis  simple  trophe  of  her  great  conquest."  — 

So,  having  ended,  he  from  ground  did  rise  ; 
And  after  hiiu  uprose  eke  all  the  rest: 
All  loth  to  part,  but  that  the  glooming  skies 
Warnd  them  to  draw  their  bleating  flocks  to  rest.  955 


930 


935 


VI11GIL8  GNAT. 


LONG  SINCE  PEDICATED  TO  THE  MOST  NOBLE  AND   EXCELLENT  LORD, 


THE   EARLE   OF    LEICESTER, 


LATE    DECEASED.       1591 


Wrong'd,  yet  not  darins^  to  expresse  my  paine^ 
To  you  (great  lord)  the  causer  of  my  care. 
In  clowdie  teares  my  case  I  tlius  complaine 
Unto  your  selfe,  that  onelv  privie  are. 

But  if  that  any  CEdipus  unware 
Shall  cliaunce,  through  power  of  some  divining  spright, 
To  reade  the  secrete  of  tliis  riddle  rare, 
And  know  the  purporte  of  my  evill  plight ; 
Let  him  rest  pleased  with  his  owne  insight, 
Ne  furtlier  seeke  to  glose  upon  tlie  text  : 
For  griefe  enough  it  is  to  grieved  wight 
To  feele  his  fault,  and  not  be  further  vext. 

But  what  so  by  my  selfe  may  not  be  showen, 
May  by  this  Guatt's  complaint  be  easily  knowen. 


We  now  have  playde,  Augustus  wantonly, 

Tuning  our  song  unto  u  lender  muse. 

And,  like  a  cobweb  weaving  slenderl)', 

Have  onely  playde  :  let  thus  much  then  excuse 

This  Gnats  small  poeme,  that  th'  whole  historie 

Is  but  a  iest,  though  envie  it  abuse  : 

But  who  such  sports  and  swiet  delights  doth  blame. 

Shall  lighter  seeme  thea  this  Gnats  idle  name. 


Hereafter,  when  as  season  more  secure 

Shall  bring  forth  fruit,  tins  muse  shall  speak  to  thee 

In  higgler  notes,  that  mav  thy  sense  allure. 

An  1  tor  thy  worth  frame  ^ome  fit  poesie  : 

The  golden  ofsprnjL-  of  t.atona  pure. 

And  ornament  of  gr^'CiL  x^ves  progenia, 

Phoebus,  shall  be  the  auii^or  of  my  i>ong, 

Playine  '^ri  iv^iie  harp  with  silver  strong. 


He  shall  inspire  my  verse  with  gentle  mood 
Of  poet's  prince,  wliether  he  woon  beside 
Faire  Xanthus  sprincled  with  Chimeras  bloodj 
Or  in  the  woods  of  Astery  abide  ; 
Or  whereas  mount  Parnasse,  the  muses  brood. 
Doth  his  broad  forliead  like  two  homes  divide. 
And  the  sweete  waves  of  sounding  Castaly 
With  liquid  foote  doth  slide  downe  easily. 


Wherefore  ve  sisters,  -which  the  glorie  bee 

Of  the  Pierian  slreames,  faire  naiades. 

Go  too  ;  and  dauncing  all  in  companie, 

A  dome  that  god  :  and  thou  liolie  Pales. 

To  whome  the  honest  care  of  husbandrie 

Returneth  by  continiiall  successe. 

Have  care  for  to  pursue  his  footing  light  [digh„ 

Through  the  wide  woi.ds, and  groves, with  creen  leave* 


3G2 


VIRCILS  GNAT. 


Professinrr  thee  I  lifted  am  aloft 

Hetwixt  the  Ibrrest  wide  and  starrie  sky  ; 

Ami  thou,  most  dread  Octavius,  which  oft 

To  learned  wits  giv'st  courage  worthily, 

O  come,  thou  sacred  eliilde,  come  sliding  soft, 

And  favour  my  beginnings  graciously  : 

For  not  these  leaves  do  sing  that  dreadfull  stound, 

',\  hen  giants  bloud  did  staine  Phlegra'an  ground. 


Now  how  th'  halfe  liorsy  people,  Centaures  hight, 
Fought  with  the  bloudie  Lapithaes  at  bord  ; 
Nor  how  the  Fast  with  tyranous  despight 
Burnt  th'  Attick  towres,  and  people  slew  with  sword 
Nor  how  mount  Athos  through  exceeding  might 
Was  digged  downe  ;  nor  yroii  bands  abord 
The  Pontick  sea  hy  their  huge  navy  cast  ; 
My  volume  shall  renowne,  so  long  since  past. 

VII. 

Nor  Hellespont  trampled  with  horses  feete. 
When  flocking  Persians  did  the  Greeks  affray  : 
But  my  soft  muse,  as  for  her  power  more  meete, 
Delights  (with  Phoebus  friendly  leave)  to  play 
An  easie  running  verse  with  tender  feete. 
And  thou,  dread  sacred  child,  to  thee  alway 
I,et  everlasting  lightsome  glory  strive. 
Through  the  worlds  endles  ages  to  survive. 


And  let  an  bappie  roome  remaine  for  thee 
Wongst  l)eavenly  ranks,  where  blessed  soules  do  rest ; 
And  let  long  lasting  life  with    ioyous  glee. 
As  thy  due  meede  that  thou  deservest  best, 
Hereafter  many  yeares  remembred  be 
Amongst  good  men,  of  whom  thou  oft  art  blest; 
Live  thou  for  ever  in  all  happinesse  ! 
But  let  us  turne  to  our  first  businesse. 


The  fiery  sun  was  mounted  now  on  hight 
Uji  to  the  heavenly  towers,  and  shot  each  where 
Out  of  his  golden  charet  glistering  light  ; 
And  fayre  Aurora,  with  her  rosie  heare, 
The  hatefull  darkaes  now  had  put  to  flight ; 
When  as  the  shepheard,  seeing  day  appeare. 
His  little  goats  gan  drive  out  of  their  stalls, 
To  feede  abroad,  where  pasture  best  befalls. 


To  an  high  mountaines  top  he  with  them  went, 
Where  thickest  grasse  did  cloath  the  open  hills  : 
They  now  amongst  the  woods  and  thickets  ment, 
Now  in  the  valleies  wandring  at  their  wills, 
Spread  themselves  farre  abroad  through  each  descent; 
Some  on  the  soft  greene  grasse  feeding  their  fills  ; 
Some,  clambring  through  the  hollow  cliftes  on  hy. 
Nibble  tiie  bushie  shrubs  which  grovve  thereby. 


Others  the  utmost  boughs  of  trees  doe  crop, 

A'ld  l)r()uze  the  woodbine  twigi;es  that  freshly  bud 

'J'his  with  full  bit  doth  catch  the  utmost  top 

Ot  some  soft  willow,  or  new  growen  stud  ; 

'1  his  with  sharpe  teeth  the  bramble  leaves  doth  lop, 

And  chaw  the  tender  prickles  in  her  cud  ; 

J  ne  whiles  another  high  doth  ovcrlooke 

Jier  owne  like  iinagfe  in  a  christallbrooke. 


O  the  great  happines,  which  shepheard?  Iiave, 
Who  so  loathes  not  too  m-Uch  the  jioore  estate, 
With  minde  that  ill  use  doth  before  deprave, 
Ne  measures  all  things  ov  tne  costly  rate 
Of  riotise,  and  semblants  outward  ])rave  ! 
No  s.uch  sad  cares,  as  wont  to  macerate 
And  rend  the  greedie  mindes  of  covetous  men, 
Do  ever  creepe  into  the  shepheards  den. 


Ne  cares  he  if  the  fleece,  which  him  arayes, 

Be  not  twice  steejied  in  Assyrian  dye  ; 

Ne  glistering  of  goldes,  which  underlayes 

The  summer  beames,  doe  blinde  his  gazing  eye, 

Ne  pictures  beautie,  nor  the  glauncing  rayes 

Of  precious  stones,  whence  no  good  comineth  bv  ; 

Ne  yet  his  cup  embost  with  imagery 

Of  Boetus  or  of  Alcons  vanity. 


Ne  ought  the  wlielky  pearles  esteemeth  hee, 
Wliich  are  from  Indian  seas  brought  far  away 
But  with  pure  brest  from  carefull  sorrow  free, 
On  the  soft  grasse  his  limbs  doth  oft  display, 
In  sv^-eete  spring  time,  when  flowres  varietie 
With  sundrie  colours  paints  the  sprinckled  lay 
There,  lying  all  at  ease  from  guile  or  sjiight. 
With  pype  of  fennie  reedes  doth  him  delight. 


There  he,  lord  of  himselfe,  with  palme  bedight. 
His  looser  locks  doth  wrap  in  Wreath  of  vine  : 
There  his  milk-dropi>ing  goats  be  his  delight, 
And  fruitefull  pales,  and  the  forrest  greene, 
And  darkesome  caves  in  pleasaunt  vallies  pight, 
Wheras  continuall  shade  is  to  be  seene. 
And  where  fresh  springing  wells,  as  christall  neate. 
Do  alwayes  flow,  to  quench  his  thirstie  heate. 


O  .  who  can  lead  then  a  more  hapjiie  life 

Than  he,  that  with  cleane  minde,  and  heart  sincere, 

No  greedy  riches  knovves  nor  bloudie  strife, 

No  deadly  fight  of  warlick  fleete  doth  feare  ; 

Ne  runs  in  perill  of  foes  cruell  knife. 

That  in  the  sacred  temples  he  may  reare 

A  trophee  of  his  glittering  spoyles  and  treasure. 

Or  may  abound  in  riches  above  measure. 


Of  him  his  God  is  worshipt  vyith  his  sythe. 
And  not  with  skill  of  craftsman  polished  : 
He  ioyes  in  groves,  and  makes  himselfe  full  blythe 
With  sundrie  flowers  in  wiide  fieldes  gathered; 
Ne  frankincens  he  from  I'ancha'a  buyth  : 
Sweete  (^uiet  harbours  in  his  harmeles  head. 
And  perfect  Pleasure  buihles  her  ioyous  bowre, 
Free  from  sad  cares,  that  rich  mens  hearts  devowre. 


This  all  his  care,  this  all  his  whole  indevour. 
To  this  his  minde  and  senses  he  doth  bend. 
How  he  may  flow  in  quiets  matchles  treasour. 
Content  with  any  food  that  God  doth  send ; 
And  how  his  limbs,  resolv'd  through  idle  leisour 
Unto  sweete  sleejje  he  may  securely  lend. 
In  some  coole  shadow  from  the  scorching  heat. 
The  whiles  his  flock  their  tdiawed  cuds  do  eale. 


VIRGILS  GNAT. 


3ft3 


O  flocks,  0  faunes,  and  0  ye  pleasaunt  sprin°fs 
Of  'iVmpe,  where  the  couiitrey  nvmyjhs  are  rife, 
Througli  whose  not  costlv  care  each  shepheard  sings. 
As  merrie  notes  upon  his  rusticke  fife, 
As  that  Ascraean  bard,  whose  fame  now  rings 
Through  tlie  wide  world,  and  leads  as  iovfull  life  ; 
Free  from  all  troubles  and  from  worldly  toyle, 
In  which  fond  men  doe  all  their  dayes  turmoyle. 

XX. 

In  such  delights  whilst  thus  his  carelesse  time 
This  shepheard  drives,  upleaning  on  his  batt, 
And  on  shrill  reedes  chaunting  his  rustick  rime ; 
Hyperion,  throwing  foorth  his  beames  full  liott, 
]nt(i  the  highest  top  of  heaven  gan  clime. 
And,  the  world  parting  by  an  equall  lott, 
J)id  shed  his  whirling  flames  on  either  side, 
As  the  great  Ocean  doth  himselfe  divide. 


Then  gan  the  sliepheard  gather  into  one 

His  stragling  goates,  and  drave  them  to  a  foord, 

Whose  carule  streame,  romhling  in  pible  stone, 

Crept  under  mosse  as  greene  as  any  goord. 

r^ow  had  the  sun  h;dfe  heaven  overgone, 

W  lieu  lie  his  heard  back  from  that  water  foord 

Drave,  from  the  force  of  Phcebus  boyling  ray, 

Into  thick  shadowes,  there  themselves  to  lay. 


Scone  as  he  them  plac'd  in  thy  sacred  wood 
(O  Dalian  goddesse)  saw,  to  which  of  yore 
Came  the  bad  daughter  of  old  Cadmus  brood, 
Cruell   Agave,  flying  vengeance  sore 
Of  king  Nictileus  for  the  guiltie  blood. 
Which  she  with  cursed  hands  had  shed  before  ; 
There  she  halfe  frantick,  having  slaine  her  sonne, 
Did  shrowd  her  selfe  like  punishment  to  shonne. 


Here  also  playing  on  the  grassy  greene, 

Woodgods,  and  satyres,  and  swift  dryades. 

With  niany  fairies  oft  were  dauncing  seene. 

Not  so  much  did  Dau  Orpheus  represse 

The  streames  of  llebrus  with  his  songs,  1  weene, 

As  that  faire  troupe  of  woodie  goddesses 

Staied  thee,  O  Peneus,  jjowring  foorth  to  thee. 

From  cheereful  lookes,  great  mirth  and  gladsome  glee. 


The  verie  nature  of  the  place,  resounding 

With  gentle  murraure  of  the  breathing  ayre, 

A  pleasant  bovvre  with  all  delight  abounding 

In  the  fresh  shadowe  did  for  them  prepayre. 

To  rest  their  limbs  with  wearines  redounding. 

For  first  the  high  palme-trees  with  braunches  faire. 

Out  of  the  lowly  vallies  did  arise. 

And  high  shoote  up  their  heads  into  the  skyes. 


And  them  amongst  the  wicked  Lotos  grew. 
Wicked  ior  holding  guilefully  away 
Ulysses  men,  whom  rapt  with  sweelenes  new. 
Taking  to  hoste,  it  tjuiie  from  him  did  stay  ; 
\nd  eke  those  trees,  in  wliose  transformed  hew 
The  Sunnes  sad  daughters  waylde  the  rash  decay 
Of  Phaeton,  whose  limbs  with  lightening  rent 
They  gathering  up,  with  sweete  teares  did  lament. 


And  that  same  tree,  in  which  Demcphocn, 
}?y  his  disloyalty  lamented  sore 
Eternall  hurte  left  unto  many  one  : 
Whom  als  accompanied  the  oke,  of  yore 
Through  fatall  channes  transformd  to  such  n.i  one: 
The  oke,  whose  acornes  wee  our  foode,  befo 
Tliat  Ceres  seede  of  morfall  men  were  known 
\Vhich  first  Triptoleme  taught  how  to  be  sowne. 

XXVII. 

Here  also  grew  the  rougher-rinded  pine. 

The  great  Argoan  shi|)s  brave  ornament. 

Whom  golden  fleece  did  in:iktt  a.i  heavenly  >igne; 

Which  coveting,  with  his  high  tops  extent. 

To  make  the  mountaines  touch  ihe  starres  divine. 

Decks  all  the  forrest  with  embellishment ; 

And  tlie  blacke  holme  that  loves  the  watrie  vale  ; 

And  the  sweete  cypresse,  sigiie  of  deadly  bale. 

XXVlII. 

Emongst  the  rest  the  clambring  yvie  grew, 
Knitting  his  wanton  armes  with  grasping  hold, 
Least  that  the  pojilar  Ir.ippely  should  rew 
Her  brothers  strokes,  whose  boughes  she  doth  enfold 
With  her  lytlie  twigs,  till  they  the  top  survew, 
And  paint  with  pallid  greene  her  buds  of  gold. 
Kext  did  the  myrtle  tree  to  her  approach, 
Not  yet  uninindfuU  of  her  olde  reproach. 


But  the  small  birds,  in  their  wide  boughs  embowring 
Chaunted  their  sundrie  tunes  with  sweete  consent  : 
And  under  them  a  silver  spring,  forth  powring 
His  trickling  streames,  a  gentle  murmure  sent ; 
Thereto  the  frogs,  bred  in  the  slimie  scovs-ring 
Of  the  moist  inoores,  their  iarring  voyces  bent ; 
And  shrill  grasshoppers  chirped  them  around  : 
All  which  the  avrie  echo  did  resound. 


In  this  so  yjleasant  place  the  shepheards  flocke 
Lay  everie  where,  their  wearie  limbs  to  rest, 
On  everie  bush,  and  everie  hollow  rocke. 
Where  breathe  on  them  the  whistling  wind  mote  best; 
The  whiles  the  shepheard  self,  teniling  bis  stocke, 
Sate  by  the  fountaine  side,  in  shade  to  rest. 
Where  gentle  slumbring  sleep  oppressed  liim 
Displaid  on  ground,  and  seized  everie  lim. 

XXXI. 

Of  trecherie  or  traines  nought  tooke  he  keep. 

But  looslie  on  the  grassie  greene  dispredd. 

His  dearest  life  did  trust  to  careles  sleep  ; 

Which,  weighing  down  his  drouping  drowsie  hedJ, 

lu  quiet  rest  his  molten  heart  did  steep. 

Devoid  of  care,  and  feare  of  all  falshedd  : 

Had  not  inconstant  fortune,  bent  to  ill, 

Bid  strange  mischance  his  quietnes  to  spill. 


For  at  his  wonted  time  in  that  same  place 
An  huge  great  serpent,  all  with  speckles  pide, 
To  drench  himselfe  in  moorish  slime  did  trace; 
There  from  the  boyling  heate  himselfe  to  hide  : 
He,  passing  by  with  rolling  wreathed  pace. 
With  brandisht  tongue  the  emptie  aire  did  gride. 
And  wrapt  his  scalie  bougbts  with  fell  despiglit, 
That  all  things  seem'd  appalled  at  his  sight. 


S64 


VIRGILS  GNAT 


XXXIII. 

Now,  more  and  more  having  liimselfe  enrolde, 
His  glittering  breast  he  lilteth  up  on  hie, 
And  with  proud  vaunt  ins  head  aloft  doth  holde  ; 
Ilis  creste  above,  sjiotted  with  purple  die, 
On  overie  side  did  shine  like  scalie  guide 
And  his  bright  eyes,  gUiuncing  full  dreadfullie, 
Did  seeme  to  flame  out  flukes  of  flashing  fyre, 
iud  with  Sterne  lookes  to  threaten  kindled  yre. 


Thus  wise  long  time  he  did  himselfe  dispace 

There  round  about,  when  as  at  last  he  spide, 

Lving  along  before  him  in  that  place, 

That  flocks  grand  captains  and  most  trustie  guide 

Eftsoones  more  fierce  in  visage,  and  in  pace, 

Throwing  his  firie  eyes  on  everie  side, 

He  commeth  on,  and  all  things  in  his  vi-ay 

Full  stearnly  rends,  that  might  his  passage  stav. 

XXXV. 

INIuch  he  disdaines,  that  anie  one  should  dare 
To  enme  unto  his  haunt ;   for  which  intent 
He  inly  burns,  and  gins  straight  to  prepare 
The  weapons  which  nature  to  him  hath  lent; 
Fellie  he  hisseth,  and  doth  fiercely  stare, 
And  hath  his  iawes  with  angrie  spirits  rent, 
That  all  his  tract  with  bloudie  drops  is  stained, 
And  all  his  foldes  are  now  in  length  outstrained. 


Whom,  thus  at  point  prepared,  to  prevent, 

A  litle  noursling  of  the  humid  ayre, 

A  gnat,  unto  the  sleepie  shepheard  went ; 

And,  marking  where  his  ey-lids  twinckling  rare 

Shew'd  the  two  ])earles,  which  sight  unto  him  lent, 

Through  their  thin  coverings  appearing  fayre. 

His  little  needle  there  infixing  deep, 

Warnd  him  awake,  from  death  himselfe  to  keep. 

XXXVII. 

Wherewith  enrag'd,  he  fiercely  gan  upstart, 
And  with  his  hand  him  rashly  bruzing  slewe 
As  in  avengement  of  his  heedles  smart, 
That  streight  the  sprite  out  of  his  senses  flew, 
And  life  out  of  his  members  did  depart : 
When  suddenly  casting  aside  Ids  vew, 
He  spide  his  foe  with  felonous  intent, 
And  fervent  eyes  to  his  destruction  bent. 

xxxvm. 
All  suddenly  dismaid,  and  hartles  quight. 
He  fled  ab;icke,  and,  catching  hastie  holde 
Of  a  yong  alder  hard  beside  iiim  pight. 
It  rent,  and  streight  about  him  gan  beholde 
What  god  or  fortune  would  assist  his  iingiit. 
But  wlit'ther  god  or  fortune  made  liim  hold 
Its  hard  to  read  :   yet  jjardie  will  he  had 
To  overcome,  that  made  him  lesse  adrad. 

XXXIX. 

The  scalie  backe  of  that  most  hideous  snake 
Enwrapped  round    oft  faining  to  retire, 
And  olt  him  to  assaile,  he  fiercely  str.ike 
Whereas  his  tein|)les  did  ids  creast-front  t)re  ; 
And,  for  he  was  but  slowe,  diil  slowtii  ofl'  sljake 
And  gazing  ghastly  on  ;  (for  feare  and  yre 
Ha<l  blent  so  much  his  sense,  that  lesse  he  feaid  ;) 
Vet.  wher  Vie  saw  him  slaiue,  himselle  he  cheard. 


Hy  this  the  Night  forth  from  the  darksome  bowre 
Of  Herebus  her  teemed  steedes  gan  call, 
And  laesie  X'esper  in  his  timely  bowre 
From  golden  Oeta  gan  proceed e  withall  ; 
Whenas  the  shepheard  alter  this  sharpe  stowre 
Seing  the  doubled  shadowes  low  to  fall, 
Gathering  his  straying  flocke,  does  homeward  fare, 
And  unto  rest  his  wearie  ioyuts  prepare. 


Into  his  sense  so  soone  as  lighter  sleepe 
Was  entered,  and,  now  loosing  everie  lim, 
Svi'eete  slumbring  deaw  in  carelessnesse  didsteepe  ; 
The  image  of  that  gnat  appeard  to  him, 
And  in  sad  tearnies  gan  sorrowfully  weepe. 
With  griesly  countenaunce  and  visage  grim, 
\V^ading  the  wrong  which  he  had  done  of  late, 
In  steed  of  good  hastning  his  cruell  fate. 


Said  he,  "  What  have  I  wretch  deserv'd,  that  thus 

Into  this  bitter  bale  I  am  outcast, 

Wildest  that  thy  life  more  deare  and  precious 

Was  than  mine  owne,  so  long  as  it  did  last ! 

I  now,  in  lieu  of  {  aines  so  gracious, 

Am  tost  in  th'  ayre  with  everie  windie  blast : 

Thou,  safe  delivered  from  sad  decay, 

Thy  careles  limbs  in  loose  sleep  dost  display. 


"  So  livest  thou  ;  but  my  poore  wretched  ghost 
Is  forst  to  ferrie  over  Lethes  river. 
And  spoyld  of  Charon  too  and  fro  am  tost. 
Seest  thou  not  how  all  jilaces  quake  and  quiver, 
Lightlied  with  deadly  lamps  on  everie  j)Ost? 
Tisiphone  each  where  doth  shake  and  shiver 
Her  flaming  fiiir-brond,  encountring  me, 
Whose  lockes  uncombed  cruell  adders  be. 


"  And  Cerberus,  whose  many  mouthes  doo  bay 
And  barke  out  flames,  us  if  on  tire  he  fed  ; 
Adowne  whose  iiecke,  in  terrible  array, 
'i'en  thousaml  snakes  cridlmg  about  hi.>  bed 
Doo  hang  in  heajies,  that  honibly  aftray, 
And  bloodie  eyes  doo  glister  iirie  red  ; 
He  oftentimes  me  dreadfullie  doth  threaten 
With  j)ainf'ull  torments  to  be  sorely  beaten. 

XLV. 

■'  Ay-tne  !  that  thankes  so  much  should  faile  of  meed ; 

For  that  I  thee  restor'd  to  life  againe. 

Even  fiom  the  doore  of  death  and  deadlie  dreed 

Where  then  is  nov/  the  guertlou  of  my  paine  1 

\\  here  the  reward  of  my  so  piteous  deed  ! 

'1  he  praise  of  pitie  vanisht  is  in  vaine. 

And  th'  niiii(|uc  faith  uf  lustice  long  agone 

Out  of  the  land  is  fled  away  and  gone. 

XLVI. 

"  I  saw  anothers  fate  approaching  fast. 

Anil  li  ft  mine  owne  his  safi;tie  to  tender* 

Into  the  same  mishap  I  now  am  cast, 

And  shun'd  iiestruction  doth  destruction  render: 

Not  unto  him  that  never  hath  trespiist, 

IStit  juinishmeiit  is  due  to  the  ofl'ender. 

Yet  let  destruction  be  the  punishment 

So  long  as  thankt'uil  will  may  it  relent. 


VIRGILS  GNAT. 


S6S» 


XLvn. 
''  I  carried  him  into  Avaste  wildernesse, 
Waste  wildernes,  amongst  Cymerian  shades, 
Where  endles  paines  and  hideous  heavinesse 
Is  round  about  me  heapt  in  diuksome  ijlades. 
For  there  huge  Othos  sits  in  sad  distresse, 
Fast  bound  with  serpents  that  him  oft  invades  ; 
Far  off  beholding  Epliialtes  tide, 
Which  oDce  assui'd  to  burne  this  world  so  wide. 


"  And  there  is  mournfull  Tityus,  mindefull  yet 
Of  thy  displeasure,  O  Latona  faire  ; 
Displeasure  too  implacable  was  it, 
That  made  him  meat  for  wihi  foules  of  the  ayre 
Much  do  I  feare  among  such  fiends  to  sit ; 
Much  do  I  feare  back  to  them  to  repayre. 
To  the  black  shadowes  of  the  Stygian  shore, 
VVhere  wretched  o-hosts  sit  wailing  evermore. 


"  There  next  the  utmost  brinck  doth  he  abide. 
That  did  the  bankets  of  the  gods  bewray,         [dride, 
\Vhose  threat  through  thirst  to  nought  nigh  being 
His  sense  to  seeke  for  ease  turnes  every  way  : 
And  he,  that  in  avengement  of  his  pride 
For  scorning  to  the  sacred  gods  to  pray, 
Against  a  mountaine  rolls  a  mightie  stone, 
Calling  in  vaine  for  rest,  and  can  have  none. 


"  Go  ye  with  tbem,  go,  cursed  damosells, 
\Vhose  bridale  torches  foule  P>ynnis  tynde ; 
And  Hymen,  at  your  spousalls  sad,  foretells 
Tvdings  of  death  and  massacre  unkinde  : 
U  ith  them  that  cruell  Cokhid  mother  dwells, 
The  which  conceiv'd  in  her  revengefull  minde 
With  bitter  woundes  her  owne  deere  babes  to  slay, 
And  murdred  troupes  upon  great  heapes  to  lay. 


"I'here  also  those  two  Pandionian  maides, 
Calling  on  Itis,  Itis  evermore, 

Whom,  wretched  boy,  the*'  slew  with  guiltie blades  ; 
For  whome  the  Thracian  king'  lamenting  sore, 
Turn'd  to  a  lapwing,  fowlie  tliem  upbraydes, 
And  fluttering  round  about  them  still  does  sore  ; 
There  now  they  all  eternally  complaine 
Of  others  wrong,  and  suffer  endles  paine. 


"  But  the  two  brethren  borne  of  Cadmus  blood, 
Whil^t  each  does  for  the  soveraiguty  contend, 
Biinde  through  ambition,  and  with  vengeance  w  ood. 
Each  doth  against  the  others  bodie  bend 
His  cursed  Steele,  of  neither  well  withstood, 
And  witli  widfc  wounds  their  carcases  doth  rend; 
That  yet  thev  both  doe  mortall  foes  remaine, 
Sith  each  with  biothers  bloudie  hand  was  slaine. 


"  Ah  fwaladay  !)  there  is  no  end  of  paine, 
Nor  chaunge  of  labour  may  intreated  bee  : 
Yet  I  beyond  all  these  am  carred  faine. 
Where  other  powers  farre  different  I  see. 
And  must  passe  over  to  th'  Klisian  plaine  : 
TIjere  grim  Persephone,  encountring  mee. 
Doth  urge  her  fellow  furies  earnestlie 
With  their  bright  firebronds  me  to  terrifie. 


"  There  chast  Alceste  lives  inviolate, 

Free  from  all  care,  for  that  her  husbands  dales 

She  did  prolong  by  changing  fate  for  fate  : 

Lo  !  there  lives  also  the  immortall  praise 

Of  womankinde,  most  faitlifull  to  her  mate, 

Penelo])e  ;  and  from  her  farre  awayes 

A  rulesse  route  of  yongmen,  which  her  wood. 

All  slaine  with  darts,  lie  wallowed  in  their  blood. 


"  And  sad  Eurvdice  thence  now  no  more 
]\Iust  turne  to  life,  but  there  detained  bee 
For  looking  back,  being  forbid  before  : 
Yet  was  the  guilt  thereof,  Orpheus,  in  thee ! 
Bold  sure  he  was,  and  worthie  spirite  bore, 
That  durst  those  lowest  shadowes  goe  to  see. 
And  could  beleeve  that  anie  thing  could  pleasfc 
J'ell  Cerberus,  or  Stygian  powres  appease 


"  Ne  feard  the  burning  waves  of  Phlegeton, 
Nor  those  same  mournefull  kingdomes,  compassed 
With  rustie  horrour  and  fowle  fashion  ; 
And  deep  digd  vawtes  ;  and  Tartar  covered 
With  bloodie  night,  and  darke  confusion  ; 
And  iudgement  seates,  whose  ludge  is  deadlie  dred, 
A  ludge,  that  after  death  doth  punish  sore 
The  faults,  which  life  hath  tres|  assed  before. 


"  But  valiant  fortune  made  Dan  Orpheus  bolde  : 
For  the  swift  running  rivers  still  did  stand. 
And  tlie  wilde  beasts  their  furie  did  withhold, 
To  follow  Orpheus  musicke  through  the  land  : 
And  th'  okes  deep  grounded  in  the  earthly  molde. 
Did  move,  as  if  they  could  him  understand  ; 
And  the  shrill  woods,  which  were  of  sense  bereav'd. 
Through  their  hard  barke  his  silver  sound  receav'd 


"  And  eke  the  Moone  her  hastie  steedes  did  stay. 

Drawing  in  teemes  along  the  starrie  skie  ; 

And  didst,  O  monthly  virgin,  thou  delay 

Thy  nightly  course,  to  heare  his  melodic? 

The  same  was  aljle  with  like  lovely  lay 

J'he  queene  of  hell  to  move  as  easily, 

To  yeeld  Eurydice  unto  lier  fere 

Backe  to  be  borne,  though  it  unlawfull  were. 


"  She  (ladie)  having  well  before  approoved 
The  feends  to  be  too  cruell  and  severe, 
Observ'd  th'  appointed  way,  as  her  behooved, 
Ne  ever  did  her  eysight  turne  arere, 
Ne  ever  spake,  ne  cause  of  speaking  mooved  ; 
But,  cruell  t)rplieus,  thou  much  crueller. 
Seeking  to  kisse  her,  brok'st  the  gods  decree. 
And  thereby  mad'st  her  ever  damn'd  to  be. 


"  Ah  !  but  sweete  love  of  pardon  worthie  is, 
And  doth  deserve  to  have  small  faults  remitted  ; 
If  hell  at  least  things  lightly  done  amis 
Knew  how  lo  jjardon,  when  ought  is  omitted  ; 
Yet  are  ye  both  received  into  blis, 
And  to  the  seates  of  happie  soules  admitted  : 
And  you,  beside  the  honourable  band 
Of  great  herotis,  doo  in  order  stand. 


356 


VIRGILS  GNAT. 


'  There  be  the  two  stout  sonnes  of  ^acus. 
Fierce  Peleus,  and  the  hardie  Telamon, 
Both  seeming-  now  full  glad  and  ioyeous 
'J"hroui;li  their  syres  dreadfull  iurisdiction, 
Beino-  the  iudge  of  all  that  horrid  hous  : 
And  both  of  tliein,  by  strange  occasion, 
Renowu'd  in  choyce  of  hajipie  marriage 
ThrouoJi  Venus  grace,  and  vertues  cariage. 


"  For  th'  one  was  ravisht  of  his  owne  bondmaide 
The  faire  Ixione  captiv'd  from  Troy  : 
But  th'  other  was  with  Thetis  love  assaid, 
Great  Nereus  his  daughter  and  his  ioy. 
On  this  side  them  there  is  a  yongman  layd, 
Their  match  in  glorie,  mightie,  fierce,  and  coy  ; 
That  from  th'  /Vrgolick  siiii)s,  witii  furious  yre, 
Bett  back  the  furie  of  the  Troian  fyre. 

LXIII. 

"  O !  who  would  not  recount  the  strong  divorces 
Of  that  great  warre,  which   Troianes  oft  behelde, 
And  oft  beheld  the  warlike  Greekisli  forces. 
When  Teucrian  soyle  with  bloodie  rivers  swelde, 
And  wide  Sigasan  shores  were  spread  with  corses, 
And  Simois  and  Xanthus  blood  outwelde  ; 
Whilst  Hector  raged,  with  outragiousminde,  [tynde. 
Flames,  weapons,  wounds,  in  Greeks  fleete  to  have 

LXIV. 

"  For  Ida  selfe,  in  ayde  of  that  fierce  fight. 

Out  of  her  mountaines  ministred  supplies  ; 

And,  like  a  kindly  nourse,  did  yeeld  (for  spight) 

Store  of  firebronds  out  of  her  nourseries 

Unto  her  foster  children,  that  they  might 

Inflame  the  navie  of -their  enemies. 

And  all  the  Rhet;can  shore  to  ashes  turne. 

Where  lay  the  ships,  which  they  did  seeke  to  burne. 


"  Gainst  which  the  noble  soniie  of  Telamon 
Oppos'd  himselfe,  and,  thwarting  his  huge  shield, 
Them  battel!  bad,  gainst  whom  appeard  anon 
Hector,  the  glorie  of  the  Troian  field  : 
Both  fierce  and  furious  in  contention 
Encountred,  tliat  their  mightie  strokes  so  shrild. 
As  the  great  clap  of  thunder,  which  doth  ry  ve 
The  ratling  heavens,  and  cloudes  asunder  dryve. 


"So  th'  one  with  fire  and  wea])ons  did  contend 
To  cut  the  ships  from  turning  home  againe 
To  Argos  ;  th'  other  strove  for  to  defend 
The  force  of  Vulcane  with  his  might  and  maine. 
Thus  th'  one  il'-acide  did  his  fame  extend  : 
But  th'  other  ioy'd,  tliat,  on  the  Pin-yj;ian  playne 
Having  the  blood  of  vim(|uisht  Hector  shedd. 
He  coin]>ast  Troy  thrice  witii  his  bodie  dedd. 

LXVII. 

"  Againe  great  dole  on  either  partie  grewe, 
That  him  to  death  unfaifhfiiil  Paris  sent; 
And  also  him  that  false  Ulysses  slewe, 
Dravvne  into  danger  through  close  ambushment ; 
Therefore  from  lum  Lairtes  sonne  his  vewe 
Doth  tiirne  aside,  and  boasts  iiis  good  event 
In  working  of  Strymonian  Hlncsus  fall. 
And  eite  in  Uolons  subtile  s(iri)rysall. 


LXVIII. 

"  Againe  the  dreadfull  Cycones  him  dismay. 
And  blacke  Lrestrigones,  a  people  stout : 
Then  greedie  Scilla,  under  whom  there  bay 
Manie  great  bandogs,  which  her  gird  about : 
Then  doo  the  ^^itnean  Cyclops  him  aftVay, 
And  deep  Charybdis  gul])hing  in  and  out : 
Lastly  the  sijualid  lakes  of  Tartarie, 
And  griesly  feends  of  hell  him  terrifie. 


"  There  also  goodly  Agamemnon  hosts, 

The  glorie  of  the  stock  of  Tantalus, 

And  famous  light  of  all  the  Greekish  hosts  ; 

Under  whose  conduct  most  victorious. 

The  Dorick  flames  consum'd  the  Iliack  posts. 

All !  but  the  Greekes  themselves,  more  dolorous, 

To  thee,  O  Troy,  paid  penaunce  for  thy  fall ; 

In  th'  Hellespont  being  nigh  drowned  all. 


"  Well  may  appeare  by  proofe  of  their  mischaur.ce, 
The  chaungfuU  turning  of  mens  slipperie  state. 
That  none,  whom  fortune  freely  doth  advaunce, 
Himselfe  therefore  to  heaven  should  elevate  : 
For  loftie  type  of  honour,  through  the  glaiince 
Of  envies  dart,  is  downe  in  dust  prostrate; 
And  all,  that  vaunts  in  worldly  vanitie. 
Shall  fall  throuiih  fortunes  mutabilitie. 


"  Th'  Argolicke  power  returning  home  againe, 
Enricht  with  spoyles  of  th'  F,ricthonian  towre. 
Did  hapjiie  winde  and  weather  entertaine. 
And  with  good  speed  the  fomie  billowes  scowre : 
No  signe  of  storme,  no  feare  of  future  paine, 
Which  soone  ensued  them  with  heavie  stowre. 
Nereis  to  the  seas  a  token  gave. 
The  whiles  their  crooked  keeles  the  surges  clave. 


"  Suddenly,  whether  througli  the  gods  decree. 
Or  haplesse  rising  of  some  froward  starre. 
The  heavens  on  everie  side  enclowded  bee  : 
Black  stormes  and  fogs  are  hlowen  up  from  farre, 
'J'hat  now  the  pylote  can  no  loadstarre  see, 
But  skies  and  seas  doo  make  most  dreadfull  warre  ; 
The  billowes  striving  to  the  heavens  to  reach. 
And  th'  heavens  striving  them  for  to  impeach. 


"  And,  in  avengement  of  their  bold  attempt. 
Both  sun  and  starres  and  all  the  heavenly  powres 
Consjiire  in  one  to  wreake  their  rash  contem])t. 
And  downe  on  them  to  fall  from  highest  towres  : 
The  skie,  in  pieces  seeming  to  be  rent,        [showres, 
'J'hrowes   ligiitning   forth,    and   haile,    and    harmful 
That  <li'ath  on  everie  side  to  them  appeaies, 
In  thousand  formes,  to  worke  more  ghastlv  feares. 

I.XXIV. 

"  Some  in  the  greedie  flouds  are  sunke  and  drent ; 
Some  on  the  rocks  of  Caphareus  are  throwne  ; 
Some  on  th'  Euboick  cliffs  in  pieces  rent; 
Some  scatlred  on  the  Hercffian  shores  unknowne ; 
And  manie  lost,  of  whom  no  moniment 
R<>in:dnes,  nor  memorie  is  to  be  showne  : 
Whilst  all  the  purchase  of  the  Phrigian  pray, 
Tost  on  salt  billowes,  round  about  doth  stray 


367 


VIRGILS  GNAT 


LXXV. 

"  Here  manie  ether  like  heroes  bee, 

Efjuall  in  liono'ir  \o  the  former  crue, 

Whom  ve  in  goodiy  seates  mav  phicecl  see, 

Descended  all  from  Rome  by  linage  due  ; 

From  Rome,  that  holds  the  world  in  sovereigntie. 

And  doth  all  natmns  unto  her  subdue: 

Here  Fabii  and  Decii  doo  dwell, 

Jloratii  that  in  vertue  did  excel). 

LXXVI. 

"  And  here  the  antique  fame  of  stout  Camill 
Doth  ever  live  ;  and  constant  Curtius, 
Who,  stifly  bent  his  vowed  life  to  spill 
For  countreyes  health,  a  g-ulph  most  hideous 
Amidst  the  towne  with  his  owne  corps  did  fill, 
1'  appease  the  powers  ;  and  prudent  Mutius, 
Who  in  his  flesh  endur'd  the  scorching  flame, 
To  daunt  liis  foe  by'  ensample  of  the  same 

LXXVII. 

"  And  liere  wise  Curius,  companion 

Of  noble  vertues,  lives  in  endles  rest ; 

And  stout  Flaminius,  whose  devotion 

Taught  him  the  fires  scorn'd  furie  to  detest ; 

And  here  the  praise  of  either  Seipion 

Abides  in  highest  place  above  the  best, 

J'o  whom  the  ruin'd  walls  of  Carthage  vow'd  ; 

Trembling,  their  forces  sound  their  praises  lowd. 

LXXVIII. 

"  Live  thev  for  ever  through  their  lasting  praise  ! 
But  1,  poore  wretch,  am  forced  to  retourne 
To  the  sad  lakes  that  Phoebus  sunnie  rayes 
Doo  never  see,  where  soules  doo  alwaies  mourne  ; 
And  by  the  wayling  shores  to  waste  my  daves, 
Where  Phlegeton  with  quenchles  flames  doth  burne  ; 
By  which  iust  Minos  righteous  soules  doth  sever 
From  wicked  ones,  to  live  in  blisse  for  ever. 

LXXIX. 

"  Me  therefore  thus  the  cruell  fiends  of  hell 
Girt  with  long  snakes,  and  thousand  yron  chaynes, 
'J'lirough  doome  of  that  their  cruell  iudge,  compell 
\Vitli  bitter  torture,  and  impatient  paines, 
{'ause  of  my  death  and  iust  complaint  to  tell. 
For  thou  art  he,  whom  ray  poore  ghost  complaines 
To  be  the  author  of  her  ill  unvvares, 
That  careles  bear'st  my'  intollerable  cares. 


"  Them  therefore  as  bequeathing  to  the  winde, 

1  now  depart,  returning  to  thee  never. 

And  leave  this  lamentable  plaint  behinde. 

But  doo  thou  liaunt  the  soft  downe-rolling  river, 

AuJ    wilde    greene  woods   and    fruitful     pastures 

minde  ; 
And  let  the  flitting  aire  my  vaine  words  sever." — 
Thus  havii.g  said,  he  heavily  departed 
With  piteous  crie,  that  anie  would  have  smarted. 


LXXXI. 

Now,  when  the  sloathfuU  fit  of  lifes  sweete  lest 
Had  left  the  heavie  shepheard,  wondrous  cari-,s 
His  inly  grieved  minde  full  sore  opprest ; 
That  bulefull  sorrow  he  no  longer  beares 
For  that  gnats  death,  which  deeply  was  imprfjt  ; 
But  bends  what  ever  power  his  aged  yeares 
Him  lent,  yet  being  such,  as  through  their  migiii 
He  lately  slue  his  dreadfull  foe  in  tight. 

Lxxxir. 
By  that  same  river  lurking  under  greene, 
I^ftsoones  he  gins  to  fashion  forth  a  jilace  ; 
And,  squaring  it  in  compasse  well  beseene. 
There  plotteth  out  a  tombe  by  measured  space  : 
His  yron-headed  spade  tho  making  cleene. 
To  dig  up  sods  out  of  the  flowrie  grasse. 
His  worke  he  shortly  to  good  jjurpose  brought. 
Like  as  he  had  conceived  it  in  his  thought. 

Lxxxm. 
An  Iieape  of  earth  he  hoorded  up  on  hie. 
Enclosing  it  with  banks  on  everie  side, 
And  thereupon  did  raise  full  busily 
A  little  mount  of  greejie  turfts  editide; 
And  on  the  top  of  all,  that  jjassers  by 
Might  It  behold,  the  toomb  he  did  provide 
Of  smoothest  marble  stone  in  order  set. 
That  never  might  his  luckiu  scape  forget. 

1.XXXIV. 

And  round  about  he  taught  sweete  flowres  to  growe  ; 

The  Rose  engrained  in  pure  scailet  die! 

The  Lilly  fresh;  and  Violet  belowe  ; 

The  Marigolde  ;  and  cherefull  Rosemarie  ; 

The  Spartan  Mirtle,  wlience  sweet  gumb  does  flowe  ; 

The  purple  Hyacyntlie  ;  and  fresh  Costmarie  ; 

And  Saffron,  sought  for  in  Cilician  soyle  ; 

And  Lawrell,  th'  ornament  of  Phccbus  toyle. 

LXXXV. 

Fresh  Rhododaphn  ' ;  and  the  Sabine  fiowie, 
Marching  the  wealth  of  th'  auncient  Frankincence  ; 
And  jiallid  Yvie,  building  his  owne  bowre; 
And  J5ox,  yet  mindefuU  of  his  olde  offence; 
Red  Aramanthus,  lucklesse  paramour; 
Oxej'e  still  greene  ;  and  bitter  Patience  ; 
Ne  wants  there  pale  Narcisse,  that,  in  a  well 
Seeing  his  beautie,  in  love  with  it  fell. 

Lxxxvr. 

And  whatsoever  other  flowre  of  worth. 

And  whatso  other  bearb  of  lovely  hew. 

The  ioyous  Spring  out  of  the  ground  brings  forth. 

To  cloath  her  selfe  in  colours  fresh  and  new  , 

He  planted  there,  and  reard  amount  of  earth, 

In  whose  high  front  was  writ  as  doth  ensue  : 

To  thee,  small  Gnat  in  lieu  nf  his  life  saved. 
The  Sliepheurd  Itaili  thu  deaths  record  engrated. 


THE 


SHEPIIEAEDS  CALENDEEj 


CONTEYNING 

TWELVE    AEGLOaUES 


PROPORTIONABLE  TO  THE  TWELVE  MONETHES, 
Entitled  to  the  noble  and  vertuous  Gentleman,  most  worthie  of  all  titles  both  of  learning  and  fchivaliy, 

MAISTER  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 


GoE,  little  Booke  !  thy  selfe  present, 
As  childe  whose  parent  is  unkent, 
To  him  that  is  the  president 
Of  noblenesse  and  chevalree  : 
And  if  that  Envie  barke  at  thee. 
As  sure  it  will,  for  succour  flee 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  wing, 
And,  asked  who  thee  forth  did  bring, 
A  shepheards  swaine,  say,  did  thee  sing 


TO  HIS  BOOKE. 


All  as  his  straying  flocke  he  feii'-'.e : 
And,  when  his  honour  has  thet?  redde 
Crave  pardon  for  thy  hardy-hedde. 
But,  if  that  anv  aske  thy  name, 
Sav,  thou  wert  base-hegot  with  blame 
Forthy  tlipreof  thou  takest  shame. 
And,  when  thou  art  past  ieopardee, 
Come  tell  me  what  was  said  of  mee, 
And  I  will  send  more  after  thee. 


hiMERITO. 


TO    TUE    MOST    EXCELLENT    AND    LEARNED 

BOTH    ORATOR   AND    POET, 

MAISTEE    GABEIEL    HAKVEY, 

His  verie  speciall  and  singular  good  friend  E.  K.  commendeth  the  good  lyking  of  this  his 
labour,  and  the  patronage  of  the  new  Poet. 


Uncouth,  unkist,  said  the  old  famous  poet 
Chaucer  :  whom  for  his  excellfncie  and  wonderful! 
skill  in  making,  liis  scholler  Lidgate,  a  worthie 
scholler  of  so  excellent  a  master,  calleth  the  load- 
starre  of  our  language  :  and  whom  our  Colin  Clout 
in  his  Eglogue  calleth  Tityrus  the  god  of  shep- 
heards, comjiaring  him  to  the  worthinesse  of  the 
Roman  Tityrus,  Virgil.  Which  proverb,  mine 
owne  good  friend  W.  Harvey,  as  in  that  good  old 
{loet  it  served  well  Pandares  purpose  for  the  bol- 
siering  of  his  bawdie  brocage,  so  very  well  taketh 
jiliice  in  this  our  new  poet,  who  for  that  hee  is  un- 
couth as  (sayde  Chaucer)  is  unkist,  and  unknowne 
to  most  men,  is  regarded  but  of  a  fewc.  But  I 
doubt  not,  so  soone  as  his  name  shall  come  into 
the  knowledge  of  men,  and  his  woortliincsse  bee 
sounded  in  the  trumpe  of  f;ime,  but  that  hee  shall  be 
not  only  kist,  but  also  beloved  of  all,  imbiaced  of 
the  most,  and  wondred   at  of  the  best,     ISo  iesse,  I 


thinke,  deserveth  his  wittinesse  in  devising,  his 
pithinesse  in  uttering,  his  comjilainls  of  love  so 
lovely,  liis  discourses  of  pleasure  so  pleasantly,  his 
pastoral  rudenes,  liis  morall  wisenesse,  his  due  ob- 
serving of  decorum  everie  where,  in  personages,  in 
seasons,  in  matter,  in  speech  ;  and  generallie,"in  all 
seemely  simplicifie  of  handling  his  matters,  and 
framing  his  wordes :  the  which  of  manv  tilings 
which  in  him  be  straunge,  I  know  will  seeine  the 
strangest,  and  wordes  themselves  being  so  auncient, 
the  knitiing  of  them  so  short  and  intricate,  and  the 
whole  period  and  compasse  of  speech  so  delightsom 
for  the  roundiiesse,  and  so  grave  for  the  strangeness? 
And  lirst  of  the  wordes  to  speake,  I  graunt  the\ 
bee  something  hard,  and  of  most  men  unused,  yet 
boll)  Jlnglisli,  ai.d  also  used  of  most  excellent  au- 
tliouis,  and  most  famous  jioets.  In  whom,  when  as 
this  our  poet  hath  bin  much  travailed  and  throughly 
read,    how    could  it   be,  (as   that  worthie  oratour 


Sayde)  but  that  walking  in  tlie  sunne,  altboutli  for 
other  cause  he  walked,   yet  needes  he  nought  be 
sunburnt;  and,  Laving  the  sound  of  those  auncieut 
poets  still   ringing?  in  his  eares,  he  niought  needes, 
in  singing,  hit  out  some  of  their  tunes.   lUit  whether 
he  useth  them  by  i.uch  casualtie  and  custome  or  of 
set  piirjiose  and  choice,  as  thinking  them  fittest  for 
such  rustical  rudenesse   of  shepheards,   either   for 
tbat  their  rough  sound  would  make  his  rimes  more 
ragged  and  rusticall  ;  or  else  because  such  old  and 
obsolete   wordes  are  most   used   of  country   folke, 
sure  I  thinke,  and  thinke  I  think  not  amisse,  that 
they  bring  j;reat  grace,  and,  as  one  would  say,  au- 
thoritie  to  the  verse,    ^'or  albe,  amongst  many  other 
faults,  it  specially  be  obiected  of  \'alla  against  Livie, 
and  of  other  against  Salust,  that  with  over  much 
studie  they  afiect  antiquitie,  as   covering   thereby 
credence  and  honour  of  elder  yeares ;  yet  I  am  of 
opinon,   and  eke  the  best  learned  are  of  the  like, 
that  those  auncient  solemne  words,  are  a  great  orna- 
ment, both  in  the  one,  and   in  the  other  :  the  one 
labouring  to  set  forth  in  his  worke  an  eternall  image 
of  antiquitie,   and  the   other   carefully   discoursing 
matters  of  gravity  and  importance,      lor,  if  my  me- 
morie  faile  not,  Tully  in  that  booke,   wherein    he 
endeavoureth  to  set  forth  the  patterne  of  a  perfect 
ocator,  saith  that  ofttimes  an  ancient  worde  maketh 
the  stile  seeme  grave,  and  as  it  were  reverend,  no 
otherwise  than  we  honor  and  reverence  gray  haires 
for  a  certaine  religious  regard,  which  we  have  of 
old  age.     Yet  neither  every  where  must  old  wordes 
be  stuffed  in,  nor  the  common   dialect  and   manner 
of  speaking  so  corrupted   thereby,  that,  as  in  olde 
buildings,  it  seeme  disorderly  and  ruynous.     But 
all  as  in  most  exquisite  pictures  they  use  to  blaze  and 
portraict  not  only  the  daintie  lineaments  of  beautie, 
but  also  round  about  it  to  shadowe  the  rude  thickets 
and   craggy  clifts,   that,   by  the  baseness  of  such 
parts,  more  excellencie  may  acrew  to  the  principall : 
for  oftentimes  we  find  our  selves,  I  know  not  how, 
singularly  delighted  with  the  shew  of  such  naturall 
rudenesse,  and  take  great  pleasure  in  that  disorderly 
order.     Even  so  doo  those  rou^h  and  harsh  tearmes 
enlumine,   and  make  more  clearly  to  appeare,  the 
brighfnesse   of    brave   and    glorious    wordes.       So 
oftentimes  a  discorde  in  musike  maketh  a  comely 
concordance :  so  great   delight  tooke   the    worthie 
poet  Alceus  to  behold  a  bleniisli  in  the  ioynt  of  a 
well  shaped  bodie.     But,  if  any  will   rashly  blame 
such  his  purpose  in  choise  of  olde  and  unwonted 
wordes,  him  nay  I  moreiustly  blameand  condemne, 
or  of  witlesse   headinesse   in  iudging,  or  of  heed- 
less hardinesse  in   condemning :   for,  not  marking 
the  compasseof  his  bent,  he  will  iudge  of  the  length 
of  his  cast :  for  in  my  opinion  it  is  one  of  especiall 
praise  of  many,  which  are  due  to  this  poet,  that  he 
hath  labored  to  restore,  as  to  their  rightful  heritage, 
such  good   and   naturall  English   wordes,  as  h^ve 
beene  long  time  out  of  use,  and  almost  cleane  dis- 
herited.    Which  is  the  only  cause,  that  our  mother 
tongue,  which  truly  of  itself  is  both  full  inough  for 
prose,  and  stately  inough   for  verse,   hath  long  time 
been  counted  most  bare  and  barren  of  both.     Which 
default   wlien  as   some    endevoured  to    salve   and 
recure,  they  patched   up   the  holes  with  peeces  and 
rags  of  ofjier  languages,    borrowing    here  of  the 
r'rench,   there  of  the  Italian,  every  where  of  the 
Latin  ;  not  weighing   how  ill  those  tongues  accord 
with  tliemseh-e.s,  but  much  worse    with    jurs :  so 
now  they  have  made  our  English  tong  a  gall  maufrey, 


THE  EFI8TLE.  o^jg 

or  hodgepodge  of  all  other  speeches.  Other  some 
not  t  ~  well  seene  in  the  Eiiglisgh  tongue,  as  per- 
haps in  other  languages,  if  tliey  hapijen  to  heare  an 
olde  word  albeit  very  naturall  and  significant,  crv 
out  straightway,  that  we  speake  no  English,  but 
giblierish,  or  rather  such  as  in  olde  time  Evanders 
mothers  spake  :  whose  first  shame  is,  that  tliey  are 
not  ashamed,  in  iheir  own  mother  tongue,  to  bee 
counted  strangers  and  aliens.  The  second  sliane 
no  lesse  then  the  first,  that  what  so  they  under- 
stand not,  they  streightway  deeme  to  be  senselesse, 
and  not  at  all  to  be  understoode.  Much  like  to 
the  mole  in  Aesojis  fable  that,  being  blind  herself, 
would  in  no  wise  be  perswaded,  that  anv  becst 
couhi  see.  'I'he  last,  more  shaniefull  then  both,  that 
of  their  owne  country  and  natural  sp^ach,  which 
togitiier  with  their  nurses  milke  tliey  sucked,  they 
have  so  base  regard  &  bastard  iudgement,  tliat  they 
wil  not  only  themselves  not  labor  to  garnish  iind  Ijeau- 
tifie  it,  but  also  repine,  that  of  other  it  should  be 
embellished.  Like  to  the  dogge  in  the  maunr<er, 
that  himselfecan  eate  no  hay,  and  yet  barketh  at  the 
hungrie  bullock,  that  so  faine  would  feed  :  whose 
currish  kinde,  thougli  it  cannot  be  kept  from  bark- 
ing, yet  I  conne  them  thanke  that  theyrefraine  from 
bvting. 

Now,  for  the  knitting  of  sentences,  which  they  call 
the  ioynts  and  members  thereof,  &  for  all  the'com- 
passe  of  the  speech,  it  is  round  without  roughnesse^ 
and  learned  wiihout  hardnesse,  such  in  deede  as 
may  be  perceyved  of  the  least,  understood  of  the 
most,  but  iudged  onely  of  the  learned.  For  what  in 
most  English  writers  useth  to  be  loose,  and  as  it 
were  unright,  in  this  aulhour  is  well  grounded, 
finely  framed,  and  strongly  trussed  up  togither.  In 
regarde  whereof,  Iscorne  and  spew  out  therikehellv 
rout  of  our  ragged  rymers  (lor  so  themselves  use  to 
hunt  the  letter)  which  without  learning  boast,  with- 
out iudgement  iangle,  without  reason  rage  and  fome, 
as  if  some  instinct  of  poetical  spirit  had  newly  ra- 
vished them  above  the  meannesse  of  common  capaciiie. 
And  being,  in  the  midst  of  all  their  braverie,  sud- 
denly, either  for  want  of  matter,  or  rime  ;  or  liavino- 
forgotten  their  former  conceit ;  they  seem  to  be  so 
pained  and  travailed  in  theirreinenibrance,  as  it  were 
a  woman  in  childbirth,  or  as  that  same  Pythia,when 
the  traunce  came  upon  her.  "  Os  rubidumfera  corda 
domans,  &c." 

A'ethlesse,  let  them  a  God's  name  feed  on  their 
owne  folly,  so  they  seeke  not  to  darken  the  beams 
of  others  glorie.  As  for  Colin,  under  whose  person 
the  authors  selfe  is  shadowed,  how  farre  he  is  from 
such  vaunted  titles  and  glorious  shewes,  both  him- 
selfe  sheweth,  were  he  sayth  : 

"Of  muses  Hobbin,  I  conne  no  skill." 
And, 

"  Enough  is  me  to  paint  out  my  unrest,  &c." 
And  also  appeareth  by  the  basenesse  of  the  name, 
wherein  it  seemeth  he  chose  rather  to  unfold  great 
matter  of  argument  covertly  then,  professing  it,  not 
suflice  thereto  accordingly.  Which  moved  him  ra- 
ther in  .i^glogues  then  otherwise  to  write,  doubting 
]ierhai)s  his  ability,  which  he  little  needed,  or  minil- 
iiig  to  furnish  our  tongue  with  this  kinde,  wherein  it 
faulteth;  or  following  the  example  of  the  best  and 
most  ancient  poets,  which  devised  this  kinde  of 
wrhing,  being  both  so  base  for  ths  matter,  and 
homely  for  the  maner,  at  the  first  to  trie  their  habili- 
ties ;  and  as  young  birdes,  that  be  newly  crept  out  of 

B    B 


THE  GENERALL  ARGUMENT. 


the  nest,  hv  little  first  prove  their  tender  winges,  be- 
fore they  make  a  greater  flight.  So  flew  Theocritus, 
as  you  may  perceyve  hee  was  alroadie  full  fledged. 
So  flew  \'irgil,  as  not  vet  well  feeling  his  wings. 
So  flewe  iMantuane,  as  not  being  ful  somd.  So  Pe- 
trarque.  So  Boccace.  So  iMarot,  Sanazarius  and 
also  direrse  other  excellent  both  Italian  and  French 
poets,  whose  footing  thisautlior  everie  where  folow- 
etb  ;  vet  so  as  few,  but  they  be  well  sented,  can 
trace  him  out.  So  finally  flicth  this  our  new  poet 
as  a  hirde  whose  principals  be  scarce  growne  out, 
but  vet  as  one  that  in  time  shall  be  able  to  keepe 
wing  with  the  best.  Now,  as  touching  the  general 
drift  and  purpose  of  his  j3Dglogues,  I  mind  not 
to  sav  much,  himself  laboring  to  conceal  it.  Only 
this  apjieareth,  that  his  unstayed  youth  had  long 
wandred  in  tlie  common  Labirinth  of  Love,  in 
which  time  to  mitigate  andalhiy  the  heateof  his  pas- 
sion, or  else  to  warne  (as  he  saith)  the  yong  shep- 
heards,  his  equals  and  companions  of  his  unfortu- 
nate folly,  hee  compiled  these  twelve  Aeglogues, 
which,  for  that  they  be  proportioned  to  the  state  of 
the  twelve  moneths,  he  tearmeth  it  the  Shepheards 
Calender,  applying  an  olde  name  to  a  new  work. 
Hereunto  have  I  added  a  certaine  glosse,  or  scho- 
lion,  for  the  exposition  of  olde  wordes  and  harder 
phrases  ;  which  maner  of  glossing  and  commenting, 
well  I  wote,  will  seeme  strange  and  rare  in  our 
tongue:  yet,  for  so  much  as  I  k uewe  many  excel- 
lent and  proper  devises,  both  in  wordes  and  matter, 
would  passe  iu  the  speedie  course  of  reading  either 
as  unknowne,  or  as  not  marked ;  and  that  in  this 
kinde,  as  in  other  we  might  be  equal  to  the  learned 
of  other  nations  ;  I  thought  good  to  take  the  paines 
upon  me,  the  rather  for  that  by  meanes  of  some  fa- 
miliar acquaintance  I  was  made  privie  to  his  coun- 
saile  and  secret  meaning  in  tliem,  as  also  in  sundrie 
other  works  of  his.  ^\  hich  albeit  I  know  he  no- 
thing so  much  hateth,  as  to  promulgate,  yet  thus 
much  have  I  adventured  upon  his  friendship,  him- 
selfe  being  for  long  time  farre  estraunged  ;  hoping  that 
this  will  the  rather  occasion  him  to  put  foorth  di- 
verse other  excellent  works  of  his,  which  sleep  in 
silence  ;  as  his  Dreams,  his  Legends,  his  Court  of 
Cupid,  and  sundrie  others,  whose  commendation  to 
set  out  were  verie  vaine,  the  things  though  worthie 


of  many,  yet  beeing  knowne  to  fewe.  These  mv 
])reseiit  paines.  if  to  any  they  be  pleasurable  or  pro- 
fitable, be  you  iudge.  mine  owne  nuiister  Harvey,  to 
whom  ]  have  both  in  respect  of  your  worthines 
generally,  and  otherwise  upon  some  particular  and 
speciall  considerations,  vowed  this  my  lab  lur,  and 
themaidenheadeof  this  our  common  friends  poetrie  ; 
himselfe  liaving  alreadie  in  the  beginning  dedicated 
it  to  the  noble  and  worthie  gentleman,  the  right 
worshipful!  maister  Philip  Sidney,  a  speiiall  fa- 
vourer and  maintainer  of  all  kiude  of  le:irning. 
Whose  cause,  I  pray  you,  sir,  if  envie  shrill  stirre  up 
any  wrongfull  accusation,  defend  with  your  mightie 
rhetoricke  and  other  your  rath  gifts  of  learning,  as 
you  can,  and  shield  with  your  good  will,  as  you 
ought,  against  the  malice  and  outrage  of  l^o  many 
enemies,  as  I  know  will  bee  set  on  fire  with  the 
sparkes  of  his  kindled  glorie.  And  thus  recommend- 
ing the  authour  unto  you,  as  unto  his  most  sjieciall 
good  friend,  and  my  selfe  unto  you  both,  as  one  mak- 
ing singular  account  of  two  so  very  good  &  so  choise 
friends,  I  bid  you  both  most  heartily  fa^^e  well,  and 
commit  you  and  your  commendable  studies  to  the 
tuition  of  the  Greatest. 

Your  owne  assuredly  to  be  commaund«i?. 

E.  K- 

Post  scr. 
Now  I  trust,  M.  Harvey,  that  upon  sight  of  ycur 
speciall  friends  and  fellow  poets  doings,  or  else  for 
envie  of  sn  many  unworthy  quidams,  which  catch 
at  the  garland  which  to  you  alone  is  due,  you  wil  be 
perswaded  to  ])lucke  out  of  the  hatefuU  darknes  those 
so  many  excellent  English  poems  of  yours  wliich  lie 
hid,  and  bring  them  forth  to  eternal  light.  Trust 
me,  you  do  both  them  great  wrong,  in  depriving 
them  of  the  desired  sun  ;  and  also  your  selfe,  in 
smothering  ycur  deserved  praises  ;  and  all  men  ge- 
nerally, in  withholding  from  them  so  divine  plea- 
sures, which  they  might  conceive  of  your  gallai: 
English  verses,  as  they  have  alreadie  done  of  your 
Latin  poems,  which,  in  my  opinion,  botii  for  inven- 
tion and  elocution,  are  verie  delicate  and  super- 
excellent.  And  tbii^  againe  I  tak-a  my  leave  of  my 
good  M.  Harvey.  From  my  lodging  at  London  this 
tenth  of  Aprill,  1579. 


GENERALL    ARGUMENT 

OF  THE 

WHOLE    BOOKE. 


Little,  I  hope,  needetli  me  at  lorge  to  discourse 
the  first  originall  of  aegloyues,  having  alreadie 
touched  the  same.  But,  for  the  worde  aeglogues  I 
know  is  unknowen  to  most,  and  also  mistaken  of 
some  of  the  best  learned  (as  theythinke),  I  will  say 
somewhat  thereof,  beeing  not  at  all  impertinent  to 
my  present  purpose. 

riiey  were  first  of  the  Greekes,  the  inventours  of 
them?  called  aeglogai,  as  it  were  uegon,  or  aeginoviort 


lot^i,  that  is,  goteheardes  tales.  For  although  in  Vir- 
gil and  others  the  speakers  be  more  shepheards  than 
goatheards,  yet  Theocritus,  in  whom  is  more  ground 
of  authoritie  than  in  \'irgil,this  specially  from  that 
deriving,  as  from  the  first  heade  and  wellsjiring,  the 
whole  invention  of  these  Aeglogues,  maketh  goate- 
heards  the  persons  and  authors  of  his  tales.  This 
being,  who  seeth  not  tlie  grossnes.se  of  such  as  bv 
colour  of  learning  would  make  us  beleeve,  tliat  thcv 


THE  GENKRALL  ARGUMENT. 


3n 


are  more  rightly  termed  eclogai,  as  they  would  say, 
extraordinarie  discourses  of  unnecessarie  matter  : 
which  definition  albe  in  substance  and  meaning  it  agree 
with  the  nature  of  the  thing,  yet  no  whit  answereth 
with  the  analysis  and  interpretation  of  the  worde. 
For  thev  be  not  tearmed  (clogues,  but  aeglngnet  ; 
which  sentence  this  author  verie  well  observing, 
upon  good  iudgement,  though  indeede  fewe  goate- 
heards  have  to  doe  herein,  neverthelesse  doubteth 
not  to  call  them  by  the  used  and  best  knowen  name. 
Other  curious  discourses  hereof  I  reserve  to  greater 
occasion. 

These  twelve  aeglogues,  every  where  aunswering 
to  the  seasons  of  the  twelve  moneths,  may  be  well 
divided  into  three  formes  or  rankes.  For  either  they 
be  plaintive,  as  the  first,  the  sixt,  the  eleventh,  and 
the  twelfth  ;  or  recreative,  such  as  all  those  bee, 
which  containe  matter  of  love,  or  commendation  of 
speciall  personages  ;  or  morall,  which  for  the  most 
part  be  mixed  with  some  satyricall  bitteriiesse  ; 
namely,  the  second,  of  reverence  due  to  olde  age  ; 
the  fift,  of  coloured  deceyte  ;  ;he  seventh  and  ninth, 
of  dissolute  shepheards  and  pastors;  the  tenth,  of  con- 
tempt of  poetrie  and  pleasant  wittes.  And  to  this 
division  maj'  everie  thing  herein  bee  reasonably  ap- 
plyed  ;  a  few  onelie  except,  whose  speciall  purpose 
and  meaning  I  am  not  privie  to.  And  thus  much 
generally  of  these  twelve  aeglogues.  Now  will  we 
speake  particularlieof  all,  and  first  of  the  first,  which 
hee  calleth  by  the  first  monethes  name,  lanuarie  : 
wherein  to  some  he  may  seems  fouly  to  have  faulted, 
in  that  he  erroniously  beginneth  with  that  moneth, 
which  beginneth  not  the  yeare.  For  it  is  well 
knowne,  and  stoutlie  maintained  with  strong  reasons 
of  the  learned,  that  the  yeare  beginneth  in  IMarch  ; 
for  then  the  sunne  renueth  his  finished  course,  and  the 
seasonable  spring  refresheth  the  earth,  and  the  plea- 
saunce  thereof,  being  buried  in  the  sadnesse  of  the 
dead  winter  now  worne  away,  niliveth. 

This  opinion  maintains  the  olde  astrologers  and 
philosophers,  namely,  the  Reverend  Andalo,  and 
Macrobius  in  his  Holy  Dayen  of  Saturne  ;  which 
account  also  was  generally  observed  both  of  Gre- 
cians and  Romans.  But,  saving  the  leave  of  such 
learned  heades,  wee  maintaine  a  custome  of  counting 
the  seasons  from  the  moneth  lanuarie,  uppon  a  more 
speciall  cause  then  the  heathen  pliylosophers  ever 
could  conceyve,  that  is,  for  the  incarnation  of  our 
raightie  Saviour,  and  eternall  Redeemer,  the  Lorde 
Christ,  who  as  then  renewing  the  state  of  the  de- 
cayed worlde,  and  returning  the  compasse  of  expyred 
yeires  to  theyr  former  date  and  first  commencement, 
left  to  us  his  heyres  a  memoriall  of  his  byrth  in  the 
end  of  the  last  yeare  and  beginning  of  the  next. 
Which  reckoning,  beside  that  eternal  monument  of 


our  salvation,  leaneth  also  upon  good  proofe  of  spe- 
ciall iudgement. 

For  albeit  ihat  in  elder  tymes,  when  as  yet  the 
count  of  the  yeare  was  not  perfected,  as  afterward 
it  was  by  lulius  Cfesar,  they  began  to  tell  the  Mo 
nethes  from  iNIarches  beginning,  and  according 
to  (he  same  God  (as  is  sayde  in  Scrijrfure)  com- 
maunded  the  peojile  of  the  lewes,  to  count  the  mo- 
neth Abih,  that  which  wee  call  March,  for  the  first 
moneth,  in  remembraunce  that  in  that  moneth  iee 
brought  them  out  of  the  laiide  of  Aegypt:  yet, 
according  to  tradition  of  latter  times  it  hath  been 
otherwise  observed,  both  in  government  of  the 
churcli  and  rule  of  mightiest  realmes.  For  from 
lulius  Cwsar  who  first  observed  the  leape  yeare, 
which  he  called  Bissextilein  Annum,  and  broughtinto 
a  more  certaine  course  the  odde  wandrmg  dayes 
which  of  the  Greekes  were  called  Huperbainaiites,  of 
the  Romans  LUeicalares,  (for  in  such  matter  of 
leaiiiing  1  am  forced  to  use  the  tearmes  of  the  learned,) 
the  moneths  have  beene  numbred  twelve,  which 
in  the  first  ordinance  of  l^omulus  were  but  ten, 
counting  but  304  dayes  in  everie  yeare,  and  be- 
ginning with  IMarch.  But  Numa  Pompilius,  who 
was  the  father  of  al  the  Romane  ceremonies  and 
religion,  seeing  that  reckoning  to  agree  neither 
with  the  course  of  the  sunne  nor  the  moone,  there- 
unto added  two  moneths,  lanuarie  and  Februarie; 
wherin  it  seemeth,  that  wise  king  minded  upon  good 
reason  to  begin  the  yeare  at  lanuarie,  of  him  there- 
fore so  called  tanqnam  lanua  anni,  the  gate  and  en- 
teraunce  of  the  yeare ;  or  of  the  name  of  the  god 
lanus,  to  which  god  for  that  the  olde  paynims  attri- 
buted the  birth  and  beginning  of  all  creatures  new 
comming  into  the  world,  it  seemeth  that  he  tliere- 
fore  to  liim  assigned  the  beginning  and  first  entrance 
of  the  yeare.  Which  account  for  the  most  part  hath 
hitherto  continued  :  notwithstanding  that  the  Egyp- 
tians beginne  their  yeare  at  September ;  for  that, 
according  to  the  opinion  of  the  best  rahbines  and 
verie  purpose  of  the  Scripture  itselfe,  God  made  the 
worlde  iu  that  moneth,  that  is  called  of  tliera  Tisri. 
And  therefore  he  commanded  them  to  keepe  the 
feast  of  pavilions  in  the  ende  of  the  yeare.  in  the 
XV.  (lay  of  the  seventh  moneth,  which  before  that 
time  was  the  first. 

But  our  author  respecting  neither  the  subtiltie  of 
the  one  part,  nor  the  antiquitie  of  the  other,  thinketh 
it  fittest,  according  to  the  simplicitie  of  common 
understanding,  to  begin  with  lanuarie  ;  weer.ing  it 
perhaps  no  decorum  that  shepheards  should  be  seene 
in  matter  of  so  deep  insight,  or  canvase  a  case  of 
so  doubtful  iudgement.  So  therefore  beginneth  he, 
and  so  continueth  he  throughout. 


THE   SHEPHEARDS    CALENDER. 


JANUARIE. 
AEGLOGA  PRIMA. 

ARGUMENT. 

In  this  first  Aeglogue  Colin  Clout,  a  shepheards 
boy,  comijlainetb  himselfe  of  bis  unfortunate  love, 
being  but  newly  (as  seemetb)  enamoured  of  a  coun- 
try lasse  called  Rosaiinde  :  ■vvitb  which  strong  affec- 
tion being  verie  sore  travelled,  be  compareth  bis 
careful  case  to  the  sad  season  of  the  yeare,  to  the 
frostie  ground,  to  the  frosen  trees,  and  to  bis  owne 
winterbeaten  flocke.  And  lastly,  finding  himselfe 
robbed  of  all  former  pleasance  and  delight,  be  break- 
eth  bis  pipe  in  peaces,  and  castetb  himself  to  the 
ground. 

COLIN    CLOUT. 

A  SHEPiiFARDS  boy  (no  better  doe  him  call,) 
When  winters  wastful  spight  was  almost  spent, 
All  in  a  sunneshine  day,  as  did  befall. 
Led  forth  his  flock,  that  had  bene  long  ypent  : 

So  faint  they  woxe,  and  feeble  in  the  folde,  3 

That  now  unnetbes  their  feete  could  them  uphold. 

All  as  the  sbeepe,  such  was  the  shepheards  looke. 
For  pale  and  wanne  be  was,  (alas  the  while  !) 
May  seeme  be  lovd,  or  else  some  care  bee  tooke  ; 
Well  couth  bee  tune  his  pipe  and  frame  his  stile  :  10 
'J'ho  to  a  bill  bis  fainting  flocke  hee  ledde, 
And  thus  him  playnde,  the  while  his  sbeepe  there 
fedde : 

"  Yee  gods  of  love  !  that  pitie  lovers  paine, 

Clf  any  gods  the  paine  of  lovers  pitie,) 

Looke  from  above,  where  you  in  ioyes  remaine,     13 

And  bow  your  eares  unto  my  dolefull  dittie.  [love. 
And,  Pan!  thou  shepheards  god,  that  once  didst 
Pitie  the  paines  that  thou  thy  selfe  didst  prove. 

"  'Ibou  barraine  ground,  whom  winters  wrath  hath 

wasted, 
Art  made  a  mirror  to  behold  my  plight :  20 

Whilome  thy  fresh  spring  flowrd,  and  after  basted 
Thy  sommer  prowde,  with  diffadillies  digbt ; 
And  now  is  come  thy  winters  stormie  state, 
Thy  mantle  mard  wherein  thou  niaskedst  late. 


25 


"  Such  rage  as  winters  raigneth  in  my  hart. 
My  life-bloud  frcesing  with  unkindly  cold  ; 
Such  stormie  stoures  do  breede  my  balefuU  smart, 
As  if  my  yeare  were  wast  and  woxen  old  ; 
And  yet,  alas  !  but  no\v  my  spring  begonne, 
And  yet,  alas  !  it  is  already  donne.  30 

'  'S'ou  naked  trees,  whose  shadie  leaves  are  lost, 
Wlurein  the  birds  were  wont  to  build  their  bowre. 
And  now  are  clothd  with  mosse  and  boarie  frost, 
hi  steede  of  blosomes,   wherewith  your  buds  did 
flowre ; 


I  see  your  teares  that  from  your  bougbes  do  raine, 
Whose  drops  in  drerie  ysicles  remaine.  36 

"  All  so  my  lustfull  leafe  is  drie  and  sere, 
My  timely  buds  with  wayling  all  are  wasted  ; 
The  blossome  which  my  brauncb  of  youth  did  beare, 
With  breathed  sigbes  is  blowne  away  and  blasted  ; 
And  from  mine  eyes  the  drizling  teares  descend. 
As  on  your  bougbes  the  ysicles  depend.  42 

"Thou  feeble  flocke!  whose  fleece  is  rough  and  rent, 
Whose  knees  are  weake  through  fast  and  evill  fare, 
Maist  witnesse  well,  by  thy  ill  government,  45 

Thy  maisters  mind  is  overcome  with  care :  [lorne  : 
I'bou  weake,  I  wanne  ;  thou  leane,  I  quite  for- 
With  mourning  pyne  I ;  you  with  pyning  mourne 

"  A  thousand  sithes  I  curse  that  carefull  houre 
Wherein  I  longd  the  neighbour  towne  to  see,        50 
And  eke  tenne  thousand  sithes  I  blesse  the  stoure 
^\'herein  I  sawe  so  faire  a  sight  as  shee: 

Yet  all  for  naught :   such  sight  bath  bred  my  bane. 

Ah,  God  !  that  love  should  breed  both  ioy  and 
paine  ! 


"  It  is  not  Hobbinol  wherefore  I  plaine, 
Albee  my  love  bee  seeke  with  dayly  suit; 
His  clownish  gifts  and  curtsies  I  disdaine, 
liis  kiddes,  bis  cracknelles,  and  his  early  fruit. 

Ah,  foolish  Ilobbinol '.  thy  giftes  bene  vaine  ; 

Colin  them  gives  to  Rosalind  a^aine. 


55 


60 


"  I  love  ihilke  lasse,  (alas !  why  doe  I  love  ?) 
And  am  forlorne,  (alas  !   why  am  I  lorne?) 
She  deignes  not  my  good  will,  but  doth  reprove. 
And  of  my  rurall  musick  boldeth  scorne. 

Shepheards  devise  she  liateth  as  the  snake,         65 
And  laugbes  the   songs  that   Colin   Clout  dotb 
make. 

"  Wherefore,  my  pype,  albee  rude  Pan  thou  please. 
Yet  for  thou  pleasest  not  where  most  I  would  ; 
And' thou,  unluckie  muse,  that  wontst  to  ease 
Rly  musing  minde,  yet  canst  not  when  thou  should, 
Both  ))ype  and  muse  shall  sore  the  while  abye." — 
So  broke  bis  oaten  pype,  and  down  did  lye.        72 

By  that,  the  welked  Pbccbus  gan  availe 
His  wearie  waine ;  and  now  the  frostie  night 
Her  mantle  black  through  heaven  gan  overhaile :  75 
Which  seene,  the  pensive  boy,  balfe  in  despight, 
Arose,  and  homeward  drove  bis  sunned  sbeepe. 
Whose  banging  beades  did  seeme  his  carefull  case 
to  weepe.  78 

COLINS    EMBLEME. 

Anchor  a  speme. 


KKBiaiARIJ 


37 


FEBRUARIl-:. 
AEGLOGA  SECUNDA. 

ARGUMENT. 

Tins  Aeglogue  is  rather  morall  and  oenerall  then 
bent  to  ante  secret  or  particular  purpose.  It  spe- 
ciallie  containeth  a  discourse  of  olde  age,  in  the  per- 
son of  Thenot,  an  old  shepbeard,  who,  for  his 
crookednesseand  unlustinesse,  is  scorned  otCuddie, 
an  unliapj)ie  heardmans  bov.  The  matter  verie  well 
accordetii  with  the  season  of  the  moneth,  tlie  yeare 
now  drooping-,  and  as  it  were  drawing  to  his  last 
age.  For  as  in  this  time  of  veare,  so  then  in  our 
bodies,  there  is  a  drie  and  withering  cola,  wnich 
congealeth  the  crudled  blood,  and  frieseth  the  wea- 
theroeaten  fiesh,  with  stormes  of  fortune  and  lioare 
frosts  «f  care.  To  which  purpose  the  olde  man 
telleth  a  tale  of  the  Oake  aud  the  tirier,  so  livelie, 
and  so  feeliiiglie,  a-,  if  the  th.ng  were  set  forth  in 
some  picture  betbre  our  eies,  moreplainlie  could  not 
appeare. 

CUDDIE,     THENOT. 

CUDDIE. 

An  for  pittie  !   will  rancke  winters  nige 

These  bitter  blastes  never  gin  t'  a^swage  ? 

The  keue  cold  blowes  throrij;]i  my  healen  liiile, 

All  as  1  were  through  the  body  gride  : 

My  ragged  rontes  all  shiver  and  shrike,  5 

As  doea  high  towers  in  an  eartlKjuake  : 

They  woontin  thewinde  wagge  their  wriggle  tayles 

Perke  as  a  peacocke  ;  but  now  it  availes. 

The.   Lewdlv  coin]jlainfSt,  th.u  laesie  htdde, 
Of  winters  wracke  for  making  thee  sadde.  10 

Must  not  the  worlde  wend  lu  his  common  course. 
From  good  to  had,  and  from  bad  lo  worse. 
From  worse  unto  that  is  worst  of  all. 
And  then  returne  to  his  ioniier  lail  ? 
\\  ho  will  not  sufler  the  stiiniue  liuie,  15 

Where  will  he  live  till  the  lu.-,tie  prime? 
Selfehave  1  worne  out  tlnise  ihirtie  veies, 
Some  in  much  loy,  maiiv  in  n  any  teares, 
Yet  never  complaiiieO  of  cold  nor  heate, 
Of  sommers  flame,  nor  of  winters  threate,  20 

Ne  ever  was  to  fortune  foeman 
But  gently  tooke  that  uiigeuily  came; 
And  ever  my  flocke  was  my  cluefe  care; 
Winter  or  somiaer  they  moug  t  well  fare. 

Cud.  No  marveile,  Thenot,  i(  thou  can  beare    '2b 
Cherefully  the  winter's  wrath  lull  cheaie  ; 
For  age  and  winter  accord  lull  nie. 
This  chill,  that  cold  ;  this  crooked,  that  wrye  ; 
And  as  the  lowring  wether  lonkes  downe, 
So  seemest  thou  like  Good  Friday  to  frovvne  :       SO 
But  my  flouring  youth  is  foe  lo  frost. 
My  shippe  unwont  in  stormes  to  b«  tost. 

'i"nE.  The  soveraigne  of  seas  he  blames  m  vaii.e. 
That,  once  sea-beate,  will  to  sea  agaiiie  : 
So  loytring  live  you  little  heardgroomes,  33 

Keeping  your  beastes  in  the  bunded  broomes  ; 
And,  when  the  shining  suiuie  lauglieth  once  ; 
You  deemen,  the  spring  is  come  attonce; 
Tho  ginne  you,  fond  files  '   the  cold  to  »corne, 
And,  Glowing  in  pvpes  made  of  L,reene  conie,         40 
You  thinken  to  be  lords  of  l  he  yeare  ; 
But  eft,  w  hen  ye  count  you  Ireed  from  feare, 
Comes  the  breme  winter  wiiij  cliamtred  bmues 
Full  of  wrinckles  and  fros'v  turrowes, 
Drerily  shooting  Lis  >tonnie  oane,  45 

Which  cruddles  the  blou..  ai.u  pricks  the  ha-ie: 


Then  is  your  carelesse  courage  accoyed. 
Your  careful!  beards  with  cold  bene  annoyed  : 
Then  pay  you  the  price  of  your  surcjuedne, 
With  weeping,  and  wailing,  and  mi.serie.  50 

Cud.  Ah!   foolish  old  man!   I  scorne  thy  skill, 
That  wouldst  me  my  springing  youth  to  spill  : 
I  deenie  thy  braine  emperished  bee 
Through  rustle  elde  that  hath  rotted  thee ; 
Or  sicker  thy  head  vene  tottie  is,  55 

So  on  thy  corbe  shoulder  it  leaiies  amisse. 
Now  thy  selfe  hath  lost  both  lopp  and  topp, 
Als  my  budding  braunch  thou  w  ouldest  cropp  ; 
But  were  thy  yeres  greene,  as  now  bene  mine, 
'lo  other  delightes  they  would  encline  :  60 

Tho  wouldet^t  thou  learne  to  caroll  of  love, 
And  hery  with  hymnes  thy  lasses  glove  ; 
Tho  wouldest  thou  pype  of  PhUlis  praise  ; 
But  PhiUis  is  mine  for  many  dayes  ; 
1  woune  her  with  a  girdle  of  gelt,  65 

Embost  with  buegle  about  the  helt  : 
Such  an  one  shepheards  would  make  full  faine  ; 
Such  an  one  would  m.ike  thee  young  againe. 

The.  Thou  art  a  ton,  of  thy  love  to  boste  ; 
All  that  is  lent  to  love  will  be  loste.  70 

Cud.   Seest  how  brag  yond  bullocke  beares, 
So  smirke,  so  smoothe,  his  pricked  eares  ? 
His  homes  bene  as  hroade  as  rainebow  bent, 
His  dewelap  as  lythe  as  lasse  of  ixeiit: 
See  how  he  venteth  into  the  winde;  75 

VVeenest  of  love  is  not  his  minde  1 
Seemeth  thv  flocke  thy  counsell  can, 
So  lustlessebme  they,  so  weake,  so  wan  , 
Ciothea  with  cold,  and  hoane  with  frost, 
I  liy  flockes  father  his  courage  hath  lost.  80 

lliy  ewes,  that  woont  to  have  blowen  bags. 
Like  wailefull  widdowes  hangen  their  crags  ; 
'1  he  rattier  lambes  bene  starved  with  cold, 
All  for  their  niaister  is  lustlesse  and  old. 

The.   Cuddle,  I  vvote  thou  kenst  little  good,        85 
So  vainely  to  iidvaunce  thy  headlesse  hood; 
For  youiigih  is  a  bubble  blowiie  up  with  breath, 
V\  hose  witte  is  weakenesse,  whose  wage  is  death, 
Whose  way  is  w  ildernesse,  whose  ynne  penaunce. 
And  sioope  gallaunt  age,  the  hoast  of  greevaunce  90 
hut  shall  J  tell  thee  a  tale  of  truth, 
\\  liich  1  coiid  of  1  ityrus  in  my  jouth, 
Keeping  his  »heepe  on  the  hilles  of  Kent  ? 

Cud.  To  nought  more,  'Iheiiot,  my  minde  is  bent 
Then  to  heare  iiovells  of  his  devise  ;  95 

1  hey  bene  so  well  thewed,  and  so  wise. 
What  ever  that  good  old  man  bespake. 

liiE.  ]\lany  meete  tales  of  youli  did  hee  make, 
And  some  of  love,  and  some  of  chevalrie  ; 
But  none  htter  then  this  to  applie.  100 

Now  listen  a  while  and  hearken  the  end. 

"  There  grewe  an  aged  tree  on  the  greene, 
A  goodly  Oake  sometime  had  it  bene, 
With  amies  full  strong  and  largely  displayd. 
But  of  their  leaves  they  were  disarayde  :  10.5 

'I'he  bodie  bigge,  and  mightily  pight. 
Throughly  rooted,  and  of  vvondtrous  bight; 
\\  hiloiiie  had  bene  the  king  of  the  fielde. 
And  mochell  mast  to  the  hu.-baiide  did  yielde. 
And  with  his  nuts  larded  many  swine  :  110 

liut  now  the  gray  mosse  marred  his  rine; 
His  bared  boughes  were  beaten  with  stormes. 
His  toppe  was  bald,  and  wasted  with  w  ormes. 
His  honour  decayed,  his  braunciies  sere 

Hard  bv  his  side  grewe  a  bragging  Brere,         115 
Which  prowdly  thrust  into  tt    idement. 


^r* 


THE  SlIEPIIEARDS  CALENDER, 


Aiii!  sepiiipil  to  threat  ihe  firmament: 

It  w.is  f-inl)ellisl)t  uit!)  blossomes  iayre, 

Ami  iliereti)  iiye  wonted  to  repayre 

'J'lie  shrpheari'ls  daughters  to  gather  flowres,        120 

To  ^jviiiite  their  girlonds  with  his  colowres  ; 

And  in  his  -small  bushes  used  to  shrowde 

'lliH  sweete  riightingale  singing  so  lowde  : 

Which  made  this  foolish  I5rere  wexe  so  bold, 

That  or;  a  time  liee  cast  him  to  scold  125 

And  snebbe  the  good  Oake,  tor  bee  was  old. 

'  Why    standst    there    (quoth  he)  thou   brutish 
blocke  ? 
Nor  for  fruit  nor  for  shadowe  serves  thy  stocke  ; 
Seest  how  tresh  my  flowers  bine  spredde, 
Dved  in  lilly  wliite  and  cremsin  redde,  130 

With  leaves  engrained  in  lustie  green  , 
Colours  meete  to  clothe  a  mayden  queene? 
Thy  waste  bignes  but  combers  the  ground, 
And  dirks  the  beautie  of  my  blossomes  round 
1  he  mouldie  mosse,  which  thee  aecloyeth,  135 

My  sinanion  smell  too  much  annoy etli  : 
Wlierefore  soone  1  rede  thee  hence  remove, 
Least  thou  the  jirice  of  mv  displeasure  prove.' 
iSo  spake  this  bold  Brere  with  great  di>daine  : 
Little  liim  aunswered  the  Oakeagaine,  140 

But  yeelded,  with  shame  and  grief  adawed. 
That  of  a  weede  bee  was  overcrawed. 

It  chaunced  after  upon  a  day. 
The  husbandman  selfe  to  come  that  way. 
Of  custome  for  to  survewe  his  grounde,  1-15 

And  his  trees  of  slate  in  coinpasse  rounde  : 
Him  when  the  ^pightefull  Brere  had  espyed, 
Causelesse  complayned,  and  lowdly  cryed 
Unto  his  lord,  stirring  u{)  sterne  strife: 

'  O  my  liege  lord  !   the  god  of  my  life,  150 

Pleasetli  vou  ponder  your  sup])liaunts  plaint, 
Cau4<^d  of  wrong  and  cruell  constraint, 
\Vhich  I  yourpoore  vassall  daylie  endure  ; 
And,  but  your  goodnes  the  same  recure, 
Am  like  for  desperate  doole  to  die,  155 

Through  felonous  force  of  mineenemie.' 
Greatly  agast  with  this  i)iteous  plea, 
Him  rested  the  goodman  on  the  lea. 
And  bad  the  i5rere  in  bis  plaint  proceede. 
A\  ith  p;iinted  wordes  tho  gan  tiiisproude  weede  160 
(As  most  usen  ambitious  folke) 
His  coloured  crime  with  crait  to  cloke. 

'  Ah,  my  soveraigne  !  lord  of  creatures  all. 
Thou  placer  of  plants  both  humble  and  tall, 
AVas  not  I  planted  of  tliine  owne  bande,  1C5 

To  bee  the  primrose  of  all  tbv  Ivuide  ; 
\\  ith  flowring  blossomes  to  furnish  the  jirime. 
And  scarlet  berries  in  sommer  time? 
Howe  falles  it  then  tiiat  this  faded  Oake, 
Whose  bndie  is  sere,  whose  braunches  broke,       170 
Whose  naked  arms  stretch  unto  the  fire. 
Unto  such  tyraiinie  doth  aspire  ; 
Hindering  with  his  shade  my  lovely  light. 
And  robbing  mee  of  the  sweete  sunnes  sight? 
So  beate  his  old  boughes  my  lender  side,  175 

That  oft  tlie  bloude  springeth  from  woundes  wide  j 
Untimely  my  flowres  forced  to  fall, 
lb, it  bene  the  honour  of  your  coronal]  ; 
And  olt  bee  lets  his  cancker-wornies  light 
Upon  my  braunches,  to  worke  me  more  spight  ;  180 
And  oft  his  hoarie  locks  down  doth  cast, 
W  herewith  my  fresh  Howrets  bi  ne  dtfast : 
For  this,  and  many  more  such  outrage, 
Craving  your  goodlyhead  to  asswage 
The  tancknrnus  rieour  of  his  might ;  185 


Nought  aske  1,  but  onely  to  holde  my  right, 
Submittin;^'  mee  to  voiir  good  suti'eraunce. 
And  praying  to  be  garded  from  greevaunce.' 

'I'o  this  this  Oake  cast  him  to  replie 
Well  as  hee  couth  ;  but  his  enemie  190 

Had  kindled  such  coles  of  displeasure, 
Tiiat  the  goodman  noulde  stay  his  leasure, 
But  home  him  hasted  with  furious  heate, 
Encreasing  his  wra'h  with  manv  a  tlireaie  ; 
His  liarmefuU  hatchet  he  bent  in  hand,  195 

(Alas  !  that  it  so  readie  should  stand  !) 
And  to  the  fielde  alone  hee  speedeth, 
(Ay  little  helpe  to  harme  there  needeth!) 
Anger  nould  let  him  speake  to  the  tree, 
Enaunter  his  rage  mought  cooled  bee  ;  "200 

But  to  the  roote  bent  his  sturdie  stroake 
And  made  many  woundes  in  the  waste  Oake. 
The  axes  edge  did  oft  turne  againe. 
As  halfe  unwilling  to  cutte  the  graine  ; 
Seemed,  the  senselesse  yron  did  feare,  205 

Or  to  wrong  holy  eld  did  fbrbeare  ; 
For  it  had  been  an  auncient  tree. 
Sacred  with  many  a  mysteree. 
And  often  crost  with  the  priestes  crewe. 
And  often  hallowed  with  holy-water  dewe  :  230 

But  sike  fancies  weren  foolerie. 
And  broughten  this  Oake  to  tins  miserie  ; 
For  nought  mought  they  quitten  him  from  decay, 
For  fiercel_v  the  goodman  at  him  did  laye, 
U'he  blocke  oft  groned  under  the  blow,  215 

And  sighed  to  see  his  neere  overthrow. 
In  fine,  the  Steele  had  pierced  his  pith, 
1'ho  downe  to  the  earth  hee  fell  forthwith. 
His  wonderous  weight  made  the  ground  to  quake, 
'J'h'  earth  shronke  under  him,  and  seemed  to  shake- 
There  lyeth  the  Oake,  pitied  of  none  !  221 

Now  stands  the  Brere  like  a  lord  alone. 
Puffed  up  with  prvdeand  vaine  pleasaunce  ; 
]}ut  all  this  glee  had  no  continuaunce  : 
For  effsoones  winter  gan  to  approche  ;  225 

I'he  blustring  Boreas  did  encroche. 
And  beate  upon  the  solitarie  Biere  ; 
For  nowe  no  succour  was  seene  him  neere. 
Now  gan  hee  repent  his  pride  too  late  ; 
For,  naked  left  and  disconsolate,  230 

The  bytiny  frost  nipt  his  stalke  dead. 
The  watrie  wet  weighed  downe  his  head, 
And  heaped  snowe  burdned  him  so  sore, 
I  hat  nowe  upright  he  can  stand  no  more  ; 
And,  being  downe,  is  trod  in   the  durt  235 

Ot  cattell,  and  bronzed,  ai>d  sorely  hurt. 
Such  was  th'  end  of  this  ambitious  Brere, 
For  scorning  eld — " 

Ci'D.     Now    I   pray  thee,   shepheard,  tell  it  no 
Here  is  a  h)ng  tale,  and  little  worth,  [forth  : 

So  long  have  I  listened  to  thy  sptche,  241 

That  grail'ed  to  the  ground  is  my  breche  ; 
My  heartblood  is  well  nigh  frorne  1  feele. 
And  my  galage  growne  fast  to  my  heele  ; 
But  little  ease  of  ihv  lewde  tale  I  tasted  :  245 

Hie  thee  home,  shepheard,  the  day  is  nigh  wasted. 

THENOTS    tMBLEME. 

Jddio,  perche  c  vecchio, 
Fa  suoi  al  siio  esiempic. 

CUDDIES    r..1IBI.l;ME. 

A'iuHd  lecclitn, 
Uparentii  liiii'w.  ' 


MARCH. 
AEGLOGA  TERTIA. 

ARGUMENT. 

In  this  Aeglogue  two  Slie])lieards  Boyes,  taking 
occasion  of  the  season,  beginne  to  make  purpose  of 
love,  and  other  pleasance  wliich  to  spring-time  is 
most  agreeable.  The  speciall  meaning  hereof,  is, 
to  give  certaine  marks  and  tokens,  to  know  Cupid 
the  poets  god  of  love.  But  more  particularly,  I 
thinke,  in  the  person  of  Thomalin,  is  meant  some 
secret  friend,  who  scorned  Love  and  his  knights  so 
long,  till  at  length  hiraselfe  was  entangled,  and  un- 
wares  wounded  with  the  dart  of  some  beautiful 
regard,  which  is  Cupids  arrow. 

WILLYE.     THOMALIN. 

WILLYE. 

Thomalin,  why  sitten  wee  soe. 
As  weren  overwent  with  woe, 

Upon  so  fay  re  a  morow  1 
The  loyous  time  now  nigheth  fast, 
That  shall  alegge  this  bitter  blast,  5 

And  slake  the  winter  soiow. 
Trio.  Sicker,  Willye,  thou  warnest  well ; 
For  winters  wrath  beginnes  U>  quell, 

And  pleasaunt  spring  appeareth  : 
The  grasse  nowe  gnines  to  be  refresht,  10 

The  swallowe  pee])es  out  of  her  nest. 

And  clowdie  welkin  cleareth. 
VViL.  Seest  not  thilke  same  hawthorne  stucjde, 
How  bragly  it  begins  to  budde, 

And  utter  his  tender  head  ?  15 

Flora  nowe  calleth  forth  eche  flower, 
And  bids  make  readie  IVlfwas  bower. 

That  newe  is  upryst  from  bedd  : 
Tho  shall  wee  sporten  in  delight, 
And  learne  with  Lettite  to  wese  light,  20 

That  scorneluUy  lookes  askaunce  ; 
Tho  will  wee  little  Love  awake, 
That  nowe  sleepeth  m  Lethe  lake, 

And  pray  him  leaden  our  daunce. 
Tho.   \\  lUye,  I  ween  thou  be  assot;  25 

For  lusiy  Love  still  sleepeth  not, 

But  is  abroade  at  his  game. 
WiL.  Howe  kenst  thou,  that  bee  is  awoke  ? 
Or  hast  thy  selfe  his  slomber  broke  ? 

Or  made  privie  to  the  same  ]  30 

Tho.   No  ;  but  happily  I  him  spide. 
Where  in  a  bush  he  did  him  hide. 

With  winges  of  purple  and  blewe; 
And,  were  not  that  my  sheepe  would  stray. 
The  privie  markes  1  would  bewray,  35 

Whereby  by  cbaunce  I  hnn  knew. 
WiL.  'i  hoinalin,  have  no  care  for-thy  ; 
My  selfe  will  have  a  double  eye, 

Vlike  to  my  flocke  and  thine  : 
For,  alas  !  at  home  1  have  a  syre,  40 

A  stepdame  eke,  as  bote  as  fyre, 

That  dewly  adayes  counts  mine. 
Tito.  Nay,  but  th^  seemg  will  not  serve. 
My  sheep  for  that  may  chaunce  to  swerve. 

And  fall  into  some  niischiefe  :  45 

For  sithens  is  but  the  third  morow 
That  I  haunst  to  fall  ajleepe  with  sorow. 

And  waked  againe  with  griefe ; 
The  while  thilke  some  unhappie  ewe. 
Whose  clouted  legge  her  hurt  doth  shewe,  50 

Fell  headlong  into  a  dell. 


MARCH.  S7h 

And  there  unioynted  both  her  bones  : 
Mougbt  her  neck  bene  ioynted  attones. 

She  shoulde  have  neede  no  more  spell  ; 
Th'  elfe  was  so  wanton  and  so  wood,  55 

(But  now  I  trowe  can  better  good). 

She  mought  ne  gang  on  the  greene. 
WiL.  Let  be,  as  may  he,  that  is  past; 
That  is  to  come,  let  be  forecast  : 

Now  tell  us  what  thou  hast  seene.  60 

Tho.  It  was  upon  a  holidav, 
When  shepheards  groomes  had  leave  to  play, 

I  cast  to  go  a  shooting ; 
Long  vi-andring  up  and  downe  the  land, 
With  bow  and  bolts  in  either  hand,  6b 

For  birdes  in  buslies  tooting. 
At  lengih  within  the  yvie  todde, 
(There  shrowded  was  the  little  god,) 

I  heard  a  busie  bustling  ; 
I  bent  my  bolt  against  the  bu.-h,  70 

Listning  if  anie  thing  did  rush, 

But  then  heard  no  more  rustling. 
Tho,  peeping  close  into  the  thicke, 
Alight  see  the  moving  of  some  quicke. 

Whose  shape  appeared  not ;  75 

But  were  it  faerie,  feend,  or  snake 
My  courage  earned  it  to  awake, 

And  manfully  thereat  shotte  : 
With  that  sprung  forth  a  naked  swavne, 
With  spotted  winges  like  peacocks  trayne,  80 

And  laughing  lope  to  a  tree; 
Ilis  gylden  quiver  at  his  backe. 
And  silver  bo  we,  which  was  but  slacke, 

Which  lightlv  he  bent  at  me  : 
That  seeing,  I  leveld  againe,  85 

And  shotte  at  him  with  might  and  maine, 

As  thicke  as  it  had  hayled. 
So  long  1  shott,  that  all  was  spent ; 
Tho  pumie  stones  1  hastly  hent. 

And  threw  ;  but  nought  avayled  :  90 

He  was  so  wimble  and  so  wight. 
From  bough  to  bough  he  lepped  light, 

And  oft  the  pumies  latched  : 
Therewith  affray d  I  lanne  away  ; 
But  he,  that  earst  seemd  but  ti)  play,  95 

A  shaft  in  earnest  snatched, 
And  hit  me  running  in  the  heele : 
For  then  I  little  smart  did  feele. 

But  soone  it  sore  increased  : 
And  now  it  ranckleth  more  and  more,  100 

And  inwardly  it  festreth  sore, 

Ne  wote  1  how  to  cease  it. 
WiL.  Thomalin,  I  pitie  thy  plight, 
Perdie  with  Love  thou  diddestfight ; 

I  know  him  by  a  token  :  '       105 

For  once  I  heard  my  father  say. 
How  he  him  caught  upon  a  day, 

(Whereof  he  will  be  wroken,) 
Entangled  in  a  fowling  net. 
Which  he  for  carrion  crowes  had  set  110 

That  in  our  peare-tree  haunted  : 
Tho  said,  he  was  a  winged  lad, 
But  bowe  and  shaftes  as  then  none  had, 

Els  had  he  sore  been  daunted. 
But  see,  the  welkin  thicks  apace,  I'O 

And  stouping  Phoebus  steepes  his  face; 

Yts  time  to  haste  us  homeward.  117 

WILLYES   EMBLEME. 

To  be  Hue  and  cAb  (»  inie. 

Is  graunteii  scarce  lo  f^cds  al'^ve. 


376 


THE  SHEPIIEAIIDS  CALENDER. 


TIIOMALINS  EMBLEME, 

Of  lioinj  (Did  (^f  gaiile  in  love  there  is  store  ; 
The  honij  is  imicli,  hut  ihc  fiiiule  is  wore. 

APRIL. 
AEGLOGA  QUARTA. 

ARGUMENT. 

This  App;Iop;iie  is  purposely  intended  to  the 
honour  and  jmiyse  of  our  most  pjratious  soveraigne, 
Queene  Eliza'ietli.  The  speakers  liereof  bee  Hoh- 
binoll  and  'I'henot,  two  sliejiheards  :  tlie  wliich 
Hobbinoll,  beinjj  before  mentioned  greatly  to  have 
loved  Colin,  is  here  set  forth  more  largely,  com- 
plaining him  of  that  boyes  great  misadventure  in 
love  ;  whereby  his  mind  was  alienated  and  with- 
drawn not  onelv  from  him,  who  most  loved  him, 
but  also  from  all  former  delights  and  studies,  as 
well  in  pleasant  pvping,  as  cunning  rhyming  and 
singing,  and  other  his  laudable  exercises.  Whereby 
he  taketh  occasion,  for  ])roofe  of  his  more  excel- 
lencie  and  skill  in  poetrie,  to  record  a  song,  which 
the  said  Colin  sometime  made  in  honour  of  her 
Maiestie,  whom  abruptly  he  termeth  Elisa. 

THENOT.     HOBBINOLL. 


Tetl  me,  good  Hobbinoll    wliat  garres  thee  greete? 

What!  hatii  some  wolfe  thy  tendi-r  lamhes  ytorne? 
Or  is  thy  bagpvpe  broke  that  soundes  so  sweete  ? 

Or  art  ihou  of  thv  loved  lasse  forlorne? 
Or  bene  ihirie  eyes  atteinjired  to  the  yeare,  5 

Quencliinn'  the  gasjiing  furrowes  thirst  with  rayne? 
Like  A  prill  showre  so  stream  the  trickling  teares 

Adowne  thy  cheeke,  to  quench  thy  thirstie  ]>aine. 
Hob.   Nor  this,  nor   that,   so  much  doth  make  me 
mourne, 

But  for  the  ladde,  whom  long  1  lovd  so  deare,  10 
Now  loves  a  lasse  that  all  his  love  dnth  scorne  : 

He,  plunged  in  pairie,liis  tressed  locks  doth  teare  ; 
Shepheards  delights  he  doth  them  all  forsweare  ; 

His  pleasaunt  pipe,  which  made  us  merriment. 
He  wilfully  hath  biok,  and  doth  forbeare  15 

His  wonted  songs  vvlierein  he  all  outwent. 
The.   Wliat  is  he  for  a  laiido  you  so  lament) 

Ys  I'lve  such  pinching  paine  to  them  that  prove? 
And  hath  he  skill  to  make  so  excellent, 

Ye'i  hath  so  little  skill  to  bridle  love?  20 

Hob.  Colin  thou   kenst,  the   southerne   sbepbearils 
bove  ; 

Him  Love  hath  wounded  with  a  deadly  darte  : 
Whilome  on  him  was  all  my  care  and  ioye, 
Forcing  with  giltes  to  winne  his  wanton  heart. 
But  r.ow  fiom  me  his  madding  minde  is  start,        25 

And  wooes  the  widdowes  daughter  of  theglenne  ; 
So  now  favre  Rosalind  hath  bredde  his  smart; 

So  now  liis  friend  is  chainiged  for  a  frenne. 
The.    But  if  his  ditties  bene  so  trimly  (light, 

1  pray  thee,  Ilobhinoll,  recorde  some  one,  30 

T!ie  whiles  our  flockes  do  graze  about  in  sight, 

And  we  close  shrowtled  in  this  shade  alone. 
Hob.  Cor.tented  1  :   then  will  I  sing  Ids  laye 

Of  fnir  Elisa,  queene  of  shepheards  all, 
Which  (.nee  he  made  as  by  a  spring  lie  laye,  35 

And  tuned  it  unto  the  waters  fall. 


"  Ye  daintie  n\  mphs,  that  in  this  blessed  brooke 

Doe  bathe  your  brest 
F^orsake  your  watrie  bowres,  and  bether  looke. 

At  my  recjuest.  40 

And  eke  you  virgins  that  on  Parnasse  dwell, 
\\  hence  floweth  Helicon,  the  learned  well, 

Help  me  to  1  laze 

Her  worthy  jirayse 
Which  in  her  sexe  doth  all  excell.  45 

"  Of  fair  Elisa  be  your  silver  song, 

Tiiat  blessed  wight, 
The  flowre  of  virgins  ;  may  she  florisli  long 

Li  j)rincely  plight  I 
For  she  is  Syrinx  daughter  without  spotte,  50 

Which  Pan,  the  shepheardes  god,  of  her  begotte : 

So  sprong  her  grace 

Of  heavenly  race. 
No  morlall  blemishe  may  her  blotte. 

"  See,  where  she  sits  upon  the  grassie  greene,      65 

(O  seemely  sight !) 
Ydad  in  scarlot,  like  a  roayden  queene, 

And  ermines  white  : 
Upon  her  head  a  cremosin  coronet. 
With  dam^ske  roses  and  daftadillies  set ;  60 

Bayleaves  betweene. 

And  primroses  greene, 
Embtdlish  the  sweete  violet, 

"  Tell  me,  have  ye  seene  her  angelike  face, 

Like  Phitbe  fayre  ?  65 

Her  heavenly  haveuur,  her  princely  grace, 

Can  you  well  compare? 
The  redde  rose  medled  with  the  white  yfere. 
In  either  cheeke  depeincten  lively  chere : 

Her  modest  eye,  70 

Her  majestie, 
W'here  have  you  seene  the  like  but  there? 

"  I  sawe  Phnclnis  thrust  out  his  golden  hede 

Upon  her  to  gaze  ; 
But,    when   he   saw  howe   broade  her  beames  did 
sprede,  75 

It  did  him  amaze. 
Hee  blusht  to  see  another  sunne  1  elowe, 
Ne  durst  againe  his  firie  face  out  showe. 

Let  him,  if  hee  dare. 

His  hrighlnesse  compare  80 

With  hers,  to  have  the  overthrowe. 

"  She  we  thyself,  Cynthia,  with  thy  silver  rays, 

And  be  not  abasht  : 
When  shee  the  beames  of  her  beautie  displayes, 

O  how  art  thou  dasht!  85 

But  I  will  not  match  her  with  Latonaes  seede ; 
Such  follie  great  sorow  to  Niobe  did  breede. 

Now  shee  is  a  stone, 

And  makes  daylie  mone, 
Waiiiing  all  other  to  take  heede.  90 

"  Pan  may  bee  prowde  that  ever  hee  begot 

Such  a  bellibone  ; 
And  Syrinx  reioyce,  that  ever  was  her  lot 

To  beare  such  an  one. 
Soone  as  my  younglinges  cryen  for  the  dam  95 

To  her  will  I  offer  a  milkwhite  lamb  : 

She  is  my  goddesse  plaine, 

And  I  her  slupheardes  swain, 
Albee  forswonck  and  forswatt  I  am. 


APRIL. 


377 


"  I  see  Calliope  speede  Ixt  to  tbe  place,  100 

Where  my  goddesse  shines  ; 
And  after  lier  the  other  muses  trace, 

Willi  their  violines. 
Bene  they  not  b?y-braunches  which  they  doe  beare, 
All  for  Ellisa  in  her  hand  to  weare  ?  103 

So  swcetelie  they  play, 

And  sing-  all  the  way, 
That  it  a  lieaven  is  to  heare. 

Lo,  how  finely  the  graces  can  it  foots 

To  the  instrument:  110 

They  dauncen  deffly,  and  singen  soote. 

In  their  meriinent. 
Wants  not  a  fourth  grace,  to  make  the  daunce  even? 
Let  that  rowme  to  my  lady  bee  yeven. 

She  shalbe  a  grace,  115 

To  fill  the  fourth  place, 
And  reigne  with  the  rest  in  heaven. 

"  And  vi-hither  rennes  this  bcvie  of  ladies  bright, 

Eaunged  in  a  rowe  ? 
They  bene  all  ladyes  of  the  lake  behight,  1<J0 

i'hat  unto  her  <;oe. 
Chloris,  that  is  the  chiefest  nymjih  of  all, 
Of  olive  braunches  beaies  a  coronall  : 

Olives  bene  for  peace, 

When  warres  do  surcease :  125 

Such  for  a  princesse  bene  pincipall. 

"  Ye  shepheards  daughters,  that  dwell  on  the  greene, 

Hye  you  there  apace : 
Let  none  come  there  but  that  virgins  bene. 

To  adorne  her  grace  :  'ISO 

And,  when  }'ou  come  whereas  shee  is  in  place, 
See  that  your  rudenesse  doe  not  you  disgrace: 

Binde  your  fillets  faste, 

And  gird  in  your  waste. 
For  more  fineness,  with  a  tawdrie  lace.  135 

Bring  hether  the  pincke  and  purple  cullambine. 

With  gelliflowres  ; 
Bring  coronations,  and  sops  in  wine, 

Worne  of  paramoures  : 
Strowe  mee  the  grounde  with  daffadowndiHies,   140 
And  cowslips,  and  kingcujis,  and  loved  lillies  : 

The  pretie  pawnee. 

And  the  clievisaunce. 
Shall  match  with  tbe  fayre  fiowre  delice. 

"  Now  rise  up,  Elisa,  decked  as  tliou  art  145 

In  royall  arav  ; 
And  now  yee  duintie  damsells  may  depart 

Ethe  one  her  way. 
I  feare,  I  have  troubled  your  troupes  too  long  ; 
Let  dame  Elisa  thanke  vou  for  her  so.-g  :  150 

And,  if  you  come  hether 

When  damsines  I  gether, 
I  will  part  them  all  you  among." 

The.  And  was  thilk  same  song  of  Colins  owne  ma- 
king? 

Ah  !   foolis!)  boy  !  that  is  with  love  yblent ;     155 
Great  pittie  is,  bee  bee  in  such  taking. 

For  naught  caren  that  bene  so  lewdly  bent. 
Hob.  Sicker  I  holde  him  for  a  greater  ton, 

Tliat  loves  the  tlimg  liee  cannot  purcliase. 
But  let  us  homeward,  for  night  drawetli  on,         160 

And  twinckiirig  staires  the  daylight  hence  chase. 


THENOTS    EMBLEME. 

0  quum  te  memorem  Virgo! 

HOBBINOLLS  EMBLEME. 

0  ilea  certe ! 

MAY. 
AEGLOCiA  QUINTA. 

.\KGUMENT. 

In  this  fift  Aeglogue.  under  the  person  of  two 
shepheards,  Piers  and  Palinode,  be  represented  two 
formes  of  pastours  or  ministers,  or  the  jir^testant 
and  the  catholicke;  whose  chiefe  talke  sfandeth  in 
reasoning,  whether  the  life  of  the  one  must  be  like 
the  other;  with  wlioin  having  shewed,  that  it  is 
daungerous  to  maintaine  any  felowship,  nr  give  too 
much  credite  to  their  colourable  an. I  fained  good  wil, 
he  telleth  liim  a  tale  of  the  foxe,  that,  by  such  a 
counterpoint  of  craftinesse,  deceyved  and  devoured 
the  credulous  kidde. 

PALING  IJE.    PIERS. 

PALINODE. 

Is  not  tliilke  tbe  mery  moneth  of  May, 
When  love-lads  masken  in  t'resh  aray? 
How  falles  it.  then,  wee  no  merrier  beene, 
Ylike  as  others,  girt  in   gaw  dy  greene  ? 
Our  bloncket  liveries  bene  all  to  sadde  .? 

F<'r  thilke  same  season,  when  all  is  ycladde 
With  jileasaunce  ;  the  ground  with  grasse,  the  woods 
With  greene  leaves,  the  bu>heswith  bloosming  buds 
Youngthes  folke  now  fiocken  in  every  wijerc. 
To  gather  May  buskeis  and  smelling  briie  ;  10 

And  home  iht-y  hasten  the  jiostes  to  (light. 
And  all  the  kirk-jiillours  eiie  day-light, 
With  hawihorne  buds,  and  sweete  eglantine. 
And  girlonds  of  roses,  and  sopjies  in  wine. 
Such  merimake  holy  saints  doth  i|ueme,  15 

But  wee  here  sitten  as  drow  nde  in  drenie. 

PiEiis.  For  younkers.  Palinode,  such  follies  fitte. 
But  wee  tway  bene  men  of  elder  witte. 

Pal.  Sicker  this  morowe,  no  lenger  agoe, 
I  sawe  a  shole  of  shephcardes  outgoe  20 

With  singing  and  shouting,  and  iolly  chere  : 
Before  them  yode  a  lustie  tabrere, 
That  to  the  many  a  horii-iiype  |.layd, 
^\'hereto  they  dauncen  eche  one  with  his  mayd. 
To  see  those  folks  m.ake  such  iovysaunce,  25 

INIade  my  heart  after  the  p>pe  to  daunce  : 
Tho  to  the  greene  wood  tiiey  speeden  hem  all. 
To  fetchen  home  Mav  with  their  musicall  ; 
And  home  they  bringen  in  a  niyull  throne. 
Crowned  as  king;  and  his  queene  atlone  30 

Was  Lady  Flora,  on  whom  did  attend 
A  fayre  fiocke  of  faeries,  and  a  fresh  bend 
Of  lovely  nymjibes.      (  O  that  I  were  tin  re, 
'Fo  helpen  the  ladies  their  inavbush  beare  ! ) 
Ah  !   Piers,  bene  not  thy  teeth  on  edge,  to  ihinke    o 
How  great  sjiort  they  gaynen  with  little  suinck  ? 

Pirns.   Perdie,  so  la^re  am  1  from  envie. 
That  their  f..ndnesse  iiilv  1  ]iitie  : 
Those  faytours  little  regarden  tlieir  charge, 
While  they,  letting  their  sb^eI)  riinne  at  large,       40 
Passen  their  time,  that  should  he  sparely  spent, 
lu  lustihede  and  wanton  meryment. 


378 


THE  SHEPH  EARDS  CALENDER. 


Thilke  same  bene  sliepheardes  for  the  devils  stedde, 

That  playen  while  their  flockes  be  unt'edde: 

Well  It  is  seene  tiieir  sheepe  bene  not  their  owne,  45 

That  letten  them  runne  at  randoii  alone  ; 

But  thev  bene  hyred  for  little  pav 

Of  other,  that  caren  as  little  as  the}-, 

Wliat  falW  the  fiocke,  so  they  ban  the  fleece, 

And  o-et  all  tiie  gayne  paying  but  a  peece.  50 

I  muse,  what  account  both  these  will  make  ; 

'l"he  one  for  the  hire,  which  he  doth  take, 

And  th'  other  for  leaving-  his  lordes  taske, 

\\  hen  yreat  Pan  account  of  shepheards  shall  aske. 

Pal.  Sicker,  now  I  see  thou  speakest  of  spight,  55 
All  for  thou  lackest  somdele  their  delight. 
1  (as  I  am)  had  rather  be  envied, 
All  were  it  of  my  foe,  then  fonly  pitifed  ; 
And  yet,  if  neede  were,  pitied  would  be. 
Rather  then  otlier  should  scorne  at  me  ;  60 

For  pittied  is  mishap  that  nas  remedie, 
But  scorned  bene  deedes  of  fond  foolerie. 
What  shou'.den  shepheards  other  things  tend. 
Then,  sifh  their  God  his  good  does  them  send, 
Reapen  the  fruite  thereof,  that  is  pleasure,  65 

T)ie  while  they  here  liven  at  ease  and  leasure  1 
For,  when  tliey  bene  dead,  their  good  is  ygoe. 
They  sleepen  in  rest  w-ell  as  other  moe  : 
Tho  with  them  wends  what  they  spent  in  cost, 
But  what  they  left  behinde  them  is  lost.  70 

Good  is  no  good,  but  if  it  be  spend  ; 
God  giveth  good  for  none  other  end. 

Puns.  Ah  !   Palinode,  thou  art  a  worldes  child  : 
^Vho  touches  pitch,  mought  needs  be  defilde  ; 
But  shepheards  (as  Algrind  used  to  say)  75 

jMought  not  live  ylike  as  men  of  the  laye. 
With  them  it  sits  to  care  for  their  heire, 
Enaunter  their  heritage  doe  impaire  : 
They  must  ])rovide  for  meanes  of  maintenaunce. 
And  to  continue  their  w-ont  countenaunce :  80 

But  slieplieard  must  walke  another  way, 
Sike  worldly  sovenance  he  must  fbr-say. 
'I'he  Sonne  of  his  loines  why  should  he  regard 
To  leave  enriched  with  that  he  hath  spard .' 
Should  not  thilke  God,  that  gave  him  that  good,    85 
Eke  cherish  iiis  chdd,  if  in  his  waies  he  stood  ? 
For  if  he  mislive  in  leudness  and  lust, 
Little  hootes  all  the  wealth  and  the  trust, 
Thut  his  father  left  by  inheritaunce  ; 
All  will  be  soon  wasted  with  misgovernaunce  .      90 
But  through  this,  and  other  their  miscreaunce, 
'I'liey  maken  many  a  wrong  chevisaunce. 
Heaping  up  waves  of  Vv-ealth  and  woe, 
'I'he  flouds  whereof  shall  them  overflow. 
Sike  mens  follie  I  cannot  compare  95 

Better  then  to  the  apes  foolish  care, 
That  is  so  enamoured  of  her  young  one, 
(And  yet,  God  wote,  such  cause  had  shee  none,) 
That  with  her  hard  liold,  and  straight  embracing, 
She  stoppeili  the  bi-eath  of  her  youngling.  100 

So  oftentimes,  when  as  good  is  meant. 
Evil  ensueth  of  wrong  entent. 

']  he  time  was  once,  and  may  again  retorne, 
(For  ouglit  may  hapjien,  that  hath  been  beforne,) 
When  shepheards  had  none  inheritaunce,  105 

Ne  of  land  nor  fee  in  sufl'eraunce. 
But  what  miglit  arise  of  the  hare  sheepe, 
(Were  it  more  or  Jesse)  which  they  did  keeps. 
Well  ywis  was  it  with  shepheards  ihoe  : 
Nought  having,  nought  feared  they  to  forgoe ;      110 
For  Pan  himselfe  was  their  inheritaunce. 
And  little  them  served  lor  their  Tnaintenaunce. 


The  shepheards  Gml  so  well  them  guided, 

That  of  nought  they  were  unprovided  ; 

Butter  enough,  bonny,  milke,  and  whay,  115 

And  their  flockes  fleeces  them  to  araye : 

But  tract  of  time  and  long  prosperitie, 

(That  nource  of  vice,  this  of  insolencie). 

Lulled  the  sheplieards  in  such  securitie. 

That,  not  content  with  loyall  obeysaunce,  120 

Some  gan  to  gape  for  greedie  govemaunce. 

And  match  them  selfe  with  mightie  potentates. 

Lovers  of  lordship,  and  troublers  of  states  : 

Tho  gan  sheplieards  swaines  to  looke  aloft. 

And  leave  to  live  hard,  and  learne  to  ligge  soft :  1"5 

Tho,  under  colour  of  shepheards,  somewliile 

There  crept  in  wolves,  full  of  fraud  and  guile. 

That  often  devoured  their  owne  sheejie. 

And  often  the  shepheards  that  did  hem  keej)  : 

This  was  the  first  sourse  of  shepheards  sorow,    130 

That  now  nill  be  (juitt  with  baile  nor  borow. 

Pal.    I'hree  lliinges  to  heare  bene  veiy  burdenous, 
But  the  fourth  to  tbrbeare  is  outragious  : 
Wemen,  that  of  loves  longing  once  lust, 
Hardly  forbearen,  but  have  it  they  must  :  135 

So  when  choler  is  inflamed  with  rage. 
Wanting  revenge,  is  hard  to  asswage  : 
And  who  can  counsell  a  thirstie  soule. 
With  patience  to  forbeare  the  ofired  bowle? 
But  of  all  burdens,  that  a  man  can  beare,  140 

JMost  is,  a  fooles  talke  to  beare  and  to  heare. 
I  vi-eene  the  geaunt  has  not  such  a  weight. 
That  beares  on  his  shouldejs  the  heavens  height. 
Thou  flndest  fault  where  nys  to  be  found. 
And  buildest  strong   warke  upon  a  w-eake  ground  : 
Thou  raylest  on  right  withouten  reason,  14(i 

And  blamest  hem  much  for  small  encheason. 
How  shoulden  shepheardes  live,  if  not  so? 
What?  should  they  pynen  in  ])ayne  and  woe  ? 
Nay,  sav  I  thereto,  by    mv  deare  borrowe,  150 

If  1  may  rest,  1  nill  live  in  sorrowe, 

Sorrowe  ne  neede  be  hastened  on, 
For  be  will  come,  without  calling,  anone. 
While  times  enduren  of  trancjuillitie, 
Usen  we  freely  our  felicitie  ;  155 

For,  V. '"^n  approchen  the  stormie  stowres, 
We  mought  with  our  shoulders  bear  oS  the  sharp 

sliowres  ; 
And,  sooth  to  sayne,  nought  seemeth  sike  strife, 
That  shepheards  so  witen  eche  others  life. 
And  layen  her  faults  the  worlds  beforne,  160 

The  while  their  foes  done  cache  of  hem  scorne. 
Let  none  mislike  of  that  may  not  be  mended  ; 
So  conteck  soone  by  concord  mought  be  ended. 

PiEits.  Shepheard,  1  list  no  accordaunce  make 
With  shepheard,  that  does  the  right  way  forsake  j  165 
And  of  the  twaine,  if  choise  were  to  me. 
Had  lever  my  foe  then  my  friend  he  be  ; 
For  what  concord  ban  li-ght  and  darke  sam? 
Or  what  peace  has  the  lion  with  the  laiiibe  ; 
Such  faitors,  when  thcyr  false  hearts  bene  hidde,    170 
Will  doe  as  did  the  foxe  by  the  kidde. 

Pal.  Now,  Piers,  of  fellowship,  tell  us  that  saying  ; 
For  the  lad  can  keep  both  our  flockes  from  straying. 

Pans.  Thilke  same  kidde  (as  1  can  well  devise) 
Was  too  very  foolish  and  unwise  ;  175 

For  on  a  time,  in  sommer  season, 
'I'he  giit(!  her  dame,  that  had  good  reason, 
Yode  forth  abroad,  unto  the  greene  wood, 
To  brouze,  or  play,  or  what  she  thought  good  . 
But,  for  slie  had  a  motlierly  care  180 

Of  h""-  -'Qniig  Sonne,  and  wit  to  beware, 


MAY, 


379 


She  set  litT  youngling  before  lier  knee, 
'I'liat  was  both  fresh  and  lovely  to  see, 
Anil  full  of  favour  as  kidde  nioughf  me. 
His  vellet  head  began  to  shoote  out,  185 

And  his  wreathed  horns  pin  newly  sprout; 
The  blossomes  of  lust  to  bud  did  beginne, 
And  spring  forth  ranckly  under  his  chinne. 
"  My  Sonne,"  quoth  she,  and  wi  h  that  gan  weepe ; 
For  carefull  thoughtes  in  her  heart  did  creepe  ;)  190 
"  God  blesse  thee,  poore  orphane  !   as  he  nioughl  me. 
And  send  thee  ioy  of  thy  ioUitie. 
Thy  father,"  (that  worde  she  spake  with  payne. 
For  a  sigh  had  nigh  rent  her  heart  in  twaine,) 
"Tby  father,  had  he  lived  this  day,  195 

To  see  the  braunche  of  his  body  displaye, 
How  would  he  have  ioyed  at  this  sweete  sight  ? 
But  ah  !   false  fortune  s\ich  ioy  did  him  spight, 
And  cut  oft'  his  dases  with  untimely  woe, 
Betravmg  him  into  the  traynes  of  his  foe.  200 

Now  I,  a  wailefuU  widowe  behight. 
Of  my  olde  age  have  this  one  delight. 
To  see  thee  succeede  in  tiiv  fatliers  steade, 
And  flourish  in  fiowres  of  lustiliead  ; 
For  even  so  thy  father  his  head  upheld,  205 

And  so  his  hautv  homes  did  lie  weld." 
Tho  marking  him  with  melting  eyes, 
A  thrilling  throbbe  from  her  heart  did  arise, 
And  interrupted  all  her  other  speeche 

With  some  olde  sorowe  that  made  a  newbreache  ;  210 

Seemed  she  saw  in  her  younglings  face 

Tho  old  lineaments  of  his  fathers  grace. 

At  last  her  solein  silence  siie  broke, 

And  gan  his  new -budded  beard  to  stroke. 

'•  Kiddie,  (quoth  she)  thou  kenstthe  great  care  215 

1  have  of  thy  health  and  thy  welfare, 

Which  many  wilde  beastes  lis^gen  in  waite 

For  to  entrap  in  thy  tender  st;ite: 

But  most  the  foxe,  maister  of  collusion  ; 

For  he  has  vowed  thy  last  confusion.  220 

Forthy,  my  kiddie,  be  rulde  by  me. 

And  never  give  trust  to  his  trecheree  ; 

And,  it  lie  cliaunce  come  when  I  am  abroade, 

Sperre  the  vate  fast,  for  fear  of  fraude  ; 

r^e  for  all  his  worst,  nor  for  his  best,  225 

Open  the  dore  at  his  re(|uest." 

So  Schooled  the  gote  lier  wanton  sonne. 

That  aunsvier'd  his  mother,  all  should  be  done. 

Tho  went  the  pensive  damme  out  of  dore, 

And  cliauiist  to  stomble  at  the  threshold  fiore  ;       230 

Her  stombling  steppe  somewhat  her  amazed, 

(For  such,  as  signes  of  ill  lucke,  bene  dispraised  ;) 

Yet  fortli  she  yode,  thereat  lialt  agast  ; 

And  kiddie  the  dore  sperred  after  her  fast. 

It  was  not  long,  after  she  was  gone,  235 

But  ihe  false  foxe  came  to  the  dore  anone ; 

IS'ot  as  a  foxe,  for  then  he  had  be  kend. 

But  all  as  a  poore  pedler  he  did  wend. 

Bearing  a  trusse  of  trifles  ai  his  backe, 

As  bells,  and  babes,  and  ;. lasses,  in  his  packs  :     240 

A  biggen  he  had  got  about  his  braine  ; 

For  in  his  headpeace  he  felt  a  sore  paine  : 

HisLii.der  heele  was  wrapt  in  u  dout, 

For  with  great  cold  he  had  got  the  gout ; 

There  at  the  dore  ne  cast  me  downe  his  pack,    245 

And  hud  him  downe,  and  groned,  "  Alack  !  alack  ! 

Ah  !  dear  Lord  !  and  sweet  Saint  (.  haritee  ! 

That  some  'jood  body  would  once  pitie  mee  !" 
Well  I  eard  kiddie  all  this  sore  constraint. 

And  lengd  to  know  the  cau>e  ot  his  complaint ;    250 

'Ibo   creeping  close  behinde  the  wickets  chuck, 

Privil^'  he  peeped  out  through  a  chinck. 


\  ettiot  so  privily  but  the  foxe  him  spyed  ; 
For  deceittuU  meaning  is  double-eyed. 

"  Ah  !  ii'ood  young  maister  "  (then  gan  he  crye"). 
"  Jesus  blesse  that  sweete  face  1  espye,  'J5fi 

And  keep  your  cor])se  from  the  carefull  stounds 
That  in  ray  carrion  carcas  abounds." 

The  kidd,  pittying  hisheavinesse. 
Asked  the  causeof  his  gieat  distresse,  260 

And  also  who,  and  whence  that  he  were. 

Tho  he,  that  had  wellycomi  his  lere, 
Thus  medled  his  talke  with  many  a  teare  : 
"  Sicke,  sicke.  alas!   and  little  iacke  of  dead. 
But  I  be  relieved  by  your  beastlyhead.  265 

I  am  a  poore  sheepe,  albe  my  colour  donne. 
For  with  long  travaile  1  am  brent  in  the  sonne  ; 
And  if  that,  my  grandsire  me  sayd,  be  true, 
Sicker,  1  am  very  s\bbe  to  you  ; 
So  be  your  goodlihead  do  not  disdaine  270 

'J'he  base  kinredof  so  sim|ile  swaine. 
Of  mercv  and  favour  then  I  you  pray, 
With  your  ayde  to  forestall  my  nere  decay.'' 

Tho  out  of  his  packe  a  glasse  he  looke. 
Wherein  while  kiddie  iin wares  did  looke,  275 

He  was  so  enamored  with  ihe  newell. 
That  nought  be  deemed  deare  for  the  iewell : 
Tho  opened  he  the  dore,  and  in  came 
The  false  foxe,  as  he  were  starke  lame : 
His  tayle  he  clapt  betwixt  his  legs  twayne,  280 

Lest  he  should  be  descried  by  his  trayne. 

Being  within,  the  kidde  made  him  good  glee. 
All  for  the  love  of  the  glasse  he  did  see. 
After  his  chere,  the  pedler  can  chat. 
And  tell  many  leasinoes  of  this  and  that. 


285 


And  how  he  could  shew  many  a  tine  knack  ; 

Tho  shewed  his  ware  and  opened  his  packe. 

All  save  a  bell,  which   he  left  behmde 

In  the  basket  for  the  kidde  to  finde  ; 

Which  when  the  kidde  stou])ed  downe  to  catch,  290 

He  pipt  him  in,  and  his  basket  did  latch  ; 

Ne  stayed  he  once  the  dore  to  make  fast. 

But  ranne  away  with  him  in  all  hast. 

Home  when  the  doubtful!  damme  had  her  hide. 
She  mought  see  the  dore  stand  open  wide  ;  Si95 

All  agast,  lowdly  she  gan  to  call 
Her  kidde  ;  but  he  nould  aunswere  at  all : 
Tho  on  the  flore  she  saw  the  merchaundise 
Of  which  her  sonne  had  sette  too  deere  a  prise. 
What  help  !  her  kidde  ?he  knew  well  was  gone  :   300 
She  weeped,  and  wayled,  and  made  great  mone. 
Such  end  had  the  kidde,  for  he  nould  warned  be 
Of  craft,  coloured  with  siiiiplicitie  ; 
And  such  end,  perdie,  does  all  hem  remayne, 
That  of  such  falsers  friendship  bene  fayne.  305 

Pal.  Truely,  Piers,  thou  art  beside  thy  wit, 
Furthest  fro  the  marke,  weening  it  to  hit. 
Now,  1  pray  thee,  let  me  thy  tale  borowe 
For  our  Sir  John,  to  say  to-morowe 
At  the  kerke  when  it  is  holiday  ;  310 

For  well  he  meanes,  but  little  can  say. 
But,  and  if  foxes  bene  so  craftie  as  so, 
IMuch  needeth  all  shepheards  hem  to  know. 

Piers.  Of  their  falshcde  more  could  I  recount, 
But  now  the  bright  sunne  gynneth  to  dismount ; 
And,  for  the  deawie  night  now  doth  nye, 
I  hold  it  best  for  us  home  to  bye.  317 

PALINODES    EMBLEME. 

Pas  vien  apistos  apistei. 

PIERS  HIS  EMBLEME. 

Tis  d'ara  pistis  apiito  ? 


SBO 


THE  SHEFHEARDS  CALENDER. 


lUNE. 
AEG  LOG  A  SEXTA. 

ARGUJIENT. 

This  Aeelog'ue  is  wbolly  vowed  to  the  com- 
playning  of  Colins  ill  successe  in  his  love.  For 
beiii^i  (as  is  aforesaid)  enamored  of  a  country  lasse 
Rosalind,  and  havinj;'  (as  seenietli)  found  place  in 
l)pr  heart,  bee  lamenteth  to  his  deare  friend  Hobbi- 
n  11,  that  be  is  now  forsaken  unfaiilifully,  and  in  his 
sreaile  .Alenalcas  another  she]ilieard  received  disloy- 
ally. And  this  is  the  whole  Argument  of  this 
Aeglog;ue. 

HOBBINOLL.     COLIN  CLOUT. 

HOBBINOLL. 

Lo  !   Colin,  here  the  place  wliose  plesaunt  syte 
From  other  shades  hath  weand  my  wandring  minde. 
Tell  me,  what  wants  me  here  to  worke  delvte  ? 
The  simple  ayre,  the  gentle  warbling  winde, 
So  caltne,  so  coole,  as  no  wliere  else  I  finde  ;  5 

T!ie  grassie  grounde  with  daintie  daysies  dight, 
The  bramble  bush,  where  byrdes  of  every  kinde 
To  tiie  waters  fall  their  tunes  attemper  right. 

Coi..  O  happie  Hobbinoll,  I  blesse  thy  state, 
That  Paradise  bath  founde  which  Adam  lost:        10 
Here  wander  may  thy  fiocke  early  or  late, 
Witbouten  dread  of  wolves  to  bene  ytost ; 
Thy  lovely  layes  here  maist  thou  freely  boste  : 
But  L  unhappie  man  !   whom  cruell  fate 
And  angvie  gods  pursue  from  coste  to  coste,  15 

Can  uo  where  finde  to  shroude  my  lucklesse  pate. 

Hob.  Then,  if  by  me  thou  list  advised  bee. 
Forsake  the  soyle  that  so  doth  thee  bewitch  , 
Leave  mee  those  hilles  where  barbrough  nis  to  see, 
Nor  holy-bush,  nor  brere,  nor  winding  ditch  ;"      20 
And  to  the  dales  resort,  where  sbepheards  ritch. 
And  fruitful)  flocks,  bene  every  where  to  see  : 
Here  no  night-ravens  lodge,  more  black  then  pitch. 
Nor  elvish  ghosts,  nor  gastly  owles  doe  flee  ; 

But  friendly  faeries,  met  with  many  graces,  [night 
And  lightfoote  nympbes,  can  chase  the  lingring 
With  heydeguyes,  and  trimly  trodden  traces,  27 

Whilst  systers  nyne,  which  dwell  on  Parnasse  bight. 
Doe  make  them  musick  for  their  more  delight  ; 
And  Pan  himselfe  to  kisse  ibeir  christall  faces       30 
Will  pype  and  daunce,  when  Pboshe  shineth  bright: 
Such  pierlesse  pleasures  have  wee  in  these  ])laces. 

[yeeres, 
CoL.   And  I,  whylst  youth,  and  course  of  carelesse 
Did  let  me  walke  witbouten  lincks  of  love. 
In  such  delights  did  ioy  amongst  my  peeres  ;         35 
}5ut  ryper  age  such  pleasures  doth  reproove  : 
My  fansie  eke  from  former  follies  moove 
To  stayed  steps  ;  for  time  in  passing  weares, 
(As  garments  doen,  which  wexen  ohie  above,) 
And  dravveth  newe  delights  with  hoarie  haires.     40 

The  couth  I  sing  of  love,  and  tune  my  pype 
Unto  my  plaintive  pleas  in  verses  made  ; 
Tho  would  I  seeke  for  (|ueene-apples  unrype  ; 
To  give  mv  Rosalind,  and  in  sonmier  shade 
Dight  gaudie  i;irlonds  was  my  common  trade,       45 
To  crowne  her  golden  lockes  ,  but  yeeres  more  rype. 
And  losse  of  her,  whose  love  as  Ivfe  I  wayde, 
Those  weary  wanton  toyes  away  did  wype. 


Hon.  Colin,  to  heare  thy  rmies  and  roundelayes 
Which  thou  wert  wont  on  wastefull  hilles  to  sing,  50 
I  more  delight  then  larke  in  sommer  dayes, 
^Vhose  eccho  made  the  neighbour  groves  to  ring, 
And  taught  the  byrdes,  which  in  the  lower  spring 
Did  shroude  in  shady  leaves  from  sunny  rayes, 
Frame  to  thy  songe  their  cheeretul  clieriping,       55 
Or  holde  their  peace,  for  shame  of  thy  sweete  layes,, 

I  sawe  Calliope  with  muses  moe, 

Soone  as  thy  oaten  pv|ie  began  to  sounde. 

Their  yvory  lutes  anil  tamburins  forgoe. 

And  from  the  fountaine,  where  they  sat  around,    60 

Renne  after  hastely  thy  silver  sound  ; 

But,  when  they    came    where  thou  thy    skill  didst 

showe. 
They  drewe  abacke,  as  halfe  with  shame  confound 
Shepheard  to  see,  them  in  their  arte  outgoe. 

Col.  Of  muses,  Hobbinoll,  I  conne  no  skill,     65 
For  'bey  bene  daughters  of  the  highest  love. 
And  holden  scorne  of  homely  shejiheards  quill  ; 
For  sith  1  heard  that  Pan  with  Phoebus  strove. 
Which  him  to  much  rebuke  and  daunger  drove, 
T  never  list  presume  to  Harnasse  hill,  70 

But,  pyping  low  in  shade  of  lowly  grove, 
1  olay  to  please  myselfe,  all  be  it  ill. 

Nought  weigh  I,  who  my  song  doth  praise  or  blame, 
Ne  strive  to  wiiine  renowne,  or  passe  the  rest  : 
With  shepheard  sittes  not  foUowe  flying  fame,        75 
But  feede  bis  flocke  in  fieldes  where  falls  hem  best. 
I  wote  ray  r^'mes  bene  rough,  and  rudely  drest; 
The  fitter  they  my  carefull  case  to  frame  : 
Enough  is  mee  to  paint  out  my  unrest, 
And  poure  my  Dueous  plaintes  out  in  the  same.    80 

The  god  of  snepnearas,  lnyrus,  is  dead, 
\\  ho  taught  mee  homely,  as  I  can,  to  make  : 
Hee,  whilst  bee  lived,  was  the  soveraigne  bead 
Of  shepbeards  all  that  bene  with  love  ytake  : 
Well  couth  hee  wailebis  woes,  and  lightly  slake  85 
'J'be  flames  which  love  within  his  heart  had  bredde, 
And  tell  us  merry  tales  to  keepe  us  wake, 
'1  he  while  our  sheepe  about  us  safely  fedde. 

Nowe  dead  hee  is,  and  lyeth  wrapt  in  lead, 

(O  why  should  death  on  him  sucli  outrase  showe  !) 

And  all  his  passing  skill  with  him  is  fledde,  91 

The  fame  wliereof  doth  dayiie  greater  growe. 

But,  if  on  mee  some  little  drops  would  flowe 

Of  that  the  spring  was  in  bis  learned  hedde, 

I  soone  would  learne  these  woods  to  waile  my  woe,95 

And  teache  the  trees  their  trickling  teares  toshedde. 

Then  should  my  plaintes,  causde  of  discurtesee, 
As  messengers  of  this  my  jdairifull  plight. 
Five  lo  my  love  wherever  that  shee  bee. 
And  pierce  her  heart  with  [)oynt  of  worthy  wight,  100 
As  sbee  deserves,  that  wrought  so  deadly  spight. 
And  thou,  iMenalcas  !  that  by  trecberee 
Didst  uiulerfoiige  my  lasse  to  wexe  so  light, 
Shouldst  well  be  knowne  for  such  thy  villanee. 

But  since  I  am  not  as  1  wisbe  I  were,  lOJ 

Yeei^entle  sheiibearils  !  wliich  your  flocks  doefeedej 
Whether  on  hylles,  or  dales,  or  other  where, 
Bears  witnesse  all  of  this  so  wicked  deede  j 


JUNE. 


381 


And  tell  the  lasse,  whose  flowre  is  woxe  a  weede. 
And  faultlesse  faith  is  turnM  to  faitlilesse  fere,    110 
That  shoe  the  truest  shepheards  heart  made  bleede 
That  lyves  on  earth,  and  loved  her  most  dere. 

Hob.  O  !  carefull  Colin,  I  lament  thy  case  ; 
Thy  teares  would  make  the  hardest  flint  to  flowe  ! 
Ah  !  faithless  Rosalind,  and  vovde  of  grace,        115 
That  art  the  roote  of  all  this  ruthfull  woe  ! 
But  now  is  time,  I  gesse,  homeward  to  goe  : 
Theu  rise,  ye  blessed  flocks  !  and  home  apace, 
Lest  night  c^ith  stealing  steppes  do  you  foresloe. 
And  wett  your  tender  lambs  that  by  you  trace.    120 

COLINS    EMBLEMS. 

Gia  speme  spenta. 

lULY. 
AEGLOGA  SEPTIMA. 

ARGUMENT. 

This  Aeglogue  is  made  in  the  honour  and  com- 
mendation of  good  shepheards,  and  to  the  shame  and 
dispraise  of  proud  and  ambitious  pastours  :  such  as 
Morrell  is  here  imagined  to  be. 

thomalin.  morrell. 

THOMAHN. 

Is  not  thilke  same  a  goteheard  prowde, 

That  sittes  on  j'onder  bancke, 
Whose  straying  heard  them  selfe  doth  shrowde 

Emung  the  bushes  rancke? 
iVIoR.   What,  ho,  thou  iolly  shepheardes  swaine,      5 

Come  up  the  hill  to  me  ; 
Better  is  then  the  lowlv  plaine, 

Als  for  thy  flocke  and  thee. 
Thom.  Ah  !  God  shield,  man,  that  I  should  clime, 

And  learne  to  looke  alofte ;  10 

This  rede  is  rife,  that  oftentime 

Great  clymbers  fall  unsoft. 
In  liumble  dales  is  footing  fast, 

The  trode  is  not  so  tickle. 
And  though  one  fall  through  heedless  hast,  15 

Yet  is  his  misse  not  mickle. 
.And  now  the  sunnehath  reared  upp 

His  fierie-footed  teme, 
iMaking  his  way  between  the  cupp 

And  golden  diademe  ;  20 

The  rampant  lyon  hunts  he  fast. 

With  dogges  of  noysome  breath, 
^^'hose  balefuU  barking  bringes  in  hast 

Pyne,  plagues,  and  dreerie  death. 
Against  his  cruell  scortching  heate,  25 

Where  thou  hast  coverture, 
'I'he  wastefull  hilles  unto  his  threate 

Is  a  plaine  overture  ; 
But,  if  thee  lust  to  holden  chat 

With  seely  shepheardes  swayne,  30 

Come  dov,ne,  and  learne  the  little  what. 

That  Thomalin  can  sa3ne. 
INloR.  Syker,  thous  but  a  leasie  loord. 

And  rekes  much  of  thy  swinck. 
That  with  fond  termes,  and  witlesse  wordes,  35 

To  blere  mine  eyes  doest  thinke. 
la  evill  houre  thou  hentst  in  bond 

Thus  holy  hilles  to  blame. 
For  sacred  unto  saints  they  stond, 

And  of  them  han  their  name.  40 


St.  IMichels  Mount  who  does  not  know, 

That  wardes  the  westerne  coast  ? 
And  of  St.  Brigets  bowre  I  trow 

All  Kent  can  ri^htlv  boast  : 
And  they  that  con  of  muses  skill 

Sayne  most-what,  that  they  dwell 
(As  gote-heardes  wont)  upon  a  hill, 

Beside  a  learned  well. 
And  wonned  not  the  great  good  Pan 

Upon  mount  Olivet, 
Feeding  the'  blessed  flocke  of  Dan, 

Which  did  himselfe  beget? 
TnoM.  O  blessed  sheepe  !     O  shepheard  great ! 

That  bought  his  flocke  so  deare. 
And  them  did  save  with  bloudy  sweat 

From  wolves  that  would  them  teare. 
Men.  Beside,  as  holy  fathers  sayne, 

There  is  a  holy  place 
Where  Tytan  riseth  from  the  mayne 

To  renne  his  davly  race. 
Upon  whose  toppe  the  starres  bene  stayed, 

And  all  the  skie  doth  leane  ; 
There  is  the  cave  wliere  Phoebe  layed 

The  s'jepheard  long  to  dreame. 
W'hilomo  there  used  shepheardes  all 

To  fiedo  theyr  flockes  at  will. 
Till  by  his  folly  one  did  fall, 

That  all  the  rest  did  spill. 
And,  sithens  shepheards  bene  foresayd 

From  places  of  delight, 
For-thy  I  weene  thou  be  afrayd 

To  clime  this  hilles  height. 
Of  Synah  can  I  tell  thee  more, 

And  of  our  Ladyes  bowre  ; 
But  little  needesto  strow  my  store, 

Suffice  this  hill  of  our. 
Here  han  the  holy  faunes  recourse. 

And  Syl  vanes  haunten  rathe  ; 
Here  has  the  salt  Medway  his  sourse. 

Wherein  the  nymphes  doe  bathe  ; 
The  salt  Medway,  that  trickling  stremes 

Adowne  the  dales  of  Kent, 
Till  with  his  elder  brother  Themes 

His  brackish  waves  be  meynt. 
Here  growes  melampode  every  where. 

And  teribinth ,  good  for  gotes  ; 
The  one  my  madding  kids  to  smere. 

The  next  to  heale  their  throates. 
Hereto  the  hilles  bene  nigher  heaven, 

And  thence  the  passage  ethe  ; 
As  well  can  proove  the  piercing  levin. 

That  stldome  falles  beneath. 
Thdm.  Syker,  thou  speakes  like  a  lewd  Icrrell, 

Of  heaven  to  demen  so  ; 
How  be  I  am  but  rude  and  borrell, 

Yet  nearer  waies  I  know. 
To  kerke  the  narre,  from  God  more  farre. 

Has  bene  an  olde-said  sawe  ; 
And  he,  that  strives  to  touche  a  starre. 

Oft  stombles  at  a  stravve. 
Alsoone  may  shepheard  climbe  to  skie 

That  leades  in  lowly  dales. 
As  goteheard  prowd,  that,  sitting  hie. 

Upon  the  mountavne  sayles. 
My  seely  sheepe  like  well  belowe. 

They  neede  not  melampode, 
For  they  bene  hale  enough,  I  trowe. 

And  lyken  their  abode  ; 
But,  if  they  with  thev  gotes  should  yede, 

Thev  soone  might  be  corrupted, 


4d 


50 


60 


65 


70 


75 


80 


85 


90 


95 


10'. 


i05 


11!) 


382 


THE  SHEPIIEARDS  CALENDER, 


Or  like  not  of  the  frowie  fede, 

Or  with  the  weedes  be  glutted. 
The  hilles,  where  dwelled  holy  saints, 

I  reverence  and  adore, 
Not  for  themselfe,  but  for  the  saincts 

\'\hich  han  bene  dead  of  yore. 
And  now  thev  bene  to  heaven  forewent, 

T'heir  good  is  with  them  goe  ; 
Their  sample  onely  to  us  lent, 

'I'hat  als  we  mouglitdoe  soe. 
Shepheards  they  weren  of  the  best, 

And  lived  in  lowly  leas ; 
And,  sith  they  soules  be  now  at  rest, 

\\  hv  done  we  them  disease  ? 
Such  one  he  was  (as  I  have  beard 

Old  Algrind  often  sayne) 
That  whilorae  was  the  first  shepbeard, 

And  lived  wiJi  little  gayne  : 
And  meeke  he  was,  as  meeke  mought  be, 

Simjile  as  simple  sheepe  ; 
Humble,  and  like  in  eche  degree 

The  flocke  which  he  did  keepe. 
Often  he  used  of  his  keepe 

A  sacrifice  to  bring, 
Now  with  a  kidd,  now  with  a  sheepe, 

The  altars  hallowing. 
So  lowted  he  unto  his  lord, 

Such  favour  couth  he  linde, 
That  never  sithenswas  abhord 

The  simple  shepheards  kinde. 
And  such,  I  weene,  the  brethren  were 

That  came  from  Canaiin, 
The  brethren  twelve,  that  kept  yfere 

The  flockes  of  mightie  Pan. 
But  nothing  such  thilke  shepbeard  was 

Whom  Ida  hill  did  beare, 
That  left  his  flocke  to  fetche  a  lasse, 

Whose  love  he  bought  too  deare. 
For  he  was  proud,  that  ill  was  payd, 

(No  such  mought  shepheards  be  !) 
And  with  levv'd  lust  was  overlaid  ; 

Tway  things  doen  ill  agree. 
But  shepbeard  mought  be  meek  and  mild, 

AVell-eyed,  as  Argus  was. 
With  fleshly  follies  undefiled, 

And  stoute  as  steede  of  brasse. 
Sikeone  (sayd  Algrind)  Moses  was. 

That  sawe  his  makers  face, 
His  face,  more  cleare  then  cristall  glasse. 

And  spake  to  him  in  i))ace. 
This  had  a  brother  (his  name  1  knewe) 

The  first  of  all  his  cote, 
A  shepbeard  true,  yet  not  so  true 

■"As  he  that  earst  I  bote. 
Whilome  all  these  were  low  and  liefe, 

And  loved  their  fiockes  to  f'eede; 
They  never  stroven  to  be  chiefe, 

And  simple  was  theyr  weede  : 
But  now  (thanked  be  God  therefore  !) 

The  world  is  well  amend, 
Theyr  weedes  bene  not  so  nigbly  wore  ; 

Such  simplessp  mought  them  shend  ! 
They  bene  yclad  in  purjjle  and  ]iall. 

So  hath  theyr  God  them  blist  ; 
They  reigne  and  rulen  over  all, 

And  lord  it  as  ibey  list; 
Ygyrt  with  beltes  of  glitterand  <^old, 

(Mought  they  good  slipptieards  bene!) 
Their  Pan  their  sheepe  to  them  has  sold, 

I  aay  as  some  have  seene. 


115 


120 


125 


ISO 


135 


140 


145 


150 


155 


160 


165 


iro 


173 


180 


For  Palinode  (if  thou  him  ken) 

Yode  late  on  pilgrimage 
To  Rome  (if  such  be  Rome),  and  thea 

He  sawe  thilke  misusage  ; 
For  shepheardes  (sayd  he)  there  doen  lead,         185 

As  lordes  done  other  where  ; 
Their  sheep  lian  crusts,  and  they  the  bread  : 

The  chippes,  and  they  the  cheere  : 
They  han  the  fleece,  and  eke  the  flesh, 

(O  seely  sheepe  the  while  !)  190 

The  corne  is  theyrs,let  others  thresh. 

Their  handes  they  may  not  file. 
They  han  great  store  and  thriftie  stockes. 

Great  friendes  and  feeble  foes  ; 
What  neede  hem  caren  for  their  flockes,  195 

Theyr  boyes  can  looke  to  those. 
These  wisards  welter  in  wealths  waves, 

Pampred  in  pleasures  deepe  ; 
They  han  fat  kernes,  and  leaiiy  knaves. 

Their  fasting  fiockes  to  keepe.  200 

Sike  mister  men  bene  all  misgone, 

They  heapen  hilles  of  wrath  ; 
Sike  syrlie  shepheards  ban  we  none. 

They  keepen  all  the  path. 
Mou.  Here  is  a  great  deale  of  good  matter  205 

Lost  for  lacke  of  telling  ! 
Now  sicker  I  see  thou  dost  but  clatter, 

Harme  may  come  of  melling. 
Thou  meddlest  more,  then  shall  have  thank, 

To  witen  shepheards  wealth  ;  210 

When  folke  bene  fat,  and  riches  ranck. 

It  is  a  signe  of  health. 
But  say  mee,  what  is  Algrind,  bee 

That  is  so  oft  bynem|ic? 
TiiOM.  Hee  is  a  shepbeard  great  in  gree,  215' 

But  hath  bene  long  ypent : 
One  day  hee  sat  upon  a  hill. 

As  now  thou  wouldest  mee  ; 
But  I  am  taught,  by  Algrinds  ill. 

To  love  the  lowe  de-gree  ;  220 

For  sitting  so  with  bared  scalp. 

An  eagle  sored  bye. 
That,  weening  bis  white  head  was  chalke, 

A  shell-fish  downe  let  flye  ; 
Shee  vveer.d  the  shell-fish  to  have  broke,  225 

But  therewith  bruzed  his  brayne  ; 
So  now,  astonied  with  the  stroke, 

Hee  lyes  in  lingring  payne. 
MoR.  Ah  !  good  Algrind!  his  hap  was  ill, 

But  shall  be  better  in  time.  230 

Now  farewell,  shepbeard,  sith  this  hill 

Thou  hast  such  doubt  to  clime.  232 

PALINODES  EMBLE.ME. 

In  medio  virtus. 

WORRELLS  EMELEME. 

In  summoj'xlicitas, 

AUGUST. 
AEG  LOG  A  OCTAVA. 

ARGUMENT. 

In  this  Aeglogue  is  set  forth  a  delectable  contro- 
versie,  made  in  imitation  of  that  in  Theocritus: 
whereto  also  \'irgil  fashioned  his  third  and  seventh 
Aeglogue.  'I"hey  chose  for  umpere  of  their  strife, 
Cuddy,  a  neat-beards  boye  ;  who,  having  ended 
their  cause,  reciteth  also  himselfe  a  proper  song 
whereof  Colin  he  saith  was  author. 


AUGUST. 


383 


WILLTTs.    PF.RIGOT.     CUDDIE. 


Tell  raee,  Perigot,  wliat  slialbe  the  game, 

Wherefore  w\*h  mine  thou  dare  thy  musick  matche? 
Or  bene  thv  bagpvpes  renne  farre  out  of  fi-;ime  f 

Or  liath  the  crainpe  thy  ioynts  bennmd  with  ache  ? 
Per.  Ah  !    Willie,  when  the  hart  is  ill  assayde,       5 
How  can  ba^pve  or  ioynts  be  well  apayde  ? 
WiL.  What  the  foule  evill  hath  thee  so  bestad  ? 

Whilom  thou  was  peregall  to  the  best, 
And,  wont  to  make  the  iolly  sheplieards  sjlad, 

With  pvping  and  dauncing  didst  passe  tlie  rest.lO 
Per.  Ah  !  Willie,  now  I  have  learnd  a  new  daunce  ; 
My  old  musick  maid  by  a  new  mischaunce. 
Will.  Mischiefe  mought  to  that  mischaunce  befall, 

That  so  hath  raft  us  of  our  meriment  j 
But  rede  me  what  paine  doth  thee  so  apall;  15 

Or  lovest  tliou,  or  bene  thy  younglinges  miswent? 
Per.  Love  hath  misled  both  my  younglinges  and  me; 
I  pine  for  payne,  and  they  my  paine  to  see. 
WiL.         Perdie.and  wellawaye  !  ill  may  thevtbrive  ; 

Nev;n-  knew  I  lovers  sheepe  in  good  plight:      20 
But  and  if  in  rvmes  with  me  thou  dare  strive, 

Such  fond  fantasies  sliall  soone  be  put  to  flight. 
Per.  That  shall  I  doe,  though  mochell  worse  I  fared  : 

Never  shall  be  sayde  that  Perigot  was  dared. 
Wil.  Then  loe,  Perigot,  the  pledge  which  1  p!ight,25 

A  mazer  ywrought  of  the  majjle  warre, 
Wherein  is  enchased  many  a  fay  re  sight 

Of  bears  and  tygers,  that  maken  fiers  warre; 
And  over  them  spred  a  goodly  wilde  vine, 
Entrailed  with  a  wanton  yvy  twine.  30 

Thereby  is  a  lambe  in  the  wolves  iawes ; 

But  see,  how  fast  renneth  the  shepheard  swain 
To  save  the  innocent  from  the  beastes  pawes. 

And  here  with  his  sheepehooke  hath  him  slain. 
Tell  me,  such  a  cup  hast  thou  ever  seene?  33 

Well  mought  it  beseeme  any  harvest  queene. 

Per.  Thereto  will  I  pawne  yonder  spotted  lambe  ; 

Of  all  my  flocke  there  nis  sike  another, 
For  I  brought  him  up  without  the  dambe  ; 

But  Colin  Clout  rafte  me  of  his  brother,  40 

That  he  purchast  of  me  in  the  plaine  field  ; 
Sore  against  my  will  was  I  forst  to  yeeld. 
Wil.  Sicker,  make  like  account  of  his  brother; 

But  who  shall  iudge  the  wager  wonne  or  lost? 
Per.  That  shall  yonder  heardgrome  and  none  other. 

Which  over  the  pousse  hetherward  doth  post.  46 
Wil.    But,  for  the  sunnbeame  so  sore  doth  us  beate, 
Weie  not  better  to  shunne  the  scortching  heate  ? 
PirH.  Well  agreed,   Willie;  then   set  thee  downe, 
swayne  ; 

Sike  a  song  never  heardestthou  but  Colin  sing.  50 
Cud.  Liynne,    when  ye    list,  ye  iolly  shepheardes 
twayne  ; 

Sike  a  iudge,  as  Cuddie,  were  for  a  king. 
Per.  "  It  fell  upon  a  holy  eve,  ' 
Wil.         Hey,  ho,  holiday  ! 

Per.  Wken  holy  fathers  wont  to  shrieve  ;  55 

Wil.  Now  giimelh  this  roundelay. 

Per.  Sitting  upon  a  hill  so  bie, 
Wil.  Hey,  ho,  the  high  hill ! 

Per.    The  while  my  liocke  did  feede  therehy ; 
WiL.  ^      The  while  the  shepheard  selfe  did  spill ;  60 
Fep.  I  saw  the  bouncing  Bellibone, 
WiL.  Hey,  ho,  Bonnibell  ! 

Pbr,  Tripping  over  the  dale  alone  ; 
Wil.  she  can  trip  it  very  well. 


Per.  Well  decked  in  a  frocke  of  gray,  65 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  gray  is  greet ! 

Per.  And  in  a  kutle  of  greene  .saye, 

Wil.         The  greene  is  for  maydens  meet. 

Per.  A  chapelet  on  her  head  she  wore, 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  chapelet '.  70 

Per.  Of  sweete  violets  therein  was  store, 

W.L.  She  sweeter  then  the  violet. 

Per.   My  sheepe  did  leave  their  wonted  food, 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  seely  sheepe  ! 

Pfr.  And  gazd  on  her  as  they  were  wood,  7b 

Wil.         Wood  as  he  that  did  tbein  keepe. 

Per.  As  the  bonilasse  passed  bye, 

WiL.  Hey,  ho,  bonilasse  ! 

Per.  She  rovde  at  me  with  glauncing  eye, 

Wil.  As  cleare  as  the  cristall  glasse  :  80 

Per.  All  as  the  sunny  beame  so  bright, 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  the  sunny  beame  ! 

Per.  Glaunceth  from  Phwhus  face  fo-thright, 

Wil.         So  love  into  thy  heart  did  streame  : 

Per.  Or  as  the  thonder  cleaves  the  cloudes,  8.5 

WjL.  Hey,  ho,  the  thonder  ! 

Per.  Wherein  the  lightsome  levin  shroudes, 

WiL.         So  cleaves  thy  soule  asonder  : 

Per.  Or  as  Dame  Cvnthias  silver  ray, 

WiL.         Hey,  ho,  the  moonelight  !  90 

Her.   Upon  the  glittering  wave  doth  play, 

Wil.         Such  play  is  a  pitteous  ]ilight. 

Per.  The  glaunce  into  my  heart  did  glide 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  the  glyder  ! 

Per.  Therewith  my  soule  was  sharply  gryde,       95 

Wil.  Such  woundes  soon  wexen  wider. 

Per.  Hasting  to  raunch  the  arrowe  out, 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  Perigot! 

Per.  I  left  the  head  in  my  heart-root, 

Wil.  It  was  a  desperate  shot.  100 

Per.  There  it  ranckleth  aye  more  and  more, 

WiL.         Hey,  ho,  the  arrow  ! 

Per,   Ne  can  I  find  salve  for  my  sore, 

Wil.         Love  is  a  careless  sorrow. 

Per.  And  though  my  bale  with  death  1  bought,  105 

\V  iL.  Hey,  ho,  heavie  cheere  ! 

Per.  Yet  should  thilk  lasse  not  from  my  thought, 

WiL.  So  you  may  buye  golde  too  deere. 

Per.  But  whether  in  paynefull  love  I  pyne, 

\\'iL.  Hey,  ho,  pinching  payne  I  IIC 

Per.  Or  thrive  in  wealth,  she  shalbe  mine, 

Wil.  But  if  thou  can  her  obtaine. 

Per.  And  if  for  graceles,se  griefe  I  dye, 

\ViL.  Hey,  lio,  gracelesse  griefe  ! 

Per.  Witnesse  she  slue  me  with  lier  eve,  115 

\ViL.  Let  thy  folly  be  the  priefe. 

Per.  And  you  that  sawe  it,  simple  sheepe, 

Wil.  Hey,  ho,  the  fayre  flocke ! 

Per.  For  priefe  thereof,  my  death  shall  vs-eepe, 

Wil.         And  mone  with  many  a  mocke,  120 

Per,  So  learnd  1  love  on  a  holy  eve, 

Wil.  Hey,  bo,  holy-day  ! 

Per.  That  ever  since  my  heart  did  greve, 

Wil.         Now  endeth  our  roundelay." 

Cud.  Sicker,  sike  a  roundle  never  heard  1  none ;  12 

Little  lacketh  Perigot  of  the  best, 
And  Willie  is  not  "greatly  overgone. 

So  weren  his  under-songes  well  addrest, 
Wil.  Heardgrome,  1  fear  me  thou  have  a  sciuint  eve  , 
Areede  uprightly^  who  has  the  victorie.  130 

Cud.   Fayth  of  my  soule,  J  deeme  eche  have  gained  ; 

Forthy  let  the  lambe  be  Willie  his  owne ; 
And  for  Perigot,  so  well  hath  him  payn^.d, 

To  him  be  the  wroughten  mazer  alonu. 


38-1. 


THE  SHEPIIKARUS  CALENDER. 


Pfk.   Peridot  is  well  pleased  with  the  dooine,       135 
Ne  can  W  illie  wi-te  the  wifeless  liemdo-i-oome. 
WiL.   Never  dempt  more  right  ofbeautie.  1  weene, 
Tile  shepheard  of  Ida  that  iudged  lieauties  (pieene. 
Cud.    I'ut  tell  me,  shephcards,  should  ii  not  yshend 

Your  roundels  fresh,  to  jjeare  a  doleful!  verse  140 
Of  Rosalind  (who  knowes  not  Rosalind?) 

That  Colin  made  ?  ylke  can  I  you  rehearse. 
Peu.   Now  say  it,  Cuddie,  as  thou  art  a  ladde; 
With  mery  thing  its  good  to  medle  sadde. 
VViL.  Favth  of  mvsoule,  thou  shall  ycrouned  be  145 

In  Colins  .steede,  if  thou  this  song  areede  ; 
^or  never  thing  on  earth  so  pleaseth  me 

As  him  to  heare^  or  matter  of  his  deede. 
Cud.  Then  listen  ech  unto  my  heavie  lay, 
An<l  tune  your  pypes  as  ruth  full  as  yee  may.       150 

"  Ye  wastefull  woodes  !  bear  witnesse  of  my  woe, 
Wherein  mv  jdaints  did  oftentimes  resounde  ; 
Ye  carelesse  byrds  are  privy  to  my  cryes, 
Which  in  your  songs  were  woont  to  make  a  part : 
Thou.pleasaunt  spring,  hast  luld  mee  oft  asleepe,  155 
Whose  steames  my  trickling  teares  did  oft  augment ! 

"  Resort  of  people  doth  my  griefes  augment, 
The  walled  townes  doe  worke  my  greater  woe ; 
The  forest  wide  is  fitter  to  rewound 
The  hollow  eccho  of  my  carefull  cries  :  160 

I  hate  the  house,  since  thence  my  love  did  part. 
Whose  waileful  want  debars  my  eyes  of  sleej)e. 

"  Let  stremes  of  teares  supply  the  place  of  sleepe ; 
Let  all,  that  sweete  is,  voyd  ;  and  all,  that  may  aug- 

mesit 
Mv  dide,  drew  neere  !  more  meete  to  waile  my  woe 
Bene  the  wilde  woods,  my  sorows  to  resound,     166 
Then  bed,  nor  bowre,  both  which  I  fill  with  cries. 
When  I  them  see  so  waste,  and  finde  no  part 

"  Of  pleasure  past.     Here  will  I  dwell  apart 
In  gastfuU  grove  therefore,  till  my  last  sleep        170 
Doo  close  mine  eyes ;  so  shall  I  not  augment 
With  sight  of  such  as  chaunge  mj'  rcstlesse  woe. 
Help  me,  yee  baneful  bvrds  !  whose  shrieking  sound 
In  signe  of  dreery  death,  my  deadly  cries 

■'  Most  ruthfully  to  tune:  and  as  my  cryes  175 

(Which  of  my  woe  cannot  bewray  least  jiart) 
You  heare  all  night,  when  nature  cravetli  sleep. 
Increase,  so  let  your  yrksome  yelles  augment. 
Thus  all  the  nightes  in  plaintes,  the  dave  in  woe, 
I  vowed  have  to  waste,  till  safe  and  sound  180 

"  She  home  returne,  whose  voyces  silver  sound 
To  cheerefuU  songs  can  chaunge  my  cheerelesse  cries. 
Hence  with  the  nijjhtingah;  will  I  take  part. 
That  blessed  byrd,  that  spendes  her  time  of  sleepe 
In  songes  and  plaintive  pleas,  the  more  t'  augment 
Th«  memorie  of  his  niisdeude  that  hred-iier  woe.  186 

"  And  you  that  feel  no  woe,  wlion  as  the  sound 

Of  these  my  nightlie  cries  ye  bean;  •,ij);irt. 

Let  hreake  your  sounder  sleepe,  and  pitie  augment." 

Pkr.  O  Colin,  Colin!  the  shepheardes  ioye,        190 
How  I  admire  ech  turning  of  thy  verse; 

.'V.id  Cuddie,  freslie  Cuddie,  tlie  liefest  boye, 
How  dolefully  his  dole  thou  didst  rehearse! 

Cud.  Tlien  blow  your  pypes,  shepheards,  till  you  he 
at  home  ; 

The  night  higueth  fast,  yts  time  to  be  gone.         195 


PERIOOT    HIS    EMELEME, 

Vuicenti  gloria  vicii, 

WILI-VES    EMIit.KME. 

Vinto  noil  vilto. 

CUDDIES    EMBLEME. 

Felice  chi  puo, 

SEPTElMBER. 
AEGLOGA  NONA. 

ARGUMENT. 

Hfrein  Diggon  Davie  is  devised  to  be  a  shep- 
heard that,  in  hope  of  more  gaine,  drove  his  sheepe 
into  a  farre  countrev.  The  abuses  whereof,  and 
loose  living  of  popish  prelates,  by  occasion  of  Hob- 
binols  demaund,  he  discourseth  at  large. 

HOBBINOLL.    DIGGON  DAVIE. 

nOBBINOLL. 

DionoN  Davie  !  I  bid  her  god  day  ; 

Or  Diggon  her  is,  or  I  missay. 

,   Dig.    Her  was  her,  while  it  was  day -light, 

]5ut  nowe  iier  is  a  most  wretched  wight : 

For  day,  that  was,  is  wightly  past,  5 

And  now  at  earst  the  dirke  night  doth  hast. 

Hob-  Diggon,  areede  who  has  thee  so  dight ; 
Never  I  wist  thee  in  so  poore  a  plight. 
Where  is  the  fnyre  flocke  thou  wast  woont  to  lead? 
Or  bene  they  chaftVed,  or  at  mischiefe  dead';  10 

Dig.  Ah  !  for  love  of  that  is  to  thee  most  leefe, 
Hobbinoll,  I  pray  tliee  gall  not  my  olde  greefe  ; 
Sike  question  ripjieth  up  cause  of  new  woe. 
For  one,  opened,  mote  unfold  many  moe. 

Hob.  Nay,  but  sorrow  close  shrouded  in  heart,  15 
I  know,  to  keepe  is  a  burdenous  smart  : 
Ech  thing  imparted  is  more  cath  to  beare  : 
When  the  rayne  is  fallen,  the  clouds  waxen  cleare. 
And  now,  sitlience  1  saw  thy  head  last, 
Thrise  three  moones  bene  fullv  spent  and  past;    20 
Since  when  thou  hast  measured  much  ground, 
And  wandred  weele  about  the  world  round. 
So  as  thou  can  many  thinges  relate  : 
But  tell  me  first  of  thv  flockes  estate.  [fore  ! 

Dig.  i\Iy  sheepe  bene  wasted  ;  (wae  is  me  there- 
The  iolly  sliejiheard  that  was  of  yore,  2G 

Is  now  nor  iolly,  nor  shepheard  more. 
In  forreine  coastes  men  sayd  was  plentie  : 
And  so  there  is,  but  all  of  miserie  : 
I  dempt  there  much  to  liave  eeked  my  store,         30 
But  such  eeking  hath  made  my  heart  sore. 
In  tho  countries,  wliereas  I  have  bene, 
No  beeing  for  those  that  truly  mene  ; 
But  for  such,  as  of  guile  inaken  gaine. 
No  such  country  as  there  to  reniaine  ;  35 

They  setten  to  sale  tlieyr  shops  of  shame, 
And  maken  a  mart  of  theyr  good  name  : 
'I'he  she])heurds  there  robben  one  another 
And  layen  haytes  to  beguile  her  brother ; 
Or  they  will  buyc  his  sheepe  out  of  the  cote,         4U 
Or  they  will  carven  the  sliej)heardes  throte. 
The  shephe"irdes  swayne  you  cannot  well  ken 
But  it  be  by  his  pritle,  from  other  men  ; 


SEPTEMBER. 


385 


45 


Thev  looken  bigge  as  bulles  that  bene  bate 
And  bearen  the  cragge  so  stiffe  and  so  state, 
As  cocke  on  his  dunghill  crowing-  cranck. 

Hoe.  Diggon,  I  am  so  stitfe  and  so  stanck, 
That  uneth  may  I  stand  any  more ; 
And  now  the  westerne  winde  bloweth  sore, 
That  now  is  in  his  chiefe  soveraigntee,  60 

Beating  the  withered  leafe  from  tlie  tree  ; 
Sitte  w-e  downe  here  under  tlie  hill ; 
Tho  may  we  talke  and  telleu  our  fill, 
And  make  a  mocke  at  the  blustering  blast: 
Now  say  on,  Diggon,  whatever  thou  hast.  55 

Dig.  Hobbin,  ah  Ilobbin  !   I  curse  the  stound 
That  ever  I  cast  to  have  lorne  this  ground  : 
Wel-avvav  the  while  I  was  so  fond 
To  leave  the'  good,  that  I  had  in  bond. 
In  hoj)e  of  better  that  was  uncouth  ;  60 

So  lost  the  dogge  the  flesh  in  his  mouth  ; 
3iy  seely  sheepe  (ah  !   seely  sheepe  !) 
That  here  bv  tiiere  I  wilome  usde  to  keepe. 
All  were  they  lustie  as  thou  didest  see, 
Bene  all  starved  with  pyne  and  penurie  ;  65 

Harldly  my  selfe  escaped  thilke  paine. 
Driven  for  neede  to  come  home  againe. 

Hob.  Ah  !    fon,  now  by  thy  losse  art  taught 
That  seldom  chaunge  the  better  brought : 
Content  who  lives  with  tryed  state,  70 

Neede  feare  no  chaunge  of  frowning  fate  ; 
But  who  will  seeke  for  unknow-ne  gayne. 
Oft  lives  b)'  losse,  and  leaves  with  payne. 

Dig.  I  wote  ne,  Hobbin,  how  I  was  bewitcht 
With  vavne  desire  and  hope  to  be  enricht :  75 

But  sicker,  so  it  is,  as  the  bright  starre 
Seemeth  aye  greater  when  it  is  farre  : 
I  thought  the  soyle  would  have  made  me  rich. 
But  now  I  wote  it  is  nothing  sich  ; 
For  eylher  the  shepheards  bene  ydle  and  still,       80 
And  leddeof  theyr  sheepe  what  way  they  will. 
Or  they  bene  false,  and  full  of  covetise. 
And  casten  to  compasse  man}'  wronge  emprise  . 
But  the  more  bene  fraight  with  fraud  and  spight, 
Ne  in  good  nor  goodnes  taken  delight,  85 

But  kindle  coales  of  conteck  and  yre, 
\\  herewith  they  set  all  the  world  on  fire  ; 
\Miich  when  they  thinken  againe  to  quench, 
\Vith  holy  water  I  hey  doen  hem  all  drench. 
They  saye  they  con  to  heaven  the  high-way,  90 

But  by  m}-  scule  I  dare  undersaye 
They  never  sette  foote  in  that  same  troad. 
But  balke  the  right  way,  and  strayen  abroad. 
They  boast  they  han  the  devill  at  commaund. 
But  aske  hem  therefore  what  they  han  paund  :       95 
Marrie  !   that  great  Pan  bought  with  de.ire  borrow. 
To  quite  it  from  the  blacke  bowre  of  sorrow. 
But  they  lian  sold  thilke  same  long  egoe, 
For  tliey  woulden  draw  with  hem  many  moe. 
But  let  hem  gange  alone  a  Gods  name;  100 

As  they  han  brewed,  so  let  hem  beare  blame. 

Hob.  Diggon,  I  pray  thee  speake  not  so  dirke  ; 
Such  myster  sav-ing  me  seemeth  to-mirke.       [what. 

Dig.  Then,  plainly  to  speake  of  shepheards  nioste 
Badde  is  the  best ;  (this  English  is  fiat.)  105 

llieir  ill  haviour  garres  men  missay 
Both  of  theyr  doctrine,  and  theyr  fay. 
They  sayne  the  world  is  much  war  then  it  wont. 
All  for  her  shepheardes  bene  beastly  and  blont. 
Other  sayne,  but  howe  truely  I  n'ote,  110 

Ai!  for  they  holden  shame  of  their  cote  : 
oonie  sticke  not  to  say,  (bote  cole  on  her  tongue  !) 
I'Lat  sike  mischiefe  graseth  beta  emong. 


All  for  they  casten  too  much  of  worldes  care. 

To  deck  her  dame,  and  enrich  her  heire; 

For  such  encheason,  if  you  goe  nie, 

Fewe  chimnies  reeking  vou  shall  espie. 

The  fat  oxe,  that  wont  ligge  in  the  stall, 

Ls  nowe  fast  stalled  in  her  crunienall. 

Thtis  chattel!  the  people  in  their  steads,  120 

Ylike  as  a  monster  of  many  heads  : 

But  they,  that  shooten  nearest  the  jjricke, 

Sayne,  other  the  fat  from  their  beards  doen  lick  : 

For  bigge  bulles  of  Basan  brace  hem  about, 

That  with  their  homes  butten  the  more  stoute;  125 

But  tlie  leaue  soules  treaden  under  foot, 

And  to  seeke  redresse  mought  little  boote  ; 

For  liker  bene  they  to  pluck  away  more. 

Then  ought  of  ihe  gotten  good  to  restore  : 

For  they  bene  like  I'owle  wagmoires  overgrast,    130 

That,  if  thy  galage  once  sticketh  fast. 

The  more  to  winde  it  out  thou  dost  swinck. 

Thou  mought  aye-  deeper  and  deeper  sinck. 

Yet  better  leave  oft"  with  a  little  losse. 

Then  by  much  wrestling  to  leese  the  grosse.        135 

Hob.    Nowe,   Diggon,    I  see  thou  speakest  top 
Better  it  were  a  little  to  feine,  [plains; 

And  cleanely  cover  that  cannot  be  cured ; 
Such  ill,  as  is  forced,  mought  needes  bee  endured. 
But  of  sike  pastoures  howe  done  the  flocks  creepe?  140 

Dig.  Sike  as  the  shepheards,  sike  bene  hersheepe. 
For  they  nill  listen  to  the  shepheards  voice  ; 
But  if  he  call  hem,  at  their  good  choice 
They  wander  at  will  and  stay  at  pleasure. 
And  to  their  folds  yeade  at  their  owne  leasure.    14. 
But  they  had  be  better  come  at  their  call ; 
For  many  han  unto  mischiefe  fall, 
And  bene  of  ravenous  wolves  yrent. 
All  for  they  nould  be  buxome  and  bent.      [leasing  ; 

Hob.   Fie   on    thee,   Diggon,   and   all    thy    foule 
Well  is  knowne  that,  sith  the  Saxon  king,  151 

Never  was  wolf  seene,  many  nor  some, 
Nor  in  all  Kent,  nor  in  Christendome  ; 
But  the  fewer  wolves  (the  sooth  to  saine) 
The  more  bene  the  foxes  that  here  reniaine.  155 

Dig.  Yes,  but  they  gang  in  more  secret  wise. 
And  with  sheejis  clothing  doen  hem  disguise. 
They  walke  not  widely  as  they  were  wont. 
For  feare  of  raungers  and  the  great  bunt, 
But  prively  prolling  to  and  froe,  ICO 

Enaunter  they  mouglit  be  inly  knowe. 

Hou.  Or  privie,  or  pert  of  any  bin. 
We  han  great  bandogs  will  teare  their  skin. 

Dig.   In  deede  thy  Ball  is  a  bold  bigge  cur. 
And  could  make  a  iolly  hole  in  their  fur  :  165 

But  not  good  dogs  hem  needethto  chace 
But  heedy  shepheards  to  discerne  their  face  ; 
For  all  their  craft  is  in  their  countenaunce. 
They  bene  so  grave  and  full  of  inaintenaunce. 
But  shall  1  tell  thee  what  mv  self  knoe  170 

Chaunced  to  lloflin  not  long  ygoe  1 

Hob.  Say  it  out,  Diggon,  whatever  it  hight. 
For  not  but  well  mought  him  betight . 
He  is  so  meeke,  wise,  and  merciable. 
And  with  his  word  his  work  is  convenable.  175 

Colin  Clout,  I  weeue,  be  his  selfe  boye, 
(Ah,  for  Colin  !  he  whilome  my  ioye  :) 
Shepheards  sich,  God  mought  us  many  send. 
That  doen  so  careftilly  theyr  flocks  tend. 

Dig.  Thilke  same  shepheaid  mought  I  well  marke, 
He  has  a  dogge  to  bite  or  to  barke  ;  181 

Never  had  shepheard  so  keene  a  cur, 
'J'hat  waketh  and  if  but  a  leafe  stur. 


386 


THE  SHEPHEARDS  CALENDER. 


"VVbilome  there  vronned  a  wicked  wolfe, 

"mat  witli  many  a  lambe  had  gutted  Ins  gulfe,    185 

And  ever  at  night  wont  to  rejjayre 

Unto  the  flocke,  when  the  welkin  shone  fayre, 

YcUid  in  clothing  of  seely  sheepe, 

When  the  £;ood  olde  man  used  to  sleepe  ; 

Tlio  at  midnig-ht  he  would  barke  and  ball,  190 

(For  he  had  eft  learned  a  curies  call,) 

As  if  a  woolfe  were  among  the  sheepe  : 

With  that  the  shepheard  would  breake  his  sleepe, 

And  send  out  Lowder  (for  so  his  dog  bote) 

To  raunge  the  fields  with  wide  open  throte,         195 

1'ho,  when  as  Lowder  was  far  away. 

This  wolvish  sheepe  woulde  catclien  his  pray, 

A  lambe,  or  a  kid,  or  a  weanell  wast ; 

^Vith  that  to  the  wood  would  hee  speede  him  fast. 

Long  time  he  used  this  slippery  pranck,  200 

Ere  Rotfy  could  for  his  labour  him  thanck. 

At  end,  the  shepheard  his  practise  spyed, 

(For  RofFy  is  wise,  and  as  Argus  eyed,) 

And,  when  at  even  lie  came  to  the  flocke, 

Fast  in  their  foldes  he  did  them  locke,  205 

And  tooke  out  the  woolfe  in  his  counterfeit  cote. 

And  let  out  the  sheepes  b'oud  at  Lis  throte. 

Hob.  JNIarry,  Diggon,  what  should  him  affraye 
To  take  hi^  owne  where  ever  it  laye  1 
For,  had  his  wesand  been  a  little  widder,  210 

He  woulde  have  devoured  both  bidder  and  shidder. 

Dig.  Miscbiefe  light  on  him,  and  Gods  great  curse. 
Too  good  for  him  bad  bene  a  great  deale  worse ; 
For  it  was  a  perilous  beast  above  all, 
And  eke  had  he  cond  the  shepheards  call,  215 

And  oft  in  the  night  came  to  the  sheep-cote, 
And  called  Lowder,  with  a  hollow  throte, 
As  if  the  olde  man  selfe  had  beene  : 
T'le  dogge  his  maisters  voice  did  it  weene, 
Yet  halfe  in  doubt  he  opened  the  dore,  220 

And  ranne  out  as  he  was  wont  of  yore. 
No  sooner  was  out,  but,  swifter  than  thought. 
Fast  by  the  hyde  the  vpolfe  Lowder  caught; 
And  had  not  RofFy  renne  to  the  steven, 
Lowder  had  bene  slaine  thilke  same  even.  225 

Hob.  God  shield,  man,  hee  should  so  ill  have  thrive, 
All  for  he  did  his  devoyre  belive. 
If  sike  bene  wolves,  as  thou  bast  told, 
How  mought  we,  Diggon,  hem  behold? 

Dig.  How,  but,  with  heede  and  watchfuUnesse, 
Forstallen  hem  of  their  willinesse  :  231 

For-iliy  with  shepheard  sittes  not  play. 
Or  sleepe,  as  some  doen,  all  the  hmg  day; 
But  ever  liggen  in  watch  and  ward, 
From  sodaine  force  tlieir  flocks  for  to  gard.  235 

Hob.  Ah  !    Diggon,   thilke  same  rule  were  too 
All  the  cold  season  to  watch  and  waite  :      [straight, 
^Ve  bene  of  flesh,  men  as  other  bee. 
Why  should  we  be  bound  to  such  miseree  1 
What-ever  thing  lackoth  chaungeable  rest,  210 

.Mought  needes  decay,  when  it  is  at  best. 

Dig.  Ah  !  but,  Hobbinoll,  all  this  long  tail 
Nought  easeth  the  care  that  doth  mee  forliaile  ; 
What  shall  I  doe  1  what  way  shall  I  wend, 
Mv  piteous  plight  and  losse  to  amend'.'  245 

Ah  !   good  Hobbinoll,  luougbt  1  thee  pray 
Of  ayde  or  counsell  in  my  clecaye. 

Hob.  Now  by  my  soule,  Diggon,  I  lament 
The  haplesse  mischiefe  that  has  the  lent; 
Netlielesse  thou  seest  my  lowl)  jbde,  2/0 

That  froward  Fortune  doth  ever  availe  : 
But,  were  Hfjbbinoll  as  God  mought  please, 
Diggon  should  soone  finde  favour  and  ease  • 


But  if  to  my  cotage  thou  wilt  resort, 

So  as  I  can  I  will  thee  comfort  ;  255 

There  mayst  thou  ligge  in  a  vetchy  bed, 

Till  fairer  Fortune  shew  forth  his  head. 

Dig.  Ah  !  Hobbinoll,  God  mought  it  thee  requite  : 
Diggon  on  fevve  such  friend es  did  ever  lite.         259 

DIGGONS    EMBLEME. 

Inopem  me  copia  fecit. 

OCTOBER. 
AEGLOGA  DECIMA. 

ARGUMENT. 

In  Cuddie  is  set  out  the  perfect  patern  of  a  poet, 
which,  finding  no  maintenance  of  his  state  and 
studies,  complaineth  of  the  contempt  of  poetrie,  and 
the  causes  thereof :  specially  having  bene  in  all  ages, 
and  even  amongst  the  most  barbarous,  alvvaies  ot 
singular  account  and  honour,  and  being  indeed  so 
worthie  and  commendable  an  art  ;  or  rather  no  art 
but  a  divine  gift  and  heavenly  instinct  not  to  be 
gotten  by  labour  and  learning,  but  adorned  widi 
both  ;  and  poured  into  the  witte  by  a  certaine  en- 
thousiasmos  and  celestiall  inspiration,  as  the  author 
hereof  else  where  at  large  discourseth  in  his  booke 
called  The  English  Poet,  which  booke  being  lately- 
come  to  my  bandes,  I  minde  also  by  Gods  grace, 
upon  further  advisement,  to  publish. 

PIERS.     CUDDIE. 


CuDDiE,  for  shame,  holde  up  thy  heavie  bead, 
And  let  us  c^st  with  wh.at  delight  to  chace 
And  weary  this  long  lingering  Phwbus  race. 
Whilome  thou  wont  the  shepheards  laddes  to  leadf? 
In  rimes,  in  ridles,  and  in  bydding  base  ;  5 

Nowe  they  in  thee,  and  thou  in  sleepe,  arte  deade.  • 

Cud.  Piers,  T  have  pvped  erst  so  long  with  payne. 
That  all  mine  oten  reedes  ben  rent  and  wore, 
And  mv  poore  muse  hath  spent  her  spared  store. 
Yet  little  good  hath  got,  and  much  lesse  gayne.     10 
Such  plensaunce  makes  the  grashopper  so  poore, 
And  ligge  so  layd,  when  winter  doth  her  straine. 

The  dapper  ditties,  that  I  wont  devise. 

To  feeiie  youthes  fancie,  and  the  flocking  fry, 

Delighten  much  ;  what  I  the  bett  forthy  ?  15 

They  ban  the  pleasure,  I  a  sclender  prise : 

I  beate  the  bush,  the  bvrdes  to  them  do  flie  : 

What  good  thereof  to  Cuddie  can  arise  ? 

Pirns.  Cuddie,  the  praise  is  better  than  the  price, 
The  glory  eke  much  greater  then  the  gayne  :  20 

O  what  an  honour  is  it,  to  rostraine 
The  lust  of  lawlesse  youth  with  good  advice, 
Or  pricke  them  foorth  with  ])leasaunce  of  thy  vaine, 
Whereto  thou  list  their  trained  willes  entice  ! 

Soone  as  thou  gynst  to  sette  tbv  notes  in  frame,  25 
O  how  the  rural  routes  to  thee  do  cleave  ! 
Seeineth  thou  doest  theyr  soule  of  sense  bereave,' 
All  as  the  shepheard  that  did  fetch  bis  dame 
From  Plutoes  balefuU  bowre  withouten  leave  ; 
His  inusickes  might  the  hellish  hound  did  tame.  ."50 

[trayne. 
Cud.  So    praysen    babes  the    peacocks    stjotted 
And  wondren  at  briglit  Argus  blazing  eyej 


NOVEMBER. 


3R7 


But  who  rewaides  him  ere  tiie  more  fortby, 

Or  feedes  him  once  the  fuller  by  a  graine  ? 

Sike  praise  is  smoke,  that  sheddeth  in  the  skie  ;     35 

Sike  words  bene  winde,  and  wasten  soone  in  vuine. 

Piers.  Abandon  then  the  base  and  viler  clowne  ; 
Lift  up  thy  selfe  out  of  the  lowly  dust, 
And  sins;  of  bloody  Mars,  of  wars,  of  giusts  ; 
Turne  thee  to  thoie  that  weld  the  awful!  crowne,  40 
To  doubted  knights,  whose  woundlesse  armour  rusts, 
And  helmes  unbruzed  wexen  daylie  browne. 

There  may  thy  muse  display  her  fluttering  wing. 
And  stretch  herselfe  at  large  from  east  to  west ; 
Whither  thou  list  in  fayre  Elisa  rest,  45 

Or,  if  thee  please  in  bigger  notes  to  sing, 
Advaunce  the  worthy  whom  she  loveth  best, 
The  first  the  white  beare  to  the  stake  did  bring. 

And,  when  the  stubborne  stroke  of  stronger  stounds 

Has  somewhat  slackt  the  tenor  of  thy  string,         50 

Of  love  and  lustihead  tho  maist  thou  sing, 

And  Carroll  lowde,  and  leade  the  millers  rounde, 

All  were  Elisa  one  of  thilk  same  ring  ; 

So  mought  our  Cuddies  name  to  heaven  sounde. 

Cud.  In  deeds  the  Romish  Tityrus,  I  heare,     55 
Tlirough  his  Mecaenas  left  his  oaten  reede, 
W  hereon  bee  earst  had  taught  his  flocks  to  feede, 
And  laboured  lands  to  yeeld  the  timely  eare. 
And  eft  did  sing  of  warres  and  deadly  dreede, 
So  as  the  heavens  did  quake  his  verse  to  heare.     60 

But  ah  !  Mecaenas  is  yclad  in  claye. 

And  great  Augustus  long  ygoe  is  dead, 

And  all  the  worthies  liggen  wrapt  in  lead, 

Tliat  matter  made  for  poets  on  to  playe  : 

For  ever,  who  in  derring-doe  were  dread,  65 

The  loftie  verse  of  hem  was  loeved  aye. 

But  after  vertue  gan  for  age  to  stoupe 
And  mightie  manhood  brought  a  bedde  of  ease. 
The  vaunting  poets  found  nought  worth  a  pease 
To  put  in  preace  among  the  learned  troupe  :  70 

Tho  gan  the  streames  of  flowing  wittes  to  cease, 
And  sunnebnight  honour  pend  in  shameful!  coupe. 

And  if  that  any  buddes  of  poesie. 

Vet  of  the  old  stocke,  gan  to  shoote  againe, 

Or  it  mens  follies  mote  to-force  to  fain,  75 

And  rolie  with  rest  in  rymes  of  ribaudrie ; 

Or,  as  it  sprung,  it  wither  must  againe  ; 

Tom  Piper  makes  us  better  melodie. 

[place  1 
Piers.  O   pierlesse  po'esie !    where  is  then   thy 
If  ncr  in  prince  pallace  thou  doest  sit,  80 

(And  yet  is  princes  pallace  the  most  fit,) 
he  brest  of  baser  birth  doth  thee  emtirace. 
Then  make  thee  wings  of  thine  aspiring  wit, 
And,  whence  thou  camst,  file  backe  to  heaven  apace. 

Cud.  Ah  !  Percy,  it  is  all-to  weake  and  wanne,  85 
So  high  to  sore  and  make  so  large  a  flight ; 
Her  peeced  pyneons  bene  not  so  in  plight : 
For  Colin  tits  such  famous  flight  to  scanne  ; 
He,  were  he  not  with  love  so  ill  bedight, 
\\'oul(l  mount  as  high  and  sing  as  soote  as  swanne.  90 

[so  hie, 

PiFRS.  Ah  !  fon ;  for  love  does  teach  him  climbe 
And  lyftes  him  up  out  of  the  loathsome  myre  ; 


Such  immortal  niir  or,  as  he  doth  admire. 
Would  raves  ones  niinde  above  the  stame  skie,. 
And  cause  a  caytive  corage  to  aspire  ;  05 

Tor  loftie  love  doth  loatii  a  lowly  eye. 

Cud.  All  otherwise  the  state  of  poet  stands  ; 
For  lordly  Love  is  such  a  tyranne  fell. 
Tliat,  where  he  rules,  all  power  he  doth  expell  ; 
The  vaunted  verse  a  vacant  head  demaundes,       100 
Ne  wont  with  crabbed  care  the  muses  dwell : 
Unwisely  weaves,  that  takes  two  webbes  in  hand. 

Who  ever  castes  to  compasse  wightie  prise, 
And  tliinkes  to  throwe  out  thundring  words  of  threat, 
Let  jiowre  in  lavish  cups  and  thriftie  bittes  of  meate. 
For  Bacchus  fruite  is  friend  to  Phoebus  wise  ;     106 
And,  when  with  wine  the  braine  begins  to  sweat. 
The  numbers  flow  as  fast  as  spring  doth  rise. 

Thou  kenst  not,  Percie,  how  the  rime  should  rage  ; 
O  if  my  temples  were?  distain'd  with  wine,  110 

And  girt  in  girlonds  of  wilde  yvie  twine. 
How  1  could  reai-e  the  muse  on  stately  stage, 
And  teach  her  tread  aloft  in  buskin  tine. 
With  queint  Bellona  in  her  equipage  ! 

But  ah  !  my  courage  cooles  ere  it  be  warme  :       115 
Forthy  content  us  in  this  humble  shade. 
Where  no  such  troublous  tydes  ban  us  assayde  : 
Here  we  our  slender  pipes  may  safely  charnie   [layd 
PiERS.  And,  when  my  gates  shall  ban  theyr  bellyes 
Cuddie  shall  have  a  kidde  to  store  his  farme.      i20 

CUDDIES     EMBLEME. 

Agitante  calescimus  illo,  &;c. 

NOVEMBER. 
AEGLOGA  UNDECIMA. 

ARGUMENT. 

In  this  xi.  Aeglogue  hee  bewaileth  the  death  of 
some  maiden  of  great  blood,  whom  be  calleth 
Dido.  'J'he  personage  is  secret,  and  to  me  altogi- 
ther  unknowne,  albeit  of  bimselfe  I  often  required 
the  same.  This  aeglogue  is  made  in  imitation  of 
Marot  his  song,  which  he  made  upon  the  death  of 
Loyes  the  French  queen  ;  but  fane  passing  his 
reaclj,  and  in  mine  opinion  all  other  the  aegiogues  of 
this  book. 

THENOT.     COLIN. 


Colin,  my  deare,  when  shall  it  please  thee  sing, 
As  thou  wert  wont,  sonj;es  of  some  iouissaunce  ? 
Thy  muse  too  lon»j  slombreth  in  sorrowing. 
Lulled  asleepe  through  Loves  misgovernaunce. 
Now  somewhat  sing,  whose  endlesse  sovenaunce    5 
P>mong  the  shepheards  swaines  may  aye  remaine, 
Whetlier  thee  list  tliy  loved  lass  advaunce. 
Or  honor  Pan  wiih  hymiies  of  higher  vaine. 

Col.  Thenot,  now  nis  the  time  of  merriraake. 
Nor  Pan  to  herie,  nor  with  Love  to  play  ;  10 

Sike  mirth  in  JMay  is  meetest  for  to  make, 
Or  somnier  shade,  under  the  cocked  ha\'. 
But  nowe  sadde  winter  welked  hath  the  day. 
And  Phdbus,  veaiie  of  his  vearly  taske, 
\'stablfd  Lath  his  sttedes  in  lowly  lay,  15 

And  ta>en  up  his  ynne  in  fishes  haske  : 

c  c  2 


388 


THE  SHEIMIEARDS  CALENDER. 


Tbilk  sollp.in  season  sadder  plioht  doth  aske 
And  loatheth  sike  delights  as  thou  doest  prayse : 
The  mornefull  muse  in  myrth  now  list  ne  niaske, 
As  she  was  wont  in  younth  and  sommer-dayes  ;    20 
But  if  thou  algate  lust  light  virelayes, 
And  looser  songs  of  love  to  underfong-, 
Who  hut  thyself  deserves  sike  poets  praise? 
Relieve  thy  oaten  pypes  that  sleepen  long. 

The.  The  nightingale  is  sovereigne  of  song,      25 
Before  liim  sits  the  titmouse  silent  bee  ; 
And  I,  unfit  to  thrust  in  skilful!  throng. 
Should  Colin  make  iudge  of  my  fooleree  : 
Nav,  better  learne  of  hem  that  learned  bee, 
And  ban  bene  watered  at  the  muses  well ;  30 

The  kindely  dewe  drops  from  the  higher  tree, 
And  wets  the  litle  plants  that  lowly  dwell : 
But  if  sadde  winters  wrath,  and  season  chill. 
Accord  not  with  thy  muses  merriment, 
To  sadder  times  thou  mayst  attune  thy  quill.  35 

And  sing  of  sorrowe  and  deathes  dreriment ; 
For  deade  is  Uido,  deade,  alas !  and  drent ; 
Dido  !  the  great  shepheard  his  daughter  sheene  : 
The  fayrest  iMay  shee  was  that  ever  went, 
Her  like  shee  has  not  left  behinde  I  weene  :  40 

And  if  thou  wilt  bewayle  my  wofuU  teene, 
I  shall  thee  give  yond  cosset  for  thy  payne  : 
And,  if  thy  rymes  as  rounde  and  rueful!  beene 
As  those  tiiat  did  thy  Rosalind  complayne, 
Much  greater  gifts  for  guerdon  tiiou  shaltgayne,  45 
Then  kid  or  cosset  which  I  thee  bynempt : 
Then  up,  I  say,  thou  iolly  shepheard  swayne, 
Let  not  my  small  demaunde  be  so  contempt. 

Col.  Tiienot.tothatl  chose  thou  doest  mee  tempt; 
But,  ah  !  too  well  I  wote  my  humble  vayne,  50 

And  how  my  rimes  bene  rugged  and  unkempt ! 
Yet,  as  I  conne,  my  conning  I  will  strayne. 

"  Up,  then,  Melpomene  !    the  jnournefulst  muse  of 
Such  cause  of  mourning  never  hadst  afore  ;      [nine, 
Up;  grislie  ghostes !  and  up  my  rufull  rime  !        53 
Matter  of  myrth  now  shalt  thou  have  no  more  ; 
For  dead  shee  is,  that  myrth  thee  made  of  yore. 

Dido,  my  deare,  alas  !  is  dead. 

Dead,  and  lyeth  wrapt  in  lead. 

O  heavie  herse  !  60 

Let  streaming  teares  be  powred  out  in  store  ; 

O  careful!  verse  ! 

"  Shepheards,  that  by  your  flocks  of  Kentish  downes 

abyde, 
Waile  ye  this  woeful!  waste  of  Natures  warke  ; 
'Waile  we  the  vvight,  whose  jiresence  wasour  pryde  ; 
Waile  we  the  wight  v>diose  absence  is  our  carke  ;  66 
The  sunne  of  all  the  world  is  dimme  and  darke  ; 

The  earth  now  lacks  her  wonted  light. 

And  all  we  dwell  in  deadly  night, 

O  heavie  herse  !  70 

Breake  we  our  pipes,  that  shrild  as  loude  as  larke  ; 

O  careful!  verse ! 

"  Why  doe  we  longer  live,  (ah !  why  live  we  so  long  ?) 
Whose  better  days  death  liath  shut  up  in  woe  1 
The  fayrest  flowre  our  girlond  all  emong  75 

Is  faded  quite,  and  into  dust  ygoe. 
Sing  now,  ye  shepheards  daughters,  sing  no  moe 

The  songs  that  Colin  made  you  in  her  praise, 

]3ut  into  weeping  turn  your  wanton  layes. 

O  heavie  herse  !  80 

Nowe  is  time  to  die  :  nay,  time  was  long  ygoe  : 

0  careful!  verse  ! 


"  Whence  is  it,  that  the  flowret  of  the  field  doth  fade. 

And  lyeth  buried  long  in  Winters  bale  ; 

Yet,  soone  as  Spring  bis  mantle  hath  displayde,   85 

It  flowreth  fresh,  as  it  should  never  fayle  1 

But  thing  on  earth  that  is  of  most  availe, 

As  vertues  branch,  and  beauties  bud, 

lielieven  not  for  any  good,  89 

O  heavie  herse  !  [quaile  ; 

The  branch  once  dead,  the  bud   eke   needes  must 

O  careful!  verse ! 

saine  !) 
"  She,  while  she  was,  (that  was,  a  wofull  word  to 
For  beauties  praise  and  pleasaunce  had  no  peere ; 
So  well  she  couth  the  shepheards  entertaine  95 

With  cakes  and  cracknells,  and  such  countrey  cheere  : 
Ne  would  she  scornethe  simple  shepheards  svi-aine  ; 

For  she  would  call  him  often  heme. 

And  give  him  curds  and  clouted  creame. 

O  heavie  herse  !  100 

Als  Colin  Clout  she  would  not  once  disdaine  ; 

O  careful!  verse ! 

[chaunce, 
"  Bot  now   sike   happy  cheere  is  turnde  to  heavy 
Such  pleasaunce  now  displastby  dolors  dint ; 
All  musick  sleepes,  where  Death  doth  lead  the  dauiice. 
And  shepheards  wonted  solace  is  extinct.  106 

The  blew  in  black,  the  greene  in  grey,  is  tinct  ! 

The  gaudy  girlonds  deck  her  grave. 

The  faded  flowres  her  corse  embrave.  109 

O  heavie  herse  !  [sprint ; 

Morne,  now,  my  muse,  now  morne  with  teares  be- 

O  careful!  verse  ! 

[griefs ! 
"  0  thou  great  shepheard,  Lobbin,  how  great  is  thy 
Where  bene  the  nosegayes  that  she  dight  for  thee  ? 
The  coloured  chaplets  wrought  with  a  chiefe,     115 
The  knotted  rush-ringes,  and  gilt  rosemaree  ? 
For  shee  deemed  nothing  too  deare  for  thee. 

All !  they  bene  all  yclad  in  clay  ; 

One  bitter  blast  blewe  all  away. 

O  heavie  herse  !  120 

Thereof  nought  remaynes  but  the  memoree  ; 

O  careful!  verse  ! 

[stroke, 
"  A-y  me  !  that  drearie  Death  should  strike  so  mortall 
That  can  undoe  dame  Natures  kindely  course  ; 
I'he  faded  lockes  foil  from  the  loftie  oke,  125 

Tlie  fiouds  do  gaspe,  for  dryed  is  their  sourse. 
And  flouds  of  teares  flow  in  theyr  stead  perforce  : 

The  mantled  medowes  mourne, 

Theyr  sundrie  colours  tourne. 

O  heavie  herse  !  130 

The  lieavens  doe  melt  in  teares  without  remorse ; 

O  careful!  verse ! 

"  The  feeble  flocks  in  field  refuse  their  former  foode, 
And    hang  their   heades   as   they  would  learne  to 

weepe  ; 
The  beastes  in  forrest  wayle  as  they  were  woode,  135 
Excejjt  tlie  wolves,  that  chase  the  wandring  sheepe. 
Now  shee  is  gone  that  safely  did  hem  keepe : 

The  turtle  on  tlie  bared  braunch 

Laments  the  wounds  that  Death  did  launcli. 

0  heavie  herse  !  140 

And  I'hilomele  her  song  with  teares  doth  steepe  ! 

O  careful!  verse! 

[daunce, 
"  The  water  nymphs,  that  wont  with  lier  to  sing  and 
And  for  her  gii-lond  olive  braunches  beare, 
Nowe  baleful!  boughesofcypresdoenadvaunce;  145 


DECEMBER. 


3S9 


The  muses,  that  were  wont  greene  bayes  to  weare, 
Xow  bringen  bitter  eUlre  braunches  seare; 
The  fatall  sisters  eke  repeut 
Her  vitall  threde  so  soone  was  spent. 
0  heavie  herse  !  150 

Morne  now,  my  muse,  now  morns  with  heavy  cheare  ; 
O  carefull  ^■erse ! 

"  0  trustlesse  state  of  earthly  things,  and  slipper  hope 
Of  mortall  men,  tliat  swincke  and  sweate  for  nought, 
And,  shooting  wide,  dotli  misse  the  marked  scope  ; 
Nowe  have  I  leanide  (a  lesson  dearly  bought)     io6 
That  nis  on  earth  assurtmnce  to  be  sought ; 

For  what  might  be  in  earthly  mould. 

That  did  her  buried  body  hould  ? 

O  heavie  herse  !  160 

Yet  saw  I  on  the  beere  when  it  was  brought ; 

O  carefull  verse  ! 

'  Butmaugre  Death,  and  dreaded  sisters  dedlyspight, 
And  gates  of  hell,  and  fyrie  furies  force. 
She  liHth  the  bonds  broke  of  eternall  night,  i65 

Her  soule  unbodied  of  the  burdenous  corse. 
Why  then  weepes  Lobbin  so  without  remorse? 

O  Lobb  !  thy  losse  no  longer  lament  ; 

Dido  is  dead,  but  into  heaven  hent. 

O  hap{)ie  herse  !  170 

Cease  now,  my  muse,  now  cease  thy  sorrowes  sourse, 

0  ioyfuU  verse  ! 

"  Why  waile  we  then  ?  why  wearie  we  the  t;ods  with 
As  if  someevill  were  to  her  betiglit  ?  [plaintes. 

She  raigiies  a  goddessenow  emong  the  sainies,   175 
'J'hat  whilome  was  the  saynt  of  shephe ards  li.nht, 
And  is  enstalled  now  m  heavens  hight. 

1  see  thee,  blessed  >oule  !  I  see 
Walk  in  Elisian  fieldes  so  free. 

O  liappie  herse!  180 

Might  I  once  come  to  thee,  (O  that  I  might !) 
O  ioyfuU  verse ! 

"  Unwise  and  wretched  men,  to  weete  vi-hat's  good  or 
Wee  deeme  of  death  as  doome  of  ill  desert  ;  [ill, 

But  knewe  wee,  fooles,  what  it  us  bringes  uutill,  183 
Dye  would  we  daylie,  once  it  to  expert ! 
A'o  daunger  there  the  shepheard  can  assert ; 

Favre  fieldes  and  pleasaunt  layes  there  bene  ; 

The  fieldes  aye  fresh,  the  grasse  ay  greene. 

0  happie  herse  !  190 

Make  haste,  yee  shepheards,  thetberto  revert. 

O  ioyfuU  verse  ! 

[next  ? 
"  Dido   is   gone  afore  ;  (whose  turne   shall  be  the 
There  lives  shee  with  the  blessed  gods,  in  blisse, 
There  drincks  she  nectar  with  ambrosia  mixt,      195 
And  ioyes  enioyes  that  mortall  men  doe  misse. 
The  honor  now  of  highest  gods  she  is. 

That  whilome  was  poore  shepheards  pride. 

While  here  on  earth  she  did  abide. 

O  happie  herse  !  200 

Cease  now,  my  song,  my  woe  now  wasted  is; 

O  ioyfuU  verse  !" 

liiE.  Ay,  franck  shepheard,  how  bene  thy  verses 
With  dolefull  pleasaunce,  so  as  I  ne  wotte       [meint 
Whether  reioyce  or  weepe  for  great  constraiL    ! 
'J'hine  be  the  cossette,  well  hast  thou  it  gotte. 
Up,  Colin  up,  ynough  thou  morned  hast; 
^ow  ginnes  to  mizzle,  bye  we  homeward  fast.  20  8 

COI.INS  EMBLEME. 

Lt*  mart  ny  moid. 


DECEMBER. 

AEGLOGA    DUODECIMA. 

ARGUMENT. 

This  Aeglogue  (even  as  the  first  began)  is  ended 
with  a  complaint  of  Colin  to  god  Pan  ;  wherein,  as 
wearie  of  his  former  waies,  bee  proportioneth  his  life  to 
the  foure  seasons  of  the  yeare  ;  comparing  his  youth 
to  the  spring  time,  when  bee  was  fresh  and  free 
from  loves  follie.  His  manhood  to  the  sommer, 
which,  he  saith,  was  consumed  with  great  heate 
and  excessive  drouth,  caused  through  a  comet  or 
blazing  starre,  bv  which  bee  meaneth  love  ;  which 
jiassion  is  commonly  compared  to  such  flames  and 
immoderate  heate.  '  His  ripest  yeares  he  resembleth 
to  an  unsf^asonable  harvest,  wherein  the  fruits  fall 
ere  they  be  ripe.  His  latter  age  to  winters  chill 
and  frostie  season,  now  drawing  neere  to  his  last 
ende- 

The  gentle  shepheard  sat  beside  a  springe, 

All  in  the  shadowe  of  a  bushye  brere. 

That  Colin  bight,  which  well  coulde  pype  and  singe. 

For  bee  of  Tityrus  his  songes  did  lere  : 

There,  as  he  satte  in  secret  shade  alone,  5 

Thus  gan  hee  make  of  love  his  piteous  mone. 

"  0  soveraigne  Pan  !   thou  god  of  shepheardes  all. 
Which  of  our  tender  lambkins  takest  keepe. 
And,  when  our  flockes.into  mischauncemought  fall, 
Doest  save  from  mischiefe  the  unwarie  sheepe,     10 

Als  of  their  maisters  hast  no  les=e  regard    [ward  ; 

Then  of  the  flocks,  which  thou  doest  watch  and 

"  I  thee  beseeche  (so  be  thou  deigne  to  hear 
Rude  ditties,  tunde  to  shepheardes  oaten  reede. 
Or  if  I  ever  sonet  song  so  cleare,  15 

As  it  with  pleasaunce  mought  thy  fancie  feede,) 

Hearken  a  while,  from  thy  greene  cabinet. 

The  rurall  song  of  carefull  Colinet. 


20 


25 


SO 


"  Whilome  in  youth,  when  flowrd  my  ioyfull  sprin 
Like  swallow-  swift  I  wandred  here  and  there  ;      2 
For  heate  of  heedlesse  lust  me  so  dicl  stir.g, 
That  I  oft  doubted  daunger  had  no  feare  : 

I  went  the  wastel'uU  woodes  and  forrest  wide 
Withouteu  dread  of  wolves  to  bene  espide. 

"  I  wont  to  raunge  amid  the  mazie  thicket, 
And  gather  nuttes  to  make  my  Christmas-game, 
And  ioyed  oft  to  chace  the  trembling  pricket. 
Or  hunt  the  hartlesse  hare  till  she  were  tame. 
What  wreaked  1  of  wiiitrie  ages  waste? — 
Tho  deemed  1  my  spring  would  ever  last. 

"  How  often  have  I  scaled  the  craggie  oke. 
All  to  dislodge  the  raven  of  her  nest? 
How  have  1  wearied,  with  many  a  stroke, 
The  statelv  walnut-tree,  the  while  the  rest 

Under  the  tree  fell  all  for  nuttes  at  strife?  35 

For  like  to  me  was  libertie  and  life. 

"  And  for  I  was  in  thilke  same  looser  yeeres, 
(Whether  the  muse  so  wrought  me  from  my  byrth, 
Or  1  too  much  beleev'd  my  shepheard  peeres,) 
Somcdele  ybeut  to  song  and  musickes  mirth,  40 

A  good 'old  shepheird,  Wreiiock  was  his  naroe, 
ftlade  me  by  arte  more  cunumg  in  the  same. 


S90 


THE  SIIEPHKARDS  C  A  LENDER. 


"  Fro  thence  I  durst  in  derring  to  compare   ■ 
AVitli  shepheard^s  swavno  wlritever  fed  in  field; 
And,  if  that  HobbinoU  right  iudgenient  bare,  4.) 

To  Pan  his  own  selfe  pype  I  need  not  yieUl : 

For,  if  the  flocking-  nyinphes  did  follow  Pan, 

'Jiie  wiser  muses  after  Colin  ran. 

"  r.ut,  ah  !   such  pride  at  length  was  ill  repayde  ; 
'Ihe  shejiheards  god  (perdie  god  was  he  none)       oO 
!\lv  hurtlesse  pleasaunce  did  me  ill  upbraide, 
iVIv  ireedome  lorne,  my  life  he  left  to  n]onf. 

Love  they  him  called  that  gave  me  check-mate, 
But  better  mought  they  have  behote  l)im  hate. 

"  Tho  gan  my  lovely  spring  bid  me  farewell,         5.? 

And  soramer  season  sjied  him  to  dis])Iay 

(  For  love  then  in  the  lyons  house  did  dwell,) 

The  raging  fire  that  kindled  at  his  lay. 
A  comet  siird  up  that  unkindly  heate. 
That  reigned  (as  men  said)  iu  Venus  seate.       ()0 

"  Forth  was  I  ledde,  not  as  1  wont  afore, 
\V!jen  choise  1  had  to  choose  my  wandring  way, 
But  whether  luck  and  Loves  unbridled  lore 
Would  lead  me  forth  on  fancies  bitte  to  jilay  : 

The  bush  my  bed,  the  bramble  was  my  bowre,  65 
Tlie  woodes  can  witnesse  many  a  wofull  stowre, 

"  "Where  I  was  wont  to  seeke  the  honie  bee. 
Working  her  formal!  rowmes  in  wexen  frame, 
The  grieslie  todestoole  growne  there  mought  I  see. 
And  loathed  paddockes  lording  on  the  same  :  70 

And,  where  the  chaunting  birds  luld  me  asleepe. 
The  ghastly  owle  her  grievous  ynne  doth  keepe. 

"  Then  as  the  spring  gives  place  to  elder  time. 
And  bringth  forth  the  fruite  of  somniers  pride; 
All  so  my  age,  now  passed  youthly  prime,  75 

To  things  of  riper  season  selfe  applied, 

And  iearnd  of  lighter  timber  cotes  to  frame, 
Such  as  mi^ht  save  my  sheepe  and  me  fro  shame. 

"  'J"o  make  fine  cages  for  the  nightingale, 
And  baskets  of  bulrushes,  was  my  wont:  80 

\\  1)0  to  entrap  the  fish  in  winding  sale 
Was  better  seene,  or  hurlfull  beastes  to  hont? 
1  learned  als  the  signs  of  heaven  to  ken, 
liow  Plia-bo  fades,  where  A'enus  sits,  and  when. 

"  And  tryed  time  yet  taught  me  greater  thinges;  8.5 
'i'he  sodain  rising  of  the  raging  seas, 
'1  lie  soothe  of  byrdes  by  heiuing  of  their  winges, 
'i'he  ]iowre  of  herbes,  both  which  can  hurt  and  ease. 
And  wljicj)  be  wont  t' enrage  the  restlesse  sheepe. 
And  wiiich  be  wont  to  worke  eiernall  sleepe.     90 

"  l)ut,  ah  I  unwise  and  wiilesse  Colin  Cloute, 
'I'hai  kydst  the  liidden  kindes  of  many  a  weede, 
"^et  kydst  not  ene  to  cure  thy  sore  hcart-roote, 
\\  hose  ranckling  wound  as  yet  does  rifely  bleede. 

\\  hylivest  ihou  still,  and  yet  hast  thy  deaths  wound? 

\\  iiy  dvest  th   u  still,  and  yet  alive  ait  found'!    96 

"    I  lius  is  niv  sonimcr  worne  away  and  wasted, 
'i  bus  is  niv  bar  e.-t  hastened  all-to  rathe  ; 
'J'lie  eare  that  budded  (ayre  is  burnt  and  blasted, 
And  all  inv  lioi)ed  gaine  is  turn'd  to  scathe.  100 

Of  ail  the  seede,  that  in  mv  youth  was  sowne, 
V\as  none  but  brakes  and  l)rauibhs  to  he  mowne. 


"  My  boughs  with  bloo'.mes  that  crowned  were  at 
And  promised  of  timely  fruite  such  store,  [first, 

Ave  left  both  bare  and  barrein  now  at  erst ;  103 

The  flattering  fruite  is  fallen  to  ground  before, 

And  rotted  ere  they  were  halfe  mellow  ripe  ; 

Wy  harvest,  wast,  my  hope  away  did  wipe. 

"  The  fragrant  flowres,  that  in  my  garden  grewe, 
J5ene  withered,  as  they  bad  bene  gathered  imig;  110 
Tlieyr  routes  bene  dryed  uj)  for  lack  of  dewe, 
^'et  dewed  with  teares  they  ban  be  ever  among. 
Ah  !   wlio  has  wrought  my  Rosalind  this  spi|zht, 
'Jo  s])ill  the  flowres  that  should  her  girlond  dight? 

"  And  I,  that  vvhilome  wont  to  frame  my  pype     11.) 
Unto  the  shif'.ing  of  the  shejiheards  foote, 
Sike  follies  now  have  gathered  as  too  ripe. 
And  cast  hem  out  as  rotten  and  unsoote. 

I  he  loser  lasse  I  cast  to  please  no  more ; 

One  if  I  please,  enough  is  me  therefore.  120 

"  And  thus  of  all  my  harvest-hope  I  have 
Nought  reaped  but  a  weedie  crop  of  care  ;     [sheave, 
Which,  when   I   thought   have  thresht  in  swelling- 
Cockle  for  corn,  and  chaffe  for  barley,  bare  : 

Soon  as  the  chaffe  should  in  the  fan  be  fynd,    I'io 
All  was  blown  away  of  the  wavering  wynd. 

"  So  now  my  yeere  drawes  to  his  latter  terme, 
jNly  spring  is  spent,  my  sommer  burnt  up  quite  ; 
My  harvest  hastes  to  stirre  up  winter  Sterne, 
And  bids  him  clayme  with  rigorous  rage  his  right :  ISO 

So  now  he  stormes  with  manv  a  .sturdy  stoure ; 

So  now  his  blustring  blast  eche  coast  doth  scoure, 

"  The  carefull  cold  hath  nipt  my  rugged  rynd, 
And  in  my  face  deepe  furrowes  eld  hath  pigbt : 
My  head  besprent  with  hoarie  frost  I  finde,  13.T 

And  by  myne  eye  the  crowe  his  clawe  doth  wriglit: 

Delight  is  layd  abedd ;  and  pleasure,  past  ; 

No  sunne  now  shines  ;  clouds  ban  all  overcast. 

"  Now  leave,  ye  shepheards  boyes,  your  merry  glee  ; 
IMy  muse  is  hoarse  and  wearie  of  this  stound  :     140 
Here  will  I  hang  my  pype  upon  this  tree, 
Was  never  pype  d' reed.-  did  better  sound  : 
Winter  is  come  that  blowes  the  bitter  blast, 
And  after  winter  dreerie  death  does  hast. 

"  Gather  together  ye  my  little  flocke,  145 

My  little  flocke,  that  was  to  me  so  liefe; 
Let  me,  ah  !  let  me  in  your  foldes  ye  lock. 
Ere  the  hieme  winter  breede  you  greater  griefe. 
Winter  is  come,  that  blows  the  balefull  breath. 
And  after  winter  commeth  timely  death.  160 

"  Adieu,  delightes,  that  lulled  me  asleepe; 

Adieu,  my  deare.  whose  love  I  bought  so  deare ; 

Adieu,  my  little  lainbes  and  loved  sheepe  ; 

Adieu,  ye  woodes,  that  oft  mv  witnesse  were: 
Adieu,  good  Hohbnioll,  (hat  was  so  true. 
Tell  Rosalind,  her  Colin  bids  her  adieu."         156 


COLINS    EMBLF.ME. 

Vivitur  ins'enio  :  catera  vwrtis  erivit. 


AN  HYMNE  IN  HONOUR  OF  LOVE. 


391 


EPILOGUE. 

LoE !  I  have  made  a  Calender  for  every  yeare, 
That  Steele  in  strength,  and  time  in   durance,   shall 

oulweare ; 
And,  if  I  marked  well  the  starres  revolution, 
It  shall  continue  till  the  worldes  dissolution, 
'J"o  teach  the  ruler  shepheard  how  to  feede  his  sheepe, 
And  from  the  falsers  fraude  his  folded  flocke  to  keepe. 


Goe,  little  Calender  !  thou  hast  a  free  pas3seporte  ; 
Goe  but  a  lowly  gate  amongst  the  meaner  sorte: 
Dare  not  to  match  thy  pype  with  Tityrus  his  stile. 
Nor  with  the  pilgrim  that  the  plough-man    playd 

a  while  ; 
But  follow  themfarre  off,  and  their  high  steps  adore  , 
The  better  please,  the  worse  despise  ;  I  askenomore 

MERGE   NGN    MERCEDE. 


FOWRE    HYMNE  S, 


EDM.    SPENSER. 


TO    THE 
RIGHT  HONORABLE  AND  MOST  VERTUOUS  LADIES, 

THE   LADIE    MARGARET, 

COUNTESSE  OF  CUMBERLAND  ;  AND 

THE    LADIE    MARIE, 

COUNTESSE    OF    WARWICK. 


Having,  in  the  greener  times  of  my  youth,  com- 
posed these  former  two  Hymnes  in  the  Praise  of  Love 
and  Beautie.and  finding  that  the  same  too  much  pleased 
those  of  like  age  and  disposition,  which  being  too 
vehemently  carried  with  that  kind  of  affection,  do 
rather  sucke  out  poyson  to  their  strong  passion,  then 
honev  to  their  honest  delight,  I  was  moved,  bj'  the 
one  of  you  two  most  excellent  Ladies,  to  call  in  the 
same  ;  but,  being  unable  so  to  do,  by  reason  that 
many  copies  thereof  were  formerly  scattered  abroad, 
I  resolved  at  least  to  amend,  and,  by  way  of  retract- 
tion,  to  reforme  them,  making  (instead  of  those  two 
Hymnes  of  earthly  or  naturall  love  and  beautic)  two 
others  of  heavenly  and  celestial! ;  the  which  1  doe 


dedicate  joyntly  unto  you  two  honourable  sisters,  as 
to  the  most  excellent  and  rare  ornaments  of  all  true 
love  and  beautie,  both  in  the  one  and  the  other  kind  ; 
humbly  beseeching  you  to  vouchsafe  the  patronage 
of  them,  and  to  accept  this  my  humble  service,  in 
lieu  of  the  great  graces  and  honourable  favours  which 
ye  dayly  shew  unto  me,  until  such  time  as  I  may, 
by  better  meanes,  yeeld  you  some  more  notable  tes- 
tiraonie  of  my  thankfull  mind  and  dutifull  devotion. 
And  even  so  I  pray  for  your  happinesse.  Green- 
wich this  first  of  September,  1596.  Your  Honors 
most  bounden  ever, 

In  all  humble  service, 

Ed.  Sp. 


AN  HYMNE  IN  HONOUR  OF  LOVE, 


Love,  that  long  since  hast  to  thy  mighty  powre 
Perforce  subdude  my  poor  captived  hart, 
And,  raging  now  therein  with  resllesse  stowre, 
Doest  tyrannize  in  everie  weaker  part, 
Faine  would  I  seeke  to  ease  mv  bitter  smart 
Bv  any  service  I  might  do  to  thee. 
Or  ought  that  else  might  to  thee  pleasing  bee. 


And  now  t'  asswage  the  force  of  this  new  flame, 

And  make  thee  more  propitious  in  my  need, 

I  meane  to  sing  the  praises  of  thy  name,  10 

And  thy  victorious  conquests  to  areed. 

By  which  thou  madest  many  harts  to  bleed 

Of  mighty  victors,  with  wide  wounds  embrewed, 

And  by  thy  cruell  darts  to  thee  subdewed. 


392 


AN  HYMNE  IN  HOXOl'll  OK  LOVE. 


Onely  I  fear  my  wits  enfeebled  late,  15 

Throup.-h  the  sharp  sorrowes  wlacli  tliou  hast  me  iM-ed, 
Thould  faint,  and  words  should  faile  me  to  relate 
The  wondrous  triumphs  of  thy  p:reat  ejod-hed  : 
But,  if  thou  wouldst  vouchsafe  to  overspred 
j\Ie  with  the  shadow  of  thy  i;entle  wing,  20 

I  should  enabled  be  thy  actes  to  sing. 

■  Come,  then,  O  come,  thou  mightie  God  of  Love  ! 
Out  of  thy  silver  bowres  and  secret  blisse, 
Wliere  thou  dost  sit  in  Venus  lap  above. 
Bathing'  thy  wings  in  her  ambrosial  kisse,  25 

That  sweeter  farre  than  any  nectar  is  ; 
Come  softly,  and  my  feeble  breast  inspire 
With  gentle  furie,  kindled  of  thy  iire. 

And  ye,  sweet  rnuses  !  which  have  often  proved, 
The  piercing  points  of  his  avengefull  darts  ;  30 

And     ye,  fair    nimphs !    which    oftentimes     have 

loved 
The  cruel  worker  of  vour  kindlv  smarts, 
Prepare  yourselves,  and  open  wide  your  harts 
For  to  receive  the  triumph  of  your  glorie. 
That  made  you  merie  oft  wlien  ye  were  sorrie.       35 

And  ye,  faire  blossoms  of  youths  wanton  breed  ; 
Which  in  the  con(]uests  of  vour  beautie  host. 
Wherewith  your  lovers  feeljle  eyes  you  feed. 
But  sterve  their  harts  that  needeth  nourture  most, 
Prepare  your  selves  to  march  amongst  his  host,    40 
And  all  the  way  this  sacred  hymne  do  sing, 
Made  in  the  honor  of  your  soveraigne  king. 

Great  God  ofINIigiit,  that  reignest  in  the  mynd, 
And  all  the  bodie  to  thv  best  doest  frame, 
Victor  of  gods,  subduer  of  mankynd,  45 

Tiiat  doest  the  lions  and  fell  tigers  tame. 
Making  their  cruell  rage  thy  scornful!  game. 
And  in  their  roarinj;  taking  great  delight  ; 
Who  can  expresse  the  glorie  of  thy  might? 

Or  who  alive  can  perfectly  declare  50 

The  wondrous  cradle  of  thine  infancie. 

When  thy  great  mother  \''euus  first  thee  bare, 

Begot  of  Plenty  and  of  Penurie, 

Though  elder  then  thine  own  nativitie. 

And  yet  a  chyld,  renewing  still  thy  yeares,  55 

And  yet  the  eldest  of  tlie  heavenly  peares  ? 

For  ere  this  worlds  still  moving  mightie  masse 

Out  of  great  Chaos  ugly  jirison  crept. 

In  which  his  goodlv  face  long  hidden  was 

From  heavens  view,  and  in  deep  darknesse  kept,   60 

Love,  that  had  now  long  tune  securely  slept 

In  Venus  lap,  unarmed  then  and  naked, 

Gau  reare  his  head,  by  Cloiho  being  waked  : 

.\nd  taking  to  him  wings  of  his  own  heat. 

Kindled  at  first  from  heavens  life-giving  f'yre,       65 

He  gan  to  move  out  of  his  idle  seat  ; 

Weakly  at  first,  but  after  with  desyre 

Lifted  aloft,  he  gan  to  mount  up  livre. 

And,  like  fresh  eiigle,  made  Iiis  hardy  flight 

'1  Ino  all  that  great  wide  wast,  yet  wanting  light.  70 

Yet  wanting  light  to  guide  his  wandring  way, 
His  own  faire  mother,  for  all  creatures  sake, 
l^id  lend  him  light  from  her  owne  goodly  ray; 
Then  tiirough  the  world  his  wav  he  gan  to  take, 
The  world,  that  was  not  till  he  did  it  make,  75 


Whose  sundrie  parts  he  from  themselves  did  sever 
The  which  before  had  lyen  confused  ever. 

The  earth,  the  ayre,  the  water,  and  the  fyre, 
'i'hen  gan  to  raunge  themselves  in  huge  array, 
And  with  contrary  forces  to  conspyre  80 

Each  against  other  by  all  meanes  they  may, 
Threatning  their  owne  confusion  and  decay  : 
Ayre  hated  earth,  and  water  hated  fyre. 
Till  Love  relented  tlieir  rebellious  yre. 

He  then  them  tooke,  and,  tempering  goodly  well  85 

Their  contrary  dislikes  with  loved  meanes, 

Did  place  them  all  in  order,  and  coinpell 

To  keepe  themselves  witliin  their  sundrie  raines, 

Together  linkt  with  adamantine  chaines  ; 

Yet  so,  as  that  in  every  living  wight  90 

They  mix  themselves,  and  shew  their  kindly  might. 

So  ever  since  they  firmely  have  remained. 
And  duly  well  observed  his  beheast ;  [tained 

Tiirough  which  now  all  these  things  that  are  con- 
Within  this  goodly  cope,  both  most  and  least,        9L 
Their  being  have,  and  daily  are  increast 
Through  secret  sparks  of  his  infused  fyre. 
Which  in  the  barraine  cold  he  doth  inspyre. 

Thereby  they  all  do  live,  and  moved  are 

To  multi])ly  the  likenesse  of  their  kynd,  100 

U'hilest  they  seeke  onely,  without  further  care, 

To  quench  the  flame  which  they  in  burning  tVnd  ; 

But  man  tliat  breathes  a  more  immortall  niyuu, 

Not  for  lusts  sake,  but  for  eternitie, 

Seekes  to  enlarge  his  lasting  progenie  ;  105 

For,  having  yet  in  his  deducted  spright 

Some  sparks  remaining  of  that  heavenly  fyre. 

He  is  enlumind  witli  that  goodly  light. 

Unto  like  goodly  semblant  to  aspvre  ; 

Therefore  in  choice  of  love  he  doth  desyre  110 

That  seenies  on  earth  most  heavenly  to  embrace. 

That  same  is  Beautie,  borne  of  heavenly  race. 

For  sure  of  all  that  in  this  mortal!  frame 
Contained  is,  nought  more  divine  doth  seeme, 
Or  that  resembleth  more  th'  immortall  flame         115 
Of  heavenly  light,  than  Beauties  glorious  beam. 
Wiiat  wondor  then,  if  with  such  rage  extreme 
Frail  men,  whose  eyes  seek  heavenly  things  to  see, 
At  sight  thereof  so  much  enravisht  bee? 

Which  well  perceiving,  that  imperious  boy  120 

Doth  therewith  tip  his  sharp  emj)oisned  darts, 
Which  glancing  thro  th.e  eyes  with  countenance  coy 
Rest  not  till  they  have  jiierst  the  trembling  harts. 
And  kindled  fl;ime  in  all  their  inner  ])arts, 
W  hith  suckes  the  blood,  and  driiiketh  up  the  lyfe, 
Of  carefull  wretches  with  consuming  griefe.        126 

Thenceforth  they  playne,  and  make  full  piteous  mone 
(Into  tlie  author  of  their  balei'ull  bane  : 
'I'he  daies  they  waste,  the  nights  they  grieve  and  grone 
Their  lives  they  loath,  and  heavens  light  disdaine  ; 
No  light  but  that,  whose  lampe  doth  yet  remaine 
Fresh  burning  in  the  image  of  their  eye,  132 

They  dtigne  to  see,  and  seeing  it  still  dye. 

That  whilst  thou  tyrant  Love  doest  laugh  and  scorne 
At  their  complaints,  making  tlieir  paine  thy  jday,  133 
Whylest  they  lye  languishing  like  thrals  i'orlorne. 


AN  in  >!NK  IN    MOjNOUR  OF  LOVE. 


593 


The  whyles  thou  cloest  triumjih  in  tlieir  decay  ; 
And  otlierwhyles,  their  dying  to  delay, 
Thou  doest  emmarble  the  proud  hart  of  her 
"Whose  love  before  their  life  they  doe  prefer.         140 

So  bast  thou  often  done  (ay  nie,  the  more  !) 

To  me  thy  vassall,  whose  yet  bleeding  hart 

With  thousand  vrounds  thou  mangled  hast  so  sore, 

Tliat  whole  remaines  scarse  any  little  p;irt ; 

Yet,  to  augment  the  anguish  of  my  smart,  145 

Thou  hast  enfrozen  her  disdainefull  hrest, 

That  no  one  drop  of  pitie  there  doth  rest. 

Why  then  do  I  this  honor  unto  thee, 

Thus  to  ennoble  thy  victorious  name, 

Sith  thou  doest  shew  no  favour  unto  niee,  150 

Ne  once  move  ruth  in  that  rebellious  d;une, 

Somewhat  to  slacke  the  rigour  of  my  flame? 

Certes  small  glorv  doest  thou  winne  hereby, 

To  let  her  live  thus  free,  and  me  to  dy. 

But  if  thou  be  indeede,  as  men  thee  call,  155 

The  worlds  great  parent,  the  most  kind  preserver 

Of  living  wights,  the  soveraine  lord  of  all, 

How  fidies  it  then  that  with  thy  furious  fervour 

Thou  doest  afflict  as  well  the  not-deserver, 

As  him  that  doeth  thy  lovely  beasts  desjiize,       160 

And  on  thy  subiects  most  doth  tyrannize  t 

Yet  herein  eke  thy  glory  seemeth  more, 

By  so  hard  handling  those  which  best  thee  serve, 

That,  ere  thou  doest  them  unto  grace  restore. 

Thou  mayest  well  trie  if  thou  wilt  ever  swerve,     165 

And  mayest  them  make  it  better  to  deserve, 

And,  havmg  got  it,  may  it  more  esteeme  ; 

For  things  hard  gotten  men  more  dearely  deeme. 

So  hard  those  heavenly  beauties  he  enfyred 

As  things  divine,  least  passions  doe  impresse,     170 

The  more  of  stedfast  mvnds  to  be  admvred, 

The  more  they  stayed  be  on  sfedfastnesse  ; 

But  baseborne  minds  such  lamps  regard  the  lesse. 

Which  at  first  blowing  take  not  hastie  fyre  ; 

Such  fancies  feele  no  love,  but  loose  dt-syre.        175 

For  love  is  lord  of  truth  and  loialtie. 

Lifting  himself  out  of  the  lowly  dust 

On  golden  plumes  up  to  the  purest  skie. 

Above  the  reach  of  loathly  sinfull  lust. 

Whose  base  affect  through  cowardly  distrust       180 

Of  his  weake  wings  dare  not  to  heaven  fly. 

But  like  a  moldwarpe  in  the  earth  doth  ly. 

His  dunghill  thoughts,  which  do  themselves  enure 

To  dirtie  drosse,  no  higher  dare  aspyre, 

Ne  can  his  feeble  earthlv  eyes  endure  185 

The  flaming  light  of  that  celestiall  fyre 

Which  kindleth  loye  in  generous  desyre. 

And  makes  him  mount  above  the  iiative  might 

Of  heavie  earth,  up  to  the  heavens  bight. 

Such  is  the  powre  of  that  sweet  passion,  190 

That  it  all  sordid  basenesse  doth  expell, 
And  the  refyned  mynd  doth  newly  fashion 
Unto  a  fairer  forme,  which  now  doth  dwell 
In  his  high  thought,  that  would  it  selfe  excell, 
Which  he  be-h  ilding  still  with  constant  sight,       195 
Admires  the  mirrour  of  so  heavenly  light. 


Whose  image  printing  in  bis  deepest  wit. 

He  thereon  feeds  his  hungrie  fantasy, 

Still  full,  yet  never  satisfyde  with  it; 

Like  Tantale,  tliat  in  store  doth  sterved  ly,  200 

So  doih  he  pine  in  most  satiety  ; 

For  nought  may  quench  liis  infinite  desyre. 

Once  kindled  through  that  first  conceived  fyre. 

Thereon  his  mynd  affixed  wholly  is, 
Ne  thinks  on  ought  but  how  it  to  attaine  ;  20 

His  care,  his  ioy,  his  hope,  is  all  on  this, 
■That  seemes  in  it  all  blisses  to  containe. 
In  sight  whereof  all  other  blisse  seemes  vaine  : 
Thrice  happie  man  !  might  he  the  same  possesse. 
He  faines  liimselte,  and  doth  his  fortune  blesse.  210 

And  though  he  do  not  win  liis  wish  to  end. 

Yet  thus  farre  happie  he  hiinselfe  doth  weene. 

That  heavens  such  huppie  grace  did  to  him  lend. 

As  thing  on  earth  so  heavenly  to  have  scene 

His  harts  enshrined  saint,  his  heavens  queene,    2l5 

Fairer  then  fairest,  in  his  fayning  eye. 

Whose  sole  aspect  he  counts  felicity e. 

Then  forth  he  casts  in  his  unquiet  thought. 

What  he  may  do,  her  favour  to  obtaine ; 

Wliat  brave  exploit,  whatperill  hardly  wrought,  220 

What  puissant  conquest,  what  adventurous  paine, 

JMay  please  her  best,  and  grace  unto  him  game  ; 

He  dreads  no  danger,  nor  misfortune  feares. 

His  faitli,  his  fortune,  in  his  breast  he  beares. 

Thou  art  his  god,  thou  art  his  mightie  guyde,      225 
Thou,  being  blind,  letst  him  not  see  his  feares. 
But  earnest  him  to  that  which  he  had  eyde. 
Through    seas,   through   flames,   through   thousaiv 

swords  and  speares  ; 
Ne  ought  so  strong  that  may  his  force  witlislund, 
With  which  thou  arniest  his  resistlesse  hand.      230 

Witnesse  Leander  in  the  Kuxine  waves, 

And  stout  ylineas  in  the  Troiane  fyre, 

Achilles  preassing  through  the  Phrygian  glaives, 

And  Orpheus,  daring  to  provoke  the  yre 

Of  damned  fiends,  to  get  his  love  retyre  ;  235 

For  both  through  heaven  and  hell  thou  makest  way, 

To  win  them  worship  which  to  thee  obay. 

And  if  by  all  these  jjcriis,  and  these  paynes, 

He  may  but  purchase  lykiiig  in  her  eye, 

Wh;it  lieavens  of  ioy  then  to  himselfe  he  faynes  !  240 

Eftsoones  he  wypes  quite  out  of  memory 

W  hatever  ill  before  he  did  aby  : 

Had  it  beene  death,  yet  would  he  die  againe. 

To  live  thus  happie  as  her  grace  to  gaiiie. 

Yet,  when  he  hath  found  favour  to  his  will,         245 

He  nathemore  can  so  contented  rest, 

But  Ibrceth  further  on,  and  slriveth  still 

T' approach  more  neare,  till  in  her  inmost  brest 

He  may  embosomd  bee  and  loved  best ; 

And  yet  not  best,  but  to  be  lov'd  alone  ;  i-A* 

For  love  cannot  endure  a  ])ar,igoue. 

The  fear  whereof,  0  how  doth  it  torment 
His  troubleil  mynd  with  mure  then  hellish  pame  ! 
And  to  bis  tayning  fansie  represent 
Sights  never  scene,  and  tiiuusand  shadowes  vaine, 255 
.  1  o  breake  his  sleepe,  and  waste  his  ydle  brauie  : 


59-1 


AN  HYMNE  IN  'lONOUH  OF  BEAUTIE. 


Thou  that  hast  never  lov'J  canst  not  bi'lesve 
Least  part  of  th'  evils  wliich  poore  lovers  greeve. 

The  gnawing  envie,  the  hart-fretting  feare. 

The  vaine  surmizes,  the  dislrustfull  sliowes,        SCO 

The  false  reports  that  flynig  tales  doe  bcare, 

"J"he  doubts,  the  daungers,  the  delayes,  the  woes, 

'1  lie  favned  friends,  the  unassured  foes. 

With  thousands  more  then  any  tongue  can  tell, 

Doe  make  a  lovers  life  a  wretches  hell.  265 

Yet  is  tliere  one  more  cursed  then  they  all. 

That  cancker-worme,  that  monster,  Gelosie, 

Wliich  eates  the  heart  and  feedes  upon  the  gall, 

'I'urning  all  loves  delight  to  miserie. 

Through  feare  of  losing  his  felicitie.  270 

Ah,  Gods  !  that  ever  ye  that  monster  placed 

In  gentle  love,  that  all  his  ioyes  defaced  ! 

By  these,  O  Love  !  thou  doest  thy  entrance  make 
Unto  thy  heaven,  and  doest  the  more  endeere 
Thy  pleasures  unto  those  which  them  partake,    275 
As  alter  stormes,  when  clouds  begin  to  cleare, 
The  sunne  more  bright  and  glorious  doth  a])peare  ; 
So  thou  thy  folke,  through  paines  of  purgatorie 
Dost  beare  unto  thy  blisse,  and  heavens  glorie. 


There  thou  them  places  in  a  paradize 
Of  all  delight  and  ioyous  happy  rest. 


280 


Wheie  they  doe  feede  on  nectar  heavenly-wize, 
With  Hercules  and  Ilebe,  and  tlie  rest 
Of  Venus  dearlings,  through  her  bountie  blest; 
And  lie  like  gods  in  yvory  beds  arayd,  285 

With  rose  and  lillies  over  them  displayd. 

There  with  thy  daughter  Pleasure  they  doe  play 

Their  hurtlesse  sports,  without  rebuke  or  blame. 

And  in  her  snowy  bosome  boldly  lay 

Their  quiet  heads,  devoyd  of  guilty  shame,  290 

After  full  ioyance  of  their  gentle  game  ; 

Then  her  they  crowne  their  goddesse  andtheirqueene, 

And  decke  with  fioures  thy  altars  well  beseene. 

Ay  me  !  deare  Lord  !  that  ever  I  might  hope, 

For  all  the  paines  and  woes  that  I  endure,  295 

To  come  at  lengtli  unlo  the  wished  scope 

Of  my  desire,  or  might  myselfe  assure 

That  happie  port  for  ever  to  recure  ! 

Then  would  1  thinke  these  paines  no  paines  at  all. 

And  all  my  woes  to  be  but  penance  small.  oOO 

Then  would  I  sing  of  thine  immortal  praise 
An  heavenly  hymne,  such  as  the  angels  sing, 
And  thy  triumj)hant  name  then  would  1  raise 
Bove  all  the  gods,  thee  only  honoring  ;  305 

My  guide,  my  god,  my  victor,  and  my  king  : 
Till  then,  drad  Lord  !   vouchsafe  to  take  of  me 
This  simple  song,  thus  fram'd  in  praise  of  thee.    308 


AN  HYMNE  IN  HONOUE  OF  BEAUTIE. 


An  !  whither.  Love!   wilt  thou  now  carry  mee? 

What  wontlesse  fury  dost  thou  now  inspire 

Into  ray  feeble  breast,  too  full  of  thee  ? 

Wjiylest  seeking  to  aslake  thy  raging  fyre, 

Thou  in  me  kindlest  much  more  great  desyre,         5 

And  up  aloft  above  my  strength  doth  rayse 

The  wondrous  matter  of  my  fire  to  praise. 

That  as  I  earst,  in  praise  of  thine  owne  name, 

So  now  in  honour  of  thy  mother  deare. 

An  honourable  hymne  I  eke  should  frame,  10 

And,  with  the  brightnesse  of  her  beautie  cleare, 

The  ravisht  hearts  of  gazefull  men  might  reare 

To  admiration  of  that  heavenly  light, 

From  whence  proceeds  such  soule-enchanting  might. 

Therto  do  thou,  great  goddesse!   Queone  of  Beauty, 
Motlier  of  love,  and  of  all  vvorlds  delight,  16 

Without  whose  soveraj'ne  grace  and  kindly  dewty 
Nothing  on  earth  seems  fayre  to  fleshly  sight, 
Doe  thou  vouchsafe  with  thy  love-kindling  light 
'J'  illuminate  my  dim  and  dulled  cyne,  20 

And  beaulifie  this  sacred  hymne  of  thyne  : 

That  both  to  thee,  to  whom  I  meane  it  most, 
And  eke  to  her,  whose  faire  immortall  beame 
Math  darted  fyre  into  my  feeble  ghost, 
'I'hat  now  it  wasted  is  with  woes  extreame,  25 

It  may  so  jdease,  that  she  at  length  will  streame 
Some  deaw  of  grace  into  my  withered  hart. 
After  long  sorrow  and  consuming  smait. 


What  time  this  worlds  great  Workjiaister  did 
To  make  al  things  such  as  we  now  behold,        [cast 


It  seems  that  he  before  his  eye  has  plast 
A  goodly  paterne,  to  whose  perfect  mould 
He  tashiond  them  as  comely  as  he  could, 
That  now  so  faire  and  seemely  they  appeare. 
As  nought  may  be  amended  any  wheare. 

That  wondrous  paterne,  wheresoere  it  bee. 
Whether  in  earth  layd  up  in  secret  store, 
Or  else  in  heaven,  that  no  man  may  it  see 
With  sinfull  eyes,  for  feare  it  to  deflore, 
Is  perfect  beautie,  whii  h  all  men  adore ; 
Whose  face  and  feature  doth  so  much  e.xcell 
All  mortal  sence,  that  none  the  same  may  tell. 

Thereof  as  every  earthly  thing  partakes 
Or  more  or  lesse,  by  influence  divine. 
So  it  more  faire  accordingly  it  mnkes, 
And  the  grosse  matter  of  this  earibly  myne 
Which  closeth  it  thereafter  doth  re'yne. 
Doing  away  the  drosse  which  dims  the  light 
Of  that  faire  beamo  which  therein  is  empight. 


31 


35 


40 


45 


50 


For,  through  infusion  of  celestiall  powre. 
The  duller  earth  it  (juickneth  with  delight, 
And  life-full  sjurits  privily  doth  ])owre 
Through  all  the  j)arts,  that  to  the  looker's  sight 
They  secnie  to  please;  that  is  thy  soveraine  might, 
O  ('yprian  (|ueene  I  which  flowing  from  the  beame  .55 
Of  thy  bright  starre,  thou  into  them  doest  streame. 


AN  IIVMXE  ]X    HONOUR  OF  IJKAUTIE. 


395 


Tliat  is  the  thing  which  giveth  pleasant  grace 
To  all  things  faire,  that  kindleih  lively  fyre. 
Light  of  thy  lampe;  which,  shyuing  in  the  face, 
'I'hence  to  the  soule  darts  amorous  desyre,  60 

And  robs  the  harts  of  those  which  it  admyre ; 
Tliert-with  thou  pointest  thy  sons  poysned  arrow, 
That  wounds  the  life,  and  wastes  the  inmost  marrow. 

How  vainelv  then  do  ydle  wits  invent, 

I'hat  beautie  is  nought  e\>e  but  mixture  made       65 

Of  colours  faire,  and  goodly  tempVament 

Of  pure  complexions,  that  shall  quickly  fade 

And  passe  away,  like  to  a  sommers  shade  ; 

Or  that  it  is  but  comely  composition 

Of  parts  well  measurd,  with  meet  disposition!       70 

Hath  white  and  red  in  it  such  wondrous  powre, 
That  it  can  pierce  through  th'  eyes  unto  tlie  hart, 
And  tlierein  stirre  such  rage  and  restlesse  stowre, 
As  nought  but  death  can  stint  his  dolours  smart? 
Or  can  proportion  of  tlie  outward  part  75 

Move  such  affection  in  the  inward  mynd, 
That  it  can  rob  both  sense,  and  reason  blynd  ? 

Why  doe  not  then  the  blossomes  of  tlie  field, 

Wliich  are  arayd  with  much  more  orient  hew. 

And  to  the  sense  most  daintie  odours  yield,  80 

Worke  like  impression  in  the  lookers  vew  ? 

Or  why  doe  not  faire  pictures  like  ])Owre  shew, 

In  which  oft-times  we  nature  see  of  art 

Kxceld,  in  perfect  limming  every  part? 

But  ah  !  beleeve  me  there  is  more  than  so,  85 

That  workes  such  wonders  in  the  minds  of  men  ; 

I,  that  have  often  prov'd,  too  well  it  know. 

And  who  so  list  the  like  assa\es  to  ken. 

Shall  find  by  trial,  and  confesse  it  then. 

That  beautie  is  not,  as  fond  men  misdeeme,  90 

An  outwarde  shew  of  things  that  onely  seeme. 

For  that  same  goodly  hew  of  white  and  red. 

With  which  the  cheekes  are  sprinckled,  shall  decay. 

And  those  sweete  rosy  leaves,  so  fairly  spred 

Upon  the  lips,  shall  fade  and  fall  away  95 

To  that  they  were,  even  to  corrupted  clay  : 

That  golden  wyre,  those  sparckling  stars  so  bright, 

Shall  turne  to  dust,  and  lose  their  goodly  light. 

But  that  faire  lampe,  from  whose  celestiall  ray 

That  light  proceedes,  which  kindleth  lovers  fire,  100 

Shall  never  be  extinguisht  nor  decay  ; 

But,  when  the  vitall  spirits  doe  expyre, 

Unto  her  native  planet  shall  retyre ; 

For  it  is  heavenly  borne  and  cannot  die, 

Being  a  parcell  of  the  purest  skie.  105 

For  when  the  soule,  the  which  derived  was, 

At  first,  out  of  that  great  immorlall  spright, 

By  whom  all  live  to  love,  whilome  did  pas 

Down  from  the  top  of  purest  heavens  hight 

To  be  embodied  here,  it  then  tooke  light  110 

And  lively  spirits  from  that  fayrest  starre 

Which  lights  the  world  forth  from  his  firie  carre. 

Which  powre  retayning  still  or  more  or  lesse, 

When  she  in  fleshly  seede  is  eft  enraced, 

Throuoh  every  part  she  doth  the  same  impresse.  115 

Acconliiig  as  the  heavens  have  her  graced, 

And  frames  her  house,  in  which  she  will  be  placed, 


Fit  for  h.'T  self--,  r.d-riiing  it  with  spoyle 

Of  th'  heavenly  riches  which  she  robd  erewhyls. 

Thereof  it  comes  that  these  faire  soules,  which  have 
The  most  resemblance  of  that  heavenly  light.       121 
P>ame  to  themselves  most  beautiful!  and  brave 
Their  fleshly  bowre,  most  fit  for  their  delight, 
And  the  grosse  matter  by  a  soveraine  might 
Temper  so  trim,  that  it  n)ay  well  be  seeue  125 

A  pallace  fit  for  such  a  virgin  queene. 

So  every  spirit,  as  it  is  most  pure. 

And  hath  in  it  the  more  of  heavenly  light. 

So  it  the  fairer  bodie  doth  jirocure 

To  habit  in,  and  it  more  fairely'dight  13( 

With  chearfuU  grace  and  amiable  sight  ; 

For  of  the  soule  the  boilie  forme  doth  take  ; 

For  soule  is  forme,  and  doth  the  bodie  make. 

Therefore  where-ever  that  thou  doest  behold 

A  comely  corpse,  with  beautie  fiaire  endewed,       135 

Know  tliis  for  certaine,  that  the  same  doth  hold 

A  beauteous  soule,  with  fair  conditions  thewed, 

Fit  to  receive  the  seede  of  vertue  strewed  ; 

For  all  that  faire  is,  is  by  nature  good  ; 

That  is  a  sign  to  know  the  gentle  blood.  140 

Yet  oft  it  falles  that  many  a  gentle  mynd 
Dwels  in  deformed  tabernacle  drownd. 
Either  by  chaunce,  against  the  course  of  kynd. 
Or  through  uiiaptnesse  in  the  substance  fownd. 
Which  it  assumed  of  some  stubborne  grownd,     145 
That  will  not  yield  unto  her  formes  direction. 
But  is  perform'd  with  some  foule  imperfection 

And  oft  it  ftilles,  (aye  me,  the  more  to  rew  !) 
That  goodly  beautie,  albe  heavenly  borne. 
Is  foule  abiisd,  and  that  celestiall  hew,  150 

Which  doth  the  world  with  her  delight  adorne. 
Made  but  the  bait  of  sinne,  and  sinners  scorne. 
Whitest  every  one  doth  seeke  and  sew  to  have  it, 
But  every  one  doth  seeke  but  to  deprave  it. 

Yet  nathtimore  is  that  faire  beauties  blame,  155 

But  theirs  that  do  abuse  it  unto  ill  : 

Nothing  so  good,  but  that  through  guilty  shame 

May  be  corrupt,  and  wrested  unto  will  : 

Nathelesse  the  soule  is  faire  and  beauteous  still. 

However  fleshes  fault  it  filthy  make  ; 

For  things  immortall  no  corruption  take. 

But  ve,  faire  dames  !  the  worlds  deare  ornaments 
And  lively  images  of  heavens  light. 
Let  not  your  beames  with  such  disparagements 
Be  dimd,  and  your  bright  glorie  darkned  quight ;  165 
But,  mindfull  still  of  your  first  countries  sight. 
Doe  still  preserve  your  first  informed  grace, 
Whose  shadow  yet  shynes  in  your  beauteous  face. 

Loath  that  foule  blot,  that  hellish  fierbrand, 

Disloiall  lust  fair  beauties  foulest  blame,  170 

That  base  affection,  which  your  eares  would  bland 

Commend  to  you  by  loves  abused  name. 

But  is  indeede  the  bondslave  of  defame  ; 

Which  will  the  garland  of  your  glorie  marre. 

And  quench  the'light  of  your  bright  shyning  starre. 

But  gentle  love,  that  loiall  is  and  trew. 
Will  more  illumine  your  resplendent  ray. 
And  add  more  brightnesse  to  your  goodly  hew, 


176 


396 


AN  IIYMSL  IN  HONOUR  OF  BEAQTIE. 


From  liglit  of  his  pure  fire  ;  wbicli,  by  like  way 
Kindled  of  vours,  your  likenesse  dotii  dis})!ay  ;   180    ) 
Like  as  two  miirours,  by  opposd  reflection, 
Doe  both  expresse  the  f;^.ces  first  impression. 

Therefore,  to  make  your  beautie  more  appeare, 

It  you  behoves  to  love,  and  forth  to  lay 

'J'hat  lieavenly  riches  which  in  you  ye  beare,       105 

Tliat  men  the  more  ad  my  re  their  founfaine  may  ; 

For  else  what  bootetb  that  celestiall  ray, 

If  it  in  darknesse  be  enshrined  ever. 

That  it  of  loving  eyes  be  vewed  never? 

But,  in  your  choice  of  loves,  this  well  advize,      190 

Tliat  likest  to  your  selves  ye  them  select, 

The  which  your  formes  first  sourse  may  sympathize, 

And  with  like  beauties  parts  be  inly  deckt ; 

Forif  \ou  loosely  love  witliout  respect, 

It  is  not  love,  but  a  discordant  warre,  195 

Whose  unlike  parts  amongst  themseves  do  iarre. 

For  love  is  a  celestiall  harmonie 

Of  likely  halts  composd  of  starres  concent, 

Which  ioyne  tof^'ether  in  sweete  sympathie. 

To  \»-ork  each  others  ioy  and  true  content,  200 

Which  they  have  harbourd  since  their  first  descent 

Out  of  their  heavenly  bowres,  where  they  did  see 

And  know  ech  other  here  belov'd  to  bee. 

Then  wrong  it  were  that  any  other  twaine 

Soould  in  loves  gentle  band  combyned  bee  205 

But  those  whom  heaven  did  at  first  ordaine, 

And  made  out  of  one  mould  the  more  t'  agree  ; 

For  all,  that  like  the  beautie  which  they  see. 

Straight  do  not  love  ;  for  Love  is  not  so  light 

As  streight  to  burne  at  first  beholders  sight.        210 

But  they,  which  love  indeede,  looke  otherwise, 

VVith  pure  regard  and  spotlesse  true  intent, 

Drawing  out  of  the  obiect  of  their  eyes 

A  more  refyned  form,  which  tliey  present 

Unto  their  mind,  voide  of  nil  blemishraent;  215 

Which  it  reducing  to  her  first  perfection, 

Beholdeth  free  from  fleshes  frayle  infection. 

And  then  conforming  it  unto  the  light. 

Which  in  it  selfe  it  hath  remaining  still, 

Of  that  first  sunne,  yet  sparckling  in  his  sight,    220 

Thereof  he  fashions  in  his  higher  skill 

An  lieavenlv  beautie  to  his  fancies  will  ; 

And,  it  embracing  in  his  mind  entvre. 

The  mirrour  of  his  owne  thought  doth  admyre. 

W'hich  seeing  now  so  inly  faire  to  be,  225 

As  outward  it  appeareth  to  the  trye. 

And  witli  his  s])irils  projiortion  to  agree, 

He  thereon  fixeth  all  his  fantasie, 

.\nd  fully  setteth  his  felicititi; 

Counting  it  fairer  then  it  is  indeede,  230 

And  yet  indeede  her  fairnesse  doth  exceede. 

For  lovers  eves  more  sharply  sighted  bee 
Then  other  mens,  and  in  deare  loves  delight 


See  more  then  any  other  eves  can  see. 

Through  muiuall  receipt  of  beames  bright,  235 

^Vhich  cairie  privie  message  to  the  spright, 

And  to  their  eves  thatiniriost  faire  displav, 

As  plaine  as  light  discovers  dawning  day. 

Therein  they  see,  through  amorous  eye-glaunces, 
Armies  of  Loves  still  flying  too  and  fro,  240 

Which  dart  at  them  theii'  little  fierie  launees  ; 
Whom  having  wounded,  back  againe  they  go. 
Carrying  compassion  to  their  lovely  foe  ; 
Who,  seeing  her  faire  eyes  so  sharp  eflfect. 
Cures  all  their  sorrowes  with  one  sweete  aspect.  245 

In  which  how  many  wonders  doe  they  reede 

To  their  conceipt,  that  otiiers  never  see  ! 

.\  ow  of  her  smiles,  with  which  their  soules  they  feede, 

Like  gods  with  nectar  in  their  bankets  free  ; 

Now  of  her  lookes,  which  like  to  cordials  bee  ;  250 

But  when  her  words  embassade  forth  she  sends. 

Lord,  how  sweete  musicke  tliat  unto  them  lends  ! 

Sometimes  upon  her  forhead  they  behold 
A  thousand  graces  masking  in  delight  ; 
Sometimes  within  her  eye-lids  they  unfold  255 

Ten  ttiousand  sweet  belgards,  which  to  their  sight 
Doe  seeme  like  twinck'ing  starres  in  frostie  night ; 
But  on  her  lijis,  like  I'osy  buds  in  IMay, 
So  many  millions  of  chaste  pleasures  play. 

All  those,  O  Cytherea  !  and  thousands  more       260 
Thy  handmaides  be,  which  do  on  thee  attend, 
To  decke  thy  beautie  with  their  dainties  store, 
That  may  it  more  to  mortall  eves  commend. 
And  make  it  more  admyr'd  of  foe  and  frend  ; 
That  in  mens  harts  thou  mavst  thy  throne  enstall. 
And  spred  thy  lovely  kingdorae  over  all.  266 

Then  lo,  tryumph  !   O  great  Beauties  Queene, 

Advance  the  banner  of  thy  conquest  hie, 

That  all  this  world,  the  which  thy  vassels  beene, 

IMay  draw  to  thee,  and  with  dew  fealtie  2^0 

Adore  the  powre  of  thv  great  majestie, 

Singing  this  Hymne  in  honour  of  thy  name, 

Compyld  by  me,  which  thy  ])Oor  liegeman  am  ! 

In  lieu  whereof  graunt,  O  great  Soveraine  ! 
That  she.  whose  concjuering  beauty  doth  captive 
My  trembling  hart  in  her  eternall  chaine,  276 

One  drop  of  grace  at  length  will  to  me  give, 
That  I  her  bounden  thrall  by  lier  may  live, 
And  this  same  life,  which  first  fro  me  she  reaved, 
May  owe  to  her,  of  whom  I  it  receaved.  280 

And  you,  faire  Venus  dearling,  my  dear  dread  ' 
Fresh  flowre  of  grace,  great  goddesse  of  my  life, 
W'hen  y(mr  faire  eyes  these  fearfuU  lines  shall  read, 
Deigne  to  let  fall  one  drop  of  dew  reliefe. 
That  mav  recure  my  harts  long  pyning  griefe,     285 
And  shew  what  wondrous  powre  your  beauty  hath 
'iliat  can  restore  a  damned  wight  from  death.       28'? 


AN   HYMNE  OF  HEAVENLY  LOVE. 


397 


A]sr  HYMNE  OF  heave:^ly  love. 


Love,  lift  me  up  upon  thy  golden  wings, 

From  this  base  world  unto  tby  Leavens  hight, 

Where  I  may  see  those  admirable  thing's 

Which  there  thou  workest  by  thy  soveraine  might, 

Farre  above  feeble  reach  of  earthly  sight,  5 

That  I  thereof  an  heavenly  liymne  may  sing 

Unto  the  God  of  Love,  high  heavens  king. 

Many  levrd  layes  (ah  !  woe  is  me  the  more !) 

In  praise  of  that  mad  fit  which  fooles  call  love, 

I  have  in  th'  heat  of  youth  made  lieretofore,  10 

That  in  light  wits  did  loose  affection  move  ; 

But  all  those  follies  now  I  do  reprove, 

A.ud  turned  have  the  tenor  of  my  string, 

The  heavenly  prayses  of  true  love  to  sing. 

And  ye  that  wont  with  greedy  vaine  desire  15 

To  reade  my  fault,  and,  wondring  at  my  flame, 
1"o  warnie  vour  selves  at  my  wide  sparckling  fire, 
Sith  now  that  heat  is  quenched,  quench  my  blame, 
And  in  her  ashes  i^hrowd  my  dying  shame  ; 
For  who  ray  passed  follies  now  jjuisewes,  SlO 

Beginnes  his  owne,  and  my  old  fault  reuewes. 

Before  this  worlds  great  frame,  in  which  al 
Are  now  containd,  found  any  being-place,  [things 
Ere  flitting  Time  could  wag  his  eyas  wings 
About  that  mightie  bound  whieli  doth  embrace  25 
The  rolling  spheres,  and  parts  their  houresby  space, 
That  High  Eternall  Powre,  which  now  doth  move 
In  all  these  things,  mov'd  in  it  selfe  by  love. 

It  lovd  it  selfe,  because  it  selfe  was  faire ; 

(  For  fair  is  lov'd  ;)  and  of  it  self  begot,  SO 

Like  to  it  selfe  his  eldest  sonne  and  heire, 

Eternall,  pure,  and  voide  of  sinfull  blot. 

The  firstling  of  his  ioy,  in  whom  no  iot 

Of  loves  dislike  or  pride  was  to  be  found, 

W  bom  he  therefore  with  equall  honour  crownd.   35 

With  him  he  raignd,  before  all  time  prescribed, 
In  endlesse  glorie  and  immortal!  might, 
Together  with  that  third  from  them  derived. 
Most  wise,  most  holy,  most  almightie  spright  ! 
Whose  kingdomes  tlirone  no  thoughts  of  earthly  wight 
Can  comprehend,  much  lesse  my  trembling  verse  41 
With  equall  words  can  hope  it  to  reherse. 

Yet,  O  most  blessed  spirit !  pure  lampe  of  light, 

Eternall  spring  of  grace  and  wisedoin  trew. 

Vouchsafe  to  shed  into  my  barren  spright  45 

Some  little  drop  of  thy  celestiall  dew, 

'J  liat  may  my  rymes  with  sweet  infuse  embrew, 

And  give  me  words  equall  unto  my  thought. 

To  tell  the  marveiles  by  thy  mercie  wrought. 

Yet  being  pregnant  still  with  powrefull  grace,      50 
And  full  of  fruitfull  Love,  that  loves  to  get 
Things  like  himselfe,  and  to  enlarge  his  race. 
His  second  brood,  though  not  of  powre  so  great, 
Vet  full  of  beautie,  next  he  did  beget 
An  infinite  increase  of  angels  bright,  55 

11  glistring  glorious  in  their  JMakers  light. 


To  them  the  heavens  illimitable  hight  [hold, 

(Not  this  round  heaven,  which   we  from  hence  be- 
Adornd  with  thousand  lam])S  of  burning  light, 
And  with  ten  thousand  gemmes  of  shyning  gold,)  60 
He  gave  as  their  inheritance  to  hold. 
That  they  might  serve  him  in  eternall  blis. 
And  be  partakers  of  those  ioys  of  his. 

There  they  in  tlieir  trinall  triplicities 

About  hini  wait,  and  on  liis  will  depend,  65 

Either  with  nhnble  wings  to  cut  the  skies, 

When  he  tliem  on  his  messages  doth  send, 

Or  on  his  owne  dread  presence  to  attend. 

Where  they  behold  the  glorie  of  his  light. 

And  caroU  hymues  of  love  both  day  and  night.     70 

Both  day,  and  night,  is  unto  them  all  one  ; 
For  he  his  beames  doth  unto  them  extend. 
That  darknesse  there  appeareth  never  none  ; 
Ne  hath  their  day,  ne  hath  their  blisse,  an  end. 
But  there  their  termelesse  time  in  pleasure  spend  ; 
Ne  ever  should  their  happinesse  decay,  76 

Had  not  they  dar'd  their  Lord  to  disobay. 

But  pride,  impatient  of  long  resting  peace, 
Did  putfe  them  up  with  greedy  bold  ambition, 
Tliat  they  gan  cast  their  state  how  to  increase       80 
Above  the  "fortune  of  their  first  condition. 
And  fit  in  Gods  own  seat  witliout  commission  : 
The  brightest  angel,  even  tlie  child  of  Light, 
Drew  millions  more  against  their  God  to  fight. 

Th'  Almighty,  seeing  their  so  bold  assay,  85 

Kindled  the  flame  of  His  consuming  yre. 
And  with  His  onely  breath  them  blew  away 
From  heavens  hight,  to  which  they  did  aspyre. 
To  deepest  hell, "and  lake  of  damned  fyre, 
Where  they  in  darknesse  and  dread  horror  dwell,  90 
Hating  the'happie  light  from  which  they  fell. 

So  that  next  off-spring  of  the  Makers  love. 

Next  to  Himselfe  in  glorious  degree, 

Degendering  to  hate,  fell  from  above 

Through  pride  ;  (for  pride  and  love  may  ill  agree  ;) 

And  now  of  sinne  to  all  ensample  bee  :  96 

How  then  can  sinfull  flesh  itselfe  assures 

Sith  purest  angels  fell  to  be  impure  ? 

But  that  Eternall  Fount  of  love  and  grace, 

Still  flowing  forth  His  goodnesse  unto  all,  100 

Now  seeing  left  a  waste  and  em.ptie  place 

In  His  wyde  pnllace,  through  those  angels  fall, 

Cast  to  supply  the  same,  and  to  enstall 

A  new  unknowen  colony  therein,  [p"- 

Wliose  root  from  earths  base  groundworke  should  be- 

Therefore  of  clay,  base,  vile,  and  next  to  nought,  Idfi 
Yet  form'd  by  wondrous  skill,  and  by  His  might. 
According  to  an  lieavenly  patterne  wrought, 
Which  He  had  fashiond  in  his  wise  foresight. 
He  man  did  make,  and  breathd  a  living  spright  110 
Into  his  face  most  heautifull  and  fayre, 
Endewd  with  wisedomes  riches,  heavenly,  rare. 


398 


AxM   IIVMNE  OF  HEAVENLY  LOVE. 


Sucli  He  liim  made,  tliut  lie  resemble  might 
Himselfe,  as  mortal!  tliino-  immortal!  could; 
Him  to  be  lord  of  every  living  wiglit  115 

He  made  by  love  out  of  His  owne  like  mould, 
In  wlioiii  He  might  His  mightie  selfe  behould  ; 
For  Love  doth  love  the  thing  belov'd  to  see. 
That  like  itselfe  in  lovely  shape  may  bee. 

13ut  man,  forgetfull  of  his  ]Makers  grace  120 

No  lesse  than  anyels  whom  he  did  ensew, 
Fell  from  the  hope  of  promist  heavenly  place. 
Into  the  mouth  of  death,  to  sinners  dew, 
And  all  his  ofF-spring  into  thraldome  threw, 
W'liere  they  for  ever  should  in  bonds  remains      125 
Of  never-dead  yet  ever-dying  paine  ; 

Till  that  great  Lord  of  Lc've,  which  him  at  first 

Made  of  meere  love,  and  after  liked  well. 

Seeing  him  lie  like  creature  long  accurst 

In  that  deep  horror  of  despeyred  hell,  130 

Him,  wretch,  in  doole  would  let  no  lenger  dwell, 

But  cast  out  of  that  bondage  to  redeeme. 

And  pay  the  price,  all  were  his  debt  extreme. 

Out  of  the  bosome  of  eternall  blisse. 

In  which  he  reigned  with  his  gloiious  Syre,         135 

He  downe  descended,  like  a  most  demisse 

And  abiect  thrall,  in  fleshes  fraile  attvre. 

That  lie  for  him  might  pay  sinnes  deadl}'  hyre, 

And  him  restore  unto  that  happie  state 

In  which  be  stood  before  bis  haplesse  fate.  140 

In  flesh  at  first  the  guilt  committed  was, 

'J'herefore  in  flesh  it  must  be  satisfyde  ; 

^'or  spirit,  nor  angel,  though  they  man  surpas, 

Could  make  amends  to  God  for  mans  misguyde, 

But  onely  man  himselfe,  who  selfe  did  slyde  :      145 

So,  taking  flesh  of  sacred  virgins  wombe. 

For  mans  dears  sake  he  did  a  man  become. 

And  that  most  blessed  bodie,  which  was  borne 

AVithout  all  blemish  or  reprochfull  blame. 

He  freely  gave  to  be  both  rent  and  torne  150 

Of  cruftli  bands,  who  with  despightfull  shame 

Revyiing  him,  that  them  most  vile  became. 

At  length  him  nayled  on  a  gallow-tree. 

And  slew  the  lust  by  most  uniust  decree. 

O  huge  and  most  unspeakable  impression  155 

Of  loves  deep  wound,  that  pierst  the  piteous  hart 

Of  tl.at  deare  Lord  with  so  entyre  affection, 

And,  sharjjly  launcing  every  inner  jrart. 

Dolours  of  death  into  his  soule  did  dart. 

Doing  him  die  that  never  it  deserved,  160 

To  free  his  foes,  that  from  his  beast  had  swerved  ! 

What  hart  can  feel  least  touch  of  so  sore  launch, 
.Or  thought  can  think  the  depth  of  so  deare  wound  1 
Whose  bleeding  sourse  their  streames  yet  never 
But  slil  do  flow,  and  freshly  still  redovvnd,  [staunch 
To  hcnle  the  sores  of  sinfull  soules  unsound,  1G6 
And  dense  the  guilt  of  that  infected  cryme 
Which  was  enrooted  in  all  fleshly  slyme. 

O  blessed  Well  of  Love  !   O  Floure  of  Grace  ! 
O  glorious  Morning-Starre  !   O  Lanqie  of  Light ! 
Most  lively  image  of  thy  Fathers  face,  171 

Eternal  King  of  Glorie,  Lord  of  ftlight, 
Meeko  Lambe  of  God,  before  all  worlds  behight. 


How  can  we  thee  retpiite  for  all  this  good? 

Or  what  can  prize  that  thy  most  precious  blood  ?  175 

Yet  nought  thou  ask'st  in  lieu  of  all  this  love, 

But  love  of  us,  for  guerdon  of  thy  paine  : 

Ay  me !  what  can  us  lesse  than  that  behove? 

Had  he  required  life  for  us  againe. 

Had  it  bseiie  wrong  to  ask  his  owne  with  gains  ? 

He  gave  us  life,  be  it  restored  lost ;  181 

Then  life  were  least,  that  us  so  little  cost. 

But  he  our  life  hath  left  unto  us  free. 

Free  that  was  thrall,  and  blessed  that  was  band ; 

Ne  ought  demaunds  but  that  we  loving  bee,       185 

As  he  himselfe  hath  lov'd  us  afore-hand. 

And  bound  therto  with  an  eternall  band. 

Him  first  to  love  that  was  so  dearely  bought. 

And  next  our  brethren,  to  his  image  wrought. 

Him  first  to  love  great  right  and  reason  is,  190 

Who  first  to  us  our  life  and  being  gave. 

And  after,  when  we  fared  had  amisse, 

Us  wretches  from  the  second  death  did  save  ; 

And  last,  the  food  of  life,  wliich  now  we  have, 

Even  he  himselfe,  in  his  dear  sacrament,  195 

To  feede  our  hungry  soules,  unto  us  lent. 

Then  next,  to  love  our  brethren,  that  were  made 
Of  that  selfe  mould,  and  that  self  maker's  baud. 
That  we,  and  to  the  same  againe  shall  fade, 
Where  they  shall  have  like  heritage  of  land,        200 
However  here  on  higher  steps  we  stand. 
Which  also  were  with  selfe-same  price  redeemed 
That  we,  however  of  us  light  esteemed. 

And  were  they  not,  yet  sines  that  loving  Lord 

Commaunded  us  to  love  them  for  his  sake,  205 

Even  for  bis  sake,  and  for  his  sacred  word. 

Which  in  his  last  bequest  he  to  us  spake. 

We  should  them  love,  and  with  their  needs  partake  ; 

Knowing  that,  whatsoere  to  them  we  give. 

We  give  to  him  by  whom  we  all  doe  live.  210 

Such  mercy  be  by  his  most  holy  reede 

Unto  us  taught,  and  to  approve  it  trew, 

Ensampled  it  by  His  most  righteous  deede, 

Shewing  us  mercie  (miserable  crew  !) 

That  we  the  like  should  to  the  wretches  shew,    215 

And  love  our  brethren  ;   thereby  to  approve 

How  much,  himselfe  that  loved  us,  we  love. 

Then  rouze  thy  selfe,  0  Karth  !   out  of  thy  soyle, 

In  which  thou  wallowest  like  to  filthy  swyne. 

And  doest,  thy  niynd  in  durty  pleasures  moyle  j  220 

Unmindfull  of  that  dearest  Lord  of  thyne  ; 

Lift  up  to  him  thy  heavie  clouded  eyne, 

That  thou  this  soveraine  bountie  mayst  behold, 

And  read,  through  love,  his  mercies  manifold. 

Beginne  from  first,  where  he  encradled  was        225 

In  simple  cratch,  wrapt  in  a  wad  of  bay, 

Betweene  the  toy  1  full  oxe  and  humble  asse, 

And  in  what  rags,  and  in  how  base  aray. 

The  glory  of  our  heavenly  riches  lay, 

Wiien  him  tlie  silly  siiejiheards  cam'o  to  see,        ^SC 

Whom  greatest  princes  sought  on  lowest  knee. 

From  thence  reade  on  the  storie  of  his  life. 

His  humble  carriage,  his  unfaulty  waves, 

liis  cancred  foes,  his  fights,  his'toyle,  his  strif*-. 


AN  HYMNE  OF  HiAVExVLY  BEAUTIK. 


399 


His  paines,  his  povertie,  his  sharpe  assayes,        235 
Through  vrLich  he  past  liis  miserable  dayes, 
Offending  none,  and  doing  good  to  all, 
Yet  being  malist  both  by  great  and  small. 

And  look  at  la-t,  hov.-  of  most  wretched  wights 
He  taken  was,  betrayd,  and  false  accused  ;  240 

Hon-  with  most  scorufull  taunts,  and  fell  despights, 
He  was  revyld,  disgrast,  and  foiile  abused  ; 
How    scourgd,   how    crownd,    how    buffeted,   how 

brused  ; 
And  lastly,  how  twi^t  robbers  crucifyde, 
With  hitter  wounds  through  hands,  through  feet,  and 

syde !  245 

Then  let  thy  flinty  hart,  that  feeles  no  paine, 

Empierced  be  with  pittifull  remorse, 

And  let  tliy  bowels  bleede  in  every  vaine. 

At  sight  of  his  most  sacred  heavenly  corse. 

So  tome  and  mangled  with  malicious  forse  ;  250 

And  let  thy  soule,  whose  sins  his  sorrows  wrought, 

Melt  into  teares,  and  grone  in  grieved  thought. 

U'ith  sence  whereof,  whilest  so  thy  softened  spirit 
Is  inly  toucht,  and  humbled  with  meeke  zeale 
'I'hrough  meditation  of  his  endlesse  merit,  255 

Lift  up  thy  mind  to  th'  author  of  thy  weale. 
And  to  his  soveraine  mercie  doe  appeale  ; 
Learne  him  to  love  that  loved  thee  so  deare, 
\nciSin  tliy  brest  his  blessed  image  beare. 


With  all  thy  hart,  with  all  thy  soule  and  mind,    2f 
Thou  must  him  love,  and  his  beheasts  enibrace; 
All  other  loves,  with  which  the  world  doth  blind 
Weake  fancies,  and  stirre  up  affections  base. 
Thou  must  renounce  and  utterly  displace, 
And  give  thy  selfe  unto  him  full  and  frt'O,  265 

That  full  and  freely  gave  himselfe  to  thee. 

Then  shalt  thou  feele  thy  spirit  so  possest. 

And  ravisht  with  devouring  great  desire 

Of  his  dear  selfe,  that  shall  thy  feeble  brest 

Inflame  with  love,  and  set  thee  all  on  fire  270 

With  burning  zeale,  through  every  part  entire, 

That  in  no  earthly  thing  thou  shaft  delight. 

But  in  his  sweet  and  amiable  sight. 

Thenceforth  all  worlds  desire  *-ill  in  thee  dye, 

And  all  eartlies  glorie,  on  which  men  do  gaze,     275 

Seeme  durt  and  drosse  in  thy  pure-sighted  eye, 

Compar'd  to  that  celestiall  beauties  blaze. 

Whose  glorious  beames  all  fleshly  sense  doth  daze 

With  admiration  of  their  passing  light. 

Blinding  the  eyes,  and  iu mining  the  spright.        280 

Then  shall  thy  ravisht  soul  inspired  bee 

Witli  heavenly  thoughts  farre  above  humane  skil, 

And  thy  bright  radiant  eves  shall  plainelv  see 

Tir  idee  of  his  pure  glorie  [)re>ent  still 

IJefore  thy  face,  that  all  thy  spirits  shall  fill  28 

With  sweete    enragement  of  celestiall  love, 

Kinuied  through  sight  of  those  faire  things  above. 


AN   HYMI^^E   OF    HEAVENLY    BEAUTIE. 


Rapt  with  the  rage  of  mine  own  ravisht  thought. 

Through  contemplation  of  those  goodly  sights, 

And  glorious  images  in  heaven  wrought, 

Whose  wondrous  beauty,  breathing  sweet  delights 

Do  kindle  love  in  high  conceipted  sprights ;  5 

I  faine  to  tell  the  things  that  I  behold, 

but  feele  my  wits  to  iaile,  and  tongue  to  fold. 

Vouchsafe  then,  O  thou  most  Almightie  Spright! 
From  whom  all  guifts  of  wit  and  knowledge  flow. 
To  shed  mto  my  breast  some  sparkling  light  10 

Of  thine  nlernall  truth,  that  I  may  show 
Some  little  beames  to  mortall  eyes  below 
Of  that  immortallbeautie,  there  with  thee, 
Vv'hich  in  my  weake  distraughted  mynd  I  see; 

That  with  the  glorie  of  so  goodly  sight  15 

The  hearts  of  men,  which  fondly  here  admyre 
Faire  seeming  shewes,  and  feed  on  vaine  delight. 
Transported  with  celestiall  desyre 
Of  those  faire  formes,  may  lift  themselves  up  hyer, 
And  learne  to  love,  with  zealous  humble  dewty,    20 
Th'  eternal  fountaine  of  that  heavenly  beauty. 

Beginning  then  below,  with  th'  easie  vew 

Of  this  base  world,  subiect  to  fleshly  eye, 

From  thence  to  mount  aloft,  by  order  dew. 

To  contemplatiou  of  th'  immortall  sky  ;  25 

Of  the  soare  faulcon  so  I  learne  to  flye. 

That  flags  awhile  her  fluttering  wings  beneath, 

Till  she  her  selfe  for  stronger  flight  can  breath. 


Then  looke,  who  list  thy  gazefull  eyes  to  feed 
Witii  sight  of  that  is  faire,  looke  on  the  frame        30 
Of  thiswyde  universe,  and  therein  reed 
The  endlesse  kinds  of  creatures  which  by  name 
Thou  canst  not  count,  much  less  their  natures  airae  ; 
All  which  are  made  with  wondrous  wise  respect. 
And  all  with  admirable  beautie  deckt.  35 

First,  th'  earth,  on  adamantine  pillers  founded 
Amid  the  sea,  engirt  with  brasen  bands ; 
Then  th'  aire  still  flitting,  but  yet  firmely  bounded 
On  everie  side,  with  pyles  of  flaming  brands. 
Never  consum'd,  nor  quencht  with  mortall  hands  ; 
And,  last,  thutmightie  shining  cristall  wall,  41 

Wherewith  he  hath  encompassed  this  all. 

By  view  whereof  it  plainly  may  appeare, 

That  still  as  every  thing  doth  upward  tend. 

And  further  is  from  earth,  so  still  more  cleare        45 

And  faire  it  growes,  till  to  his  perfect  end 

Of  purest  Beautie  it  at  last  ascend  ; 

Ayre  more  then  water,  fire  much  more  then  avre. 

And  heaven  then  fire,  appeares  more  pure  and  favre. 

Looke  thou  no  further,  but  affixe  thine  eye  50 

On  that  bright  sh^'nie  round  still  moving  masse. 
The  house  of  blessed  Gud,  which  men  call  skye, 
All  sowd  with  glistring  stars  more  thicke  then  grasse. 
Whereof  each  other  doth  in  brightnesse  passe. 
But  those  two  most,  which,  ruling  night  and  day,  53 
As  king  and  queene,  the  heavens  empire  sway  • 


400 


AN  HYMXF.  OF  nnAVEXLY  BEAUTIE. 


And  tell  me  then,  what  hast  thou  ever  sees 

TLc.t  to  their  beaiitie  may  comjiared  bee, 

Or  I'an  the  sight  that  is  most  sbarpe  and  keene 

Kndure  their  captains  flamiiio-  head  to  see  1  60 

Hgw  much  lesse  tliose,  nmcli  higher  in  degree. 

And  so  much  fairer,  and  mucli  more  than  these, 

As  these  are  fairer  then  the  land  and  seas? 

For  farre  above  these  heavens,  which  here  we  see, 
Be  others  farre  exceeding  these  in  light,  65 

Not  bounded,  not  corrupt,  as  these  same  bee. 
But  iuiinite  in  largenesse  and  in  hight, 
Unmoving,  uncorrupt,  and  spotlesse  bright, 
That  need  no  sunne  t'  illuminate  their  spheres, 
But  their  owne  native  light  farre  passing  theirs.    70 

And  as  tliese  lieavens  still  by  degrees  arize, 

Until  they  come  to  their  first  Movers  bound. 

That  in  his  mightie  comjiasse  doth  comprize, 

And  carrie  all  the  rest  with  him  around  ; 

So  those  likewise  doe  by  degrees  redound,  75 

And  rise  more  faire,  till  they  at  last  arive 

To  the  most  faire,  whereto  they  all  do  strive. 

Faire  is  the  heaven  where  happy  soules  have  place, 

In  full  enioyraent  of  felicitie, 

Whence  they  doe  still  behold  the  glorious  face      80 

Of  the  Divine  Eternall  JMaiestie  ; 

More  faire  is  that,  where  those  idees  on  hie 

Enraunged  be,  which  Plato  so  admyred, 

And  pure  intelligences  from  God  inspyred. 

Yet  fairer  is  that  heaven,  in  which  do  raine  85 

The  soveraine  powers  and  mightie  potentates, 

Which  in  their  high  protection  doe  containe 

All  mortall  princes  and  imjieriall  states  ; 

And  i'ayrer  yet,  whereas  the  royall  seates 

And  heavenly  dominations  are  set,  90 

From  whom  all  earthly  governaunce  is  fet. 

Yet  farre  more  faire  be  those  bright  cherubins. 

Which  all  with  golden  wings^re  overdight. 

And  those  eternall  burning  seraphins, 

Which  from  their  faces  dart  out  fierie  light ;  95 

Yet  fairer  then  they  both,  and  much  more  bright, 

Be  th'  angels  and  archangi-ls,  which  attend 

On  Gods  owne  person,  without  rest  or  end. 

These  thus  in  faire  each  other  farre  excelling, 
As  to  the  highest  they  approach  more  near,  100 

Yei  is  that  highest  farre  beyond  all  telling. 
Fairer  then  all  the  rest  which  tliere  appenre, 
Though  all  their  beauties  ioyn'd  together  were  ; 
How  then  can  mortall  tongue  hope  to  expresse 
The  image  of  such  endlesse  perfectnesse  ?  105 

Cease  then,  my  tongue!  and  lend  unto  my  mynd 

Leave  to  betbinke  how  great  that  beauty  is, 

TA'hose  utmost  parts  so  beautiful!  I  fynd  ; 

J  low  much  more  those  essentiall  jiarts  of  his, 

His  truth,  his  love,  his  wiscdome,  and  his  blis,    110 

His  grace,  his  doome,  his  mercy,  and  his  might. 

By  which  he  lends  us  of  himselfe  a  sight! 

I'hose  unto  all  he  daily  doth  display, 

And  slievv  himselfe  in  th'  image  of  his  grace, 

As  in  a  looking-glast-e,  through  which  he  may     115 

Be  seene  of  all  ins  creatures  vile  and  base, 

TdhI  are  unable  else  to  see  his  face, 


Mis  glono'.is  face!   which  glistereth  else  so  bright. 
That  th'  angels  selves  can  not  endure  his  sight. 

But  we,  frail  wights!  whose  sight  cannot  sustaine 

The  s\ins  bright  heames  when  he  on  us  doth  shyno. 

But  that  their  points  rebutted  backe  againe  1'22 

Are  duld,  how  can  we  see  with  feeble  eyne 

The  glorie  of  that  Maiestie  Divine, 

In  sight  of  whom  both  sua  anil  moone  are  darke, 

Comj)ared  to  his  least  resjdeiide'.it  sparke  ?  126 

The  meanes,  therefore,  which  unto  us  is  lent 

Him  to  behold,  is  on  his  workes  to  looke, 

^Vhich  lie  hath  made  in  beauty  excellent, 

And  in  the  same,  as  in  a  brasen  booke,  130 

To  read  eiiregistred  in  every  nooke 

His  goodnesse,  which  his  beautie  doth  declare  ; 

For  all  thats  good  is  beautifull  and  faire. 

Thence  gathering  plumes  of  perfect  speculation. 
To  imjje  the  wi!)gs  of  thy  high  flying  mvnd,        135 
Mount  up  aloft  through  heavenly  contemplation. 
From  this  darke  world,  whose  dam])s  the  soule  do 
And,  like  the  native  brood  of  eagles  kynd,       [blynd, 
On  that  bright  Sunne  of  Glorie  fixe  thine  eves, 
Clear'd  from  grosse  mists  of  fraile  infirmities.      140 

Humbled  with  feare  and  awfull  reverence. 

Before  the  footestoole  of  His  Rlaiestie 

Throw  thy  selfe  downe,  witn  trembling  innocence, 

Ne  dare  looke  up  with  corruptible  eye 

On  the  dred  face  of  that  Great  Deity,  145 

For  feare,  lest  if  he  chaunce  to  look  on  thee, 

Tiiou  turne  to  nought,  and  fjuite  confounded  be. 

But  lowly  fall  before  his  mercie  seate, 

Close  covered  with  the  Lambes  integrity 

From  the  iust  wrath  of  his  avengeful!  threate      150 

That  sits  upon  the  lighteous  throne  on  by  ; 

His  throne  is  built  upon  eternity. 

More  firme  and  durable  tlieii  Steele  or  brasse, 

Or  the  hard  diamond,  which  them  both  doth  passe. 

His  scepter  is  tlie  rod  of  righteoiisnesse,  155 

Witli  which  he  biuseth  all  his  foes  to  dust, 

And  the  great  dragon  strongly  doth  represse, 

Under  the  rigour  of  his  iudgment  iust ; 

His  seate  is  truth,  to  which  the  faithfuU  trust. 

From  whence  proceed  her  beanies  so  pure  and  bright 

That  all  about  Him  sheddeth  glorious  light :  16 

Light,  farre  exceeding  that  bright  blazing  sparke 

Which  darted  is  from  Titans  flaming  head, 

That  with  his  beames  enlumineth  the  darke 

And  dampish  air,  whereby  al  things  are  red  ;       165 

Whose  nature  yet  so  much  is  marvelled 

Of  mortall  wits,  (hat  it  dot!)  much  amaze 

The  greatest  wisards  which  thereon  do  gaze. 

]3ut  that  immortal!  light,  whicli  tliere  doth  shine, 
Is  many  t!)ousand  times  more  bright,  more  cleure,170 
More  excellent,  more  glorious,  more  divine, 
Tlirougli  wliich  to  God  al!  mortal!  actions  liere, 
And  even  tlie  thoughts  of  men,  do  plaine  appeare  ; 
For  from  tli'  Eternall  Trutli  it  dotli  proceed, 
Tlirough   heavenly  vertue  which   her  beames   do 
breed 


Witli  the  great  glorie  of  that  wondrous  light 

His  tlirone  is  all  encomjiassed  around. 

And  hid  in  his  owne  brightnesso  from  the  siglit 


176 


AN  HYMNE  OF  HEAVENLY  BEAUIIE. 


401 


Of  all  that  looke  thereon  with  eyes  unsound  ; 
And  underneath  his  feet  are  to  be  found  180 

Thunder,  and  lightning,  and  tempestuous  fyre, 
The  instruments  of  his  avenging  yre. 

There  in  his  bosome  Sapience  doth  sit, 

The  soveraine  dearling  3^  liia  dr^ity. 

Clad  like  a  queene  in  royall  robes,  most  fit  185 

For  so  great  powre  ana  peerelesse  majesty, 

And  all  with  gemmes  and  iewels  gorgeously 

Adornd,  that  brighter  then  the  starres  appeare, 

And  make  her  native  brightnes  seem  more  clears. 

And  on  her  head  a  crown  of  purest  gold  190 

Is  set,  in  signe  of  higliest  soverainty  ; 

And  in  her  hand  a  scepter  she  doth  hold, 

With  which  she  rules  the  house  of  God  on  hy, 

And  menageth  the  ever-moving  sky, 

And  in  the  same  these  lower  creatures  all  195 

Subiected  to  her  puvre  imperiall. 

Both  heaven  and  earth  obev  unto  her  will, 

And  all  the  creatures  which  they  both  contains ; 

For  of  her  fulnesse  which  the  world  doth  fill 

They  all  partake,  and  do  in  state  remains  200 

As  their  great  Maker  did  at  first  ordains, 

Througli  observation  of  her  high  beheast. 

By  which  thsv  first  were  made,  and  still  increast. 

The  fairness  of  her  face  no  tongue  can  tell ; 

For  sne  tne  daughters  of  all  wemens  race,  205 

And  angels  eke,  in  beautie  doth  excell, 

JSparlc:eQ  on  her  from  Gods  owne  glorious  face, 

And  more  mcreasi  by  her  owne  goodly  grace, 

That  it  doth  farre  exceed  all  humane  thought, 

Ne  can  on  earth  compared  be  to  ought.  210 

Ne  could  that  painter  (had  he  lived  yet) 

AViiich  pictured  Venus  with  so  curious  quill, 

That  all  posteritis  admyred  it, 

iiave  pnrtray'd  this,  fur  all  his  maistring  skill  ; 

Ne  she  her  selfe,  had  she  remained  still,  215 

Anii  tvere  as  faire  as  fabling  wits  do  fayne, 

Could  once  come  neare  this  beauty  soverayne. 

But  had  those  wits,  the  wonders  of  the  dayes, 
Or  that  sweete  Teian  poet,  which  did  spend 
His  plenteous  vaine  in  setting  forth  her  praise,   220 
Seen  but  a  glims  of  this  which  I  pretend, 
How  wondrously  would  he  her  face  commend, 
Above  that  idole  of  his  fayning  thought, 
That    all     the    world    should    with    his    rimes    bs 
fraught ! 

How  then  dare  I,  the  novice  of  his  art,  225 

Presume  to  picture  so  divine  a  wight. 
Or  hope  t'  expresse  her  least  perfections  part. 
Whose  beautie  filles  the  heavens  with  her  light. 
And  darkes  the  earth  with  shadows  of  her  sight  1 
Ah,  gentle  muse  !  thou  art  too  weake  and  faint    230 
'i'he  pourtraict  of  so  heavenly  hew  to  paint. 

Let  angels,  which  her  goodly  face  behold 

And  see  at  will,  her  soveraigne  praises  sing, 

And  those  most  sacred  mysteries  unfold 

Of  that  faire  love  of  mightie  heavens  King  ;        235 

Enough  is  me  t'  admyre  so  heavenly  thing, 

And,  being  thus  with  her  huge  love  possest. 

In  the  only  wonder  of  her  selfe  to  rest. 


But  whoso  may,  thrise  happie  man  him  hold, 

Of  all  en  earth  whom  God  so  much  doth  grace,  240 

And  lets  his  owne  beloved  to  behold  ; 

For  in  the  view  ot  her  celestial!  lace 

All  icy,  all  blisse,  all  hiipjiinesse,  have  pkce ; 

Ne  ought  on  ^i.J-tl)  cm  want  unto  tlie  wight 

Who  of  her  seJe  ta-i  win  the  wishful  sight.        215 

For  she,  out  of  her  secret  threasury 

Plentie  of  riches  forth  on  him  will  ])Owre, 

Even  heavenly  riches,  which  there  hidden  ly 

Within  the  closet  of  lier  chastest  bowre, 

Tir  eternall  portion  of  her  precious  dowre.  250 

Which  mighty  God  hath  given  to  her  free, 

And  to  all  those  which  thereof  worthy  bee. 

None  thereof  worthy  be,  but  those  whom  shee 
Vouchsafeth  to  her  presence  to  receave. 
And  letteth  them  her  lovely  face  to  see,  255 

Whereof  such  wordrnns  pleasures  they  conceave. 
And  sweete  contentment,  tliat  it  doth  bereave 
Their  soul  of  sense,  through  infinite  delight, 
And  them  transport  from  flesh  into  the  spright. 

In  which  thay  see  such  admirable  things,  260 

As  carries  them  into  an  extasy, 

And  heare  such  heavenly  notes  and  carolings, 

Of  Gods  high  praise,  that  filles  the  brazen  sky  ; 

And  feele  sucli  ioy  and  pleasure  inwardly. 

That  rnaketh  them  all  worldly  cares  forget,  26.5 

And  onely  thinke  on  that  before  them  set. 

Ne  from  thenceforth  doth  any  fleshly  sense, 

Or  idle  thought  of  earthly  things,  remaine  ; 

But  all  that  earst  seemd  sweet  seemes  now  oflense. 

And  all  that  pleased  eaist  now  seemes  to  paine;  270 

Their  ioy,  their  comfort,  their  desire,  their  gaine, 

Is  fixed  all  on  that  which  now  they  see  ; 

All  other  sights  but  fayned  shadowes  bee. 

And  that  faire  lampe,  which  useth  to  inflame 
'J'he  hearts  of  men  with  selfe-consuming  fyre        275 
Thenceforth  seemes  fowle.  and  full  of  sint'ull  blame  ; 
And  all  that  pompe  to  which  proud  minds  aspyre 
By  name  of  Honor.,  and  so  much  desyre, 
Seemes  to  them  basenesse,  and  all  riches  drosse, 
And  all  mirth  sadnesse,  and  all  lucre  losse.  280 

So  full  their  eyes  are  of  that  glorious  sight. 

And  senses  fraught  with  such  satietie. 

That  in  nought  else  on  earth  they  can  delight. 

But  in  the  aspec  of  that  felicitie. 

Which  they  have  written  in  their  inward  ey  ;       285 

On  which  they  feed,  and  in  iheyr  fastened  mynd 

All  happie  ioy  and  full  contentment  fynd. 

Ah,  then,  my  hungry  soule  !  wh'ch  long  hast  fed 
On  idle  fancies  of  thy  foolish  thought. 
And,  with  false  Beauties  flattring  bait  misled,      290 
Hast  after  vaine  deceiptfull  shadowes  sought. 
Which  all  are  fled,  and  now  have  left  thee  nought 
But  late  repentance  through  thy  follies  prief ; 
Ah  '  ceasse  to  gaze  on  matter  of  thy  grief : 

And  looke  at  last  up  to  that  Soveraine  Light,       295 
From  whose  pure  beams  al  perfect  beauty  springs. 
That  kindleth  love  in  every  godly  spright 
Even  the  love  of  God  ;  which  loathing  brings 
Of  this  vile  world  and  these  gay-seeming  things; 
With  whose  sweet  pleasures  being  so  jiossest. 
Thy  straying  thoughts  henceforth  for  ever  rest. 

3  D 


TiiKEB  Visions. 

J591. 


VISIONS  OF  PETRARCH, 

FORMERLY  TRANSLATED. 


Being  one  day  at  my  window  all  alone, 
So  manie  strange  things  happened  mo  to  see. 
As  much  it  grieveth  me  to  thinke  thereon. 
At  my  right  hand  a  Hynde  appear'd  to  mee, 
So  faire  as  mote  the  greatest  god  delite  ; 
Two  eager  dogs  did  her  pursue  in  chace, 
Of  which  the  one  was  blacke,  the  other  white  : 
With  deadly  force  so  in  their  cruell  race 
Tliey  pincht  the  haunches  of  that  gentle  beast, 
Jhat  at  the  last,  and  in  short  time,  I  spide, 
Under  a  rocke,  where  she,  alas,  opprest, 
Fell  to  the  ground,  and  there  untimely  dide. 
Cruell  death  vanquishing  so  noble  beautie, 
Oft  makes  me  wayle  so  hard  a  destenie. 


After,  at  sea  a  tall  ship  did  nppeare. 
Made  all  of  heben  and  vdiite  yvorie; 
The  sailes  of  golde,  of  silke  the  tackle  were  . 
Milde  was  the  winde,  calme  seem'd  the  sea  to  bee, 
The  skie  eachwhere  did  show  full  bright  and  faire: 
^Vith  rich  treasures  this  gay  ship  fraighted  was  ; 
But  siiddcn  storme  did  so  turmoyle  the  aire. 
And  tumbled  u])  the  sea,  that  she  (alas) 
Strake  on  a  rock,  that  under  water  lay, 
And  perished  past  all  recoverie. 
O  !   how  great  ruth,  and  sorrowfull  assay. 
Doth  vex  my  spirite  with  perplexitie, 
Tlius  in  a  moment  to  see  lost  and  drown'd. 
So  great  riches  as  like  cannot  be  found. 


The  heavenly  branches  did  T  see  arise 
Out  of  the  fresh  and  lustie  lavvrell  tree. 
Amidst  the  young  greene  wood  of  Paradise  ; 
Some  nol)le  plant  1  thought  myselfe  to  see: 
Such  store  of  birds  therein  ysluowded  were, 
Cliauntiug  in  shade  their  sundrie  melodie, 
I'Lat  with  tlieir  sweetnes  I  was  ravish't  nere. 
vVhilw  on  this  laurell  fixed  was  mine  eie, 


The  skie  gan  everie  where  to  overcast, 
And  darkned  was  the  welkin  all  about. 
When  sudden  flash  of  heavens  fire  out  brast. 
And  rent  this  royall  tree  quite  by  the  roote 

Which  makes  me  much  and  ever  to  coraplaine; 

For  no  such  shadow  shalbe  had  agraine. 


Within  this  wood,  out  of  a  rocke  did  rise 

A  spring  of  water,  mildly  rumbling  downe, 

Whereto  approched  not  in  anie  wise 

The  homely  shepheard,  nor  the  ruder  clowne  ; 

But  manie  muses,  and  the  nymphes  withal), 

That  sweetly  in  accord  did  tune  their  voyce 

To  the  soft  sounding  of  the  waters  fall  • 

That  my  glad  hart  thereat  did  much  reioyce. 

But,  while  herein  I  tooke  my  chiefe  delight, 

I  saw  (alas)  the  gaping  earth  devoure 

The   spring,    the   place,    and  all     cleano  out    of 

si^ht; 
Which  yet  aggreeves  my  hart  even  to  this  houre. 
And  wounds  my  soule  with  rufull  memorie, 
To  see  such  pleasures  gon  so  suddenly. 


I  saw  a  Phoenix  in  the  wood  alone, 
With  purple  wings,  and  crest  of  golden  hewe  ; 
Strange  bird  he  was,  wherc^bv  I  thought  anone. 
That  of  some  heavenly  wight  1  had  the  vewe  ; 
Untill  he  came  unto  the  broken  tree, 
And  to  the  spring,  that  late  devoured  was. 
What  say  1  more?  each  thing  at  last  we  see 
Doth  passe  away :  the  Phanix  there  alas, 
Spying  the  tree  destroid,  the  water  dride, 
Ilnnsc'lfe  smote  with  his  heake,  as  in  disdaiiie, 
Ami  so  foorthwith  in  great  desjjight  he  dide  ; 
That  yet  my  heart  burnes,  in  exceeding  j)aine, 
For  lulh  and  pitie  of  so  haples  plight: 
O  !  let  mine  eyes  no  more  see  such  a  sight. 


THE  VISIONS  OF  BELLAY. 


4^3 


At  last  so  faire  a  ladie  did  I  spie, 
'Hint  tliinkiiig  yet  on  her  I  burne  and  quake  ; 
Oil  liearbs  and  Howres  she  walked  pensively, 
]\IiKle,  but  yet  Love  she  proudly  did  forsake  : 
White  seem'd  her  robes,  yet  woven  so  they  were, 
As  snow  and  golde  together  had  been  wrought : 
.\bove  the  wast  a  darke  cloude  shrouded  her, 
A  stinging-  serpent  by  the  heele  her  caught ; 
A\'herewith  she  languisht  as  the  gathered  floure  ; 
And,  well  as>ur'd,  she  mounted  up  to  ioy. 
Alas,  on  earth  so  nothing  doth  endure, 
!5ut  bitter  griefe  and  sorrowfuU  annoy: 

Which  make  this  life  wretched  and  miserable, 
Tossed  with  stormes  of  fortune  variable. 


When  I  beheld  this  tickle  trusties  state 
Of  vaine  worlds  glorie,  flitting  too  and  fro. 
And  mortall  men  tossed  by  troublous  fate 
In  restles  seas  of  wretchednes  and  wcie  ; 
I  wish  I  might  this  wearie  life  forgoe. 
And  shortly  turne  unto  my  happie  rest. 
Where  my  free  spirite  might  not  anie  moe 
Be  vext  with  sights,  that  doo  her  peace  molest. 
And  ve,  faire  ladie,  in  whose  bounteous  brest 
All  heavenly  grace  and  vertue  shrined  is, 
When  ye,  these  rvfhmes  doo  read,  and  vew  the  rest. 
Loath  this  base  world,  and  thinke  of  heavens  blis  : 
And  though  ye  be  the  fairest  of  Gods  creatures, 
Yet  thinke,  that   death  shall    spoyle  your  goodly 
features. 


THE    VISIOiNS    OF    BELLAY. 


It  was  the  time,  wlien  rest,  soft  sliding  downe 
From  heavens  bight  into  mens  heavy  eyes. 
In  the  forgetfulnes  of  sleepe  doth  drowne 
'I'he  carefull  thoughts  of  mortall  miseries  ; 
'I'hen  did  a  ghost  before  mine  eyes  appeare. 
On  that  great  rivers  banck,  that  runnes  by  Rome  ; 
W  hich,  calling  me  by  name,  bad  me  to  reare 
Mv  lookes  to  heaven  whence  all  good  gifts  do  come, 
And  crying  lowd,  Lo  !  now  beholde  (quoth  hee) 
What  under  this  great  temple  placed  is  : 
L  j,  all  is  nought  but  flying  vanitee  ! 
So  I,  t::at  know  this  worlds  inconstancies, 
Sith  oiiely  God  surmounts  all  times  decay, 
In  God  alone  my  confidence  do  stay. 


()n  high  hills  top  I  saw  a  stately  frame, 
An  hundred  cubits  high  by  iust  assize, 
vv  ith  hundreth  pillours  fronting  faire  the  same, 
All  wrouglit  with  diamond  after  Dorick  wize  : 
Nor  brick  nor  marble  was  the  wall  in  view, 
l!ut  shining  christall,  which  from  top  to  base 
Out  of  her  womb  a  thousand  rayons  threw. 
One  ijundred  steps  of  Afrike  golds  enchase  : 
Ciulde  was  the  parget ;  and  the  seeling  bright 
Did  shine  all  scaly  with  great  plates  of  golde  ; 
T  he  floore  of  iasp  and  emeraude  was  dight. 
O  worlds  vainesse  !     Whiles  fhus  I  did  behold, 
An  earthquake  shooke  the  hill  from  lowest  seat, 
And  overthrew  this  frame  with  ruine  great. 


Then  did  a  sharped  spyre  of  diamond  bright. 
Ten  feete  each  way  in  square  appeare  to  mee, 
lustly  proportion'd  up  unto  his  bight. 
So  far  as  archer  might  his  level  see  : 
Tiie  top  thereof  a  pot  did  seeme  to  beare, 
Made  of  ihe  mettall,  which  we  most  do  honour  ; 
And  in  this  golden  vessel  couched  weare 
Tlie  ashes  of  a  mighty  emperour  : 
Upon  foure  corners  of  the  base  were  pight, 
'Jo  beare  the  frame,  foure  great  lyons  of  gold  ; 
A  worthy  tombe  for  such  a  worthy  wiglit. 
Alas,  this  world  doth  nought  but  grievance  hold  ! 
I  saw  a  tempest  from  the  heaven  descend. 
Which  this  brave  monument  with  flash  did  rend. 


I  saw  raysde  up  on  yvorie  pillowes  tall, 
Whose  bases  were  of  richest  mettalls  warte, 
'J'he  chapters  alablaster,  the  fryses  cliristall, 
The  double  front  of  a  triumph'all  arke  : 
On  each  side  purtraid  was  a  Victorie, 
Clad  like  a  nimph,  that  winges  of  silver  weares. 
And  in  triumphmt  chayre  was  set  on  hie. 
The  auncient  glory  of  the  Roman  jjeares. 
No  worke  it  seem'd  of  earthly  craftsmans  wit, 
But  rather  wrought  by  his  owne  industry. 
That  thunder-dartes  for  love  his  syre  doth  fit. 
Let  me  no  more  see  faire  thing  under  sky, 

Siih  that  mine  eyes  have  seene  so  faire  a  sight 
^Vith  sodain  fall  to  dust  consumed  quight. 


Then  was  the  faire  Dodonian  tree  far  seene. 
Upon  seaven  hills  to  spread  his  gladsome  gleame. 
And  conquerours  bedecked  with  his  o-reene. 
Along  tlie  bancks  of  the  Ausonian  streame  : 
'J'liere  many  an  auncient  trophee  was  addrest, 
And  many  a  spoyle,  and  many  a  goodly  show. 
Which  that  brave  races  greatnes  did  attest, 
1'hat  whilome  from  the  Troyan  blood  did  flow. 
Ravi.-ht  I  was  so  rare  a  thing  to  vew  ; 
When  lo  !  a  barbarous  troupe  of  clownish  fone 
Tlie  honour  of  these  noble  boughs  down  threw  : 
Under  the  wedge  1  heard  the  tronck  to  grone  ; 
And.  since,  I  saw  the  roote  in  great  disdaine 
A  twinne  of  forked  trees  send  forth  againe. 


I  saw  a  wolfe  under  a  rockie  cave 
Noursing  two  whelpes  ;  I  saw  her  litle  ones 
In  wanton  dalliance  the  teate  to  crave,  [noii.es : 

While   she   her  neck  wreath'd  from  them  for   the 
I  saw  lier  raunge  abroad  to  seeke  her  food. 
And  roming  through  the  field  with  greedie  rage 
T'embrew  her  teeth  and  clawes  witli  lukewarm  blood 
Of  the  small  herds,  her  thirst  fur  to  asswage. 
I  saw  a  thousand  huntsmen,  which  descended 
Downe  from  the  mountaines  bordring  Lombardie, 
'I'liat  with  an  hundred  speares  her  flank  wide  rended 
1  saw  her  on  the  plane  outstretched  lie, 

'1  hrowing  out  thousand  throbs  in  her  owne  so\  le  : 
Soone  on  a  tree  uphang'd  I  savi'  her  spoyle. 
2  D  2 


404 


THE  VISIONS  nV  Iii:f.LAY. 


I  saw  the  bird  that  can  tlie  sun  endure, 
With  feeble  wings  assay  to  mount  on  bight ; 
By  more  and  more  she  gan  her  wings  t'assure, 
Following  the  ensam])le  of  her  mothers  sight 
I  saw  her  rise,  and  with  a  larger  flight 
To  pierce  the  cloudes,  and  with  wide  pinneons 
To  measure  the  most  haughtie  raountaines  bight, 
Untill  she  raught  the  gods  owne  mansions  : 
There  was  she  lost  ;  when  suddaine  1  behelde, 
Where  tumbling  through  the  ayre  in  fierie  fold, 
All  flaming  downe  she  on  the  plaine  was  felde, 
And  soone  her  bodie  turn'd  to  ashes  colde. 
I  saw  the  foule,  that  doth  the  light  despise, 
Out  of  her  dust  like  to  a  worrae  arise. 


I  saw  a  river  swift,  whose  fomy  bllowes 

Did  wash  the  ground-work  of  an  old  great  wall ; 

I  saw  it  cover'd  all  with  griesly  shadowes. 

That  with  black  horror  did  the  ayre  appall  : 

Thereout  a  strange  beast  with  seven  heads  arose, 

That  townes  and  castles  under  her  brest  did  coure, 

And  seem'd  both  milder  beasts  and  fiercer  foes 

Alike  with  equall  ravine  to  devoure. 

J\luch  was  I  mazde,  to  see  this  monsters  kinds 

In  hundred  formes  to  change  his  fearefull  hew  ; 

When  as  at  length  I  saw  the  wrathful  winile, 

\\  hich  blows  cold  storms,  burst  out  of  Scithian  mew. 

That  sperst   these    cloudes ;  and,  in  so  short  as 
thought, 

This  dreadful]  shape  wns  vanished  to  nought. 

IX. 

Then  all  astonied  with  this  mighty  ghoast, 
An  hideous  bodie  big  and  strong  I  sawe. 
With  side-long  beard,  and  locks  down  banging  loast, 
Sterne  face,  and  front  full  of  Saturnlike  awe 
Who,  leaning  on  the  belly  of  a  pot, 
Pourd  forth  a  water,  whose  out  gushing  flood 
Ran  bathing  all  the  creakie  shore  aflot. 
Whereon  the  Troyan  prince  spilt  Turnus  blood  ; 
And  at  his  feete  a  bitch  wolfe  suck  did  yeeld 
To  two  young  babes  :   His  left  the  palme  tree  stout. 
His  right  hand  did  the  peacefull  olive  wield  ; 
And  head  with  lawrell  garnislit  was  about. 
Sudden  both  palme  and  olive  fell  away. 
And  faire  greene  lawrell  branch  did  quite  decay. 

X. 

Ud'.d  by  a  river  side  a  virgin  faire, 

Folding  her  armes  to  heaven  with  thousand  throbs, 

And  outraging  her  cheekes  and  golden  haire. 

To  falling  rivers  sound  thus  tun\l  her  sobs. 

"  Where  is  (quoth  she)  this  whilom  honoured  face  ? 

\\  here  the  great  glorie  and  the  auncient  praise. 

In  which  all  worlds  felicitie  had  place. 

When  gods  and  men  my  honour  up  did  raise  ? 

Sufiis'd  it  not  that  civill  warres  me  made 

Tlie  whole  worlds  spoile,  but  that  this  hydra  new, 

(^f  hundred  Hercules  to  be  assalde, 

With  seven  heads,  budding  monstrous  crimes  anew, 

So  many  Neroes  and  Caligulaes 

Out  of  these  crooked  shores  must  dayly  rayse  Y' 

XI. 

Upon  an  hill  a  bright  flame  I  did  see 
Waving  aloft  with  triple  point  to  skie. 
Which,  like  incense  of  precious  cedar  tree. 
With  balmie  odours  fil'd  th'  ayre  farre  and  nie. 


A  bird  all  white,  well  feathered  on  each  wing. 
Hereout  up  to  the  throne  of  gods  did  flie. 
And  all  the  way  most  pleasant  notes  did  sing. 
Whilst  in  the  smoake  she  unto  heaven  did  stie. 
Of  this  faire  fire  the  scattered  rayes  forth  threw 
On  everie  side  a  thousand  shining  beames  : 
When  sudden  dropping  of  a  silver  dew        [flames  ; 
(O  grievous  chance  !)   gan  quench  those  precious 
That  it,  %vbich  earst  so  pleasant  sent  did  yeld. 
Of  nothing  now  but  noyous  sulphure  smeld. 

Xll. 

I  saw  a  spring  out  of  a  rocke  forth  rayle. 

As  cleare  as  christall  gainst  the  sunnie  beames. 

The  bottome  yellow,  like  the  golden  gravle 

That  bright  Pactolus  washeth  with  his  streames  ; 

It  seem'd  that  art  and  nature  had  assembled 

All  pleasure  there,  for  which  mans  hart  could  long  ; 

And  there  a  noyse  alluring  sleepe  soft  trembled. 

Of  maiiie  accords  more  svveete  than  mermaids  song  . 

The  seates  and  benches  shone  as  y  vorie. 

And  hundred  nymphes  sate  side  by  side  about ; 

When  from  nigh  hills,  with  hideous  oulcrie, 

A  troupe  of  Salyres  in  the  place  did  rout, 

Which  with  their  villenie  feete  the  streame  did  ray 
Threw  down  the  seats,  and  drove  the  nymphes  away. 

XIII. 

Much  richer  then  that  vessell  seem'd  to  bee, 
Which  did  to  that  sad  Florentine  appeare. 
Casting  mine  eyes  farre  oflf,  I  chaunst  to  see 
Upon  the  Latine  coast  herselfe  to  reare: 
But  suddenly  arose  a  tempest  great, 
Bearing  close  envie  to  these  riches  rare. 
Which  gan  assade  this  ship  with  dreadfull  threat. 
This  ship  to  which  none  other  might  compare: 
And  finally  the  stornie  impetuous 
Sunke  up  these  riches,  second  unto  none. 
Within  the  gulfe  of  greedie  Nereus. 
I  saw  both  ship  and  mariners  each  one. 

And  all  that  treasure,  drowned  in  the  maine- 
But  1  the  ship  saw  after  raisd  againe. 

XIV. 

Long  having  deeply  gron'd  these  Visions  sad, 
I  saw  a  citie  like  unto  that  same, 
Which  saw  the  messenger  of  tidings  glad  ; 
But  that  on  sand  was  built  the  goodly  frame  : 
It  seem'd  her  top  the  firmament  did  rayse. 
And,  no  lesse  rich  than  faire,  right  worlhie  sure 
(If  ought  here  worthie)  of  immortall  dayes. 
Or  if  aught  under  heaven  might  firme  endure. 
Much  wondred  I  to  see  so  faire  a  wall : 
When  from  the  northerne  coast  a  storme  arose, 
\\'hicli,  bri'alhing  fiirie  from  bis  inward  gall 
On  all  which  did  against  his  course  oppose. 
Into  a  clowdeof  dust  sjierst  in  the  aire 
Tlie  weake  fountUuioiis  of  the  citie  faire. 

XV. 

At  length,  even  at  the  time,  when  Morpheus 

Mosttrulie  doth  unto  our  eyes  appeare, 

Wearie  to  see  the  heavens  still  wavering  tbu^ 

I  saw  Typhccus  sister  comming  neare; 

Whuse  head,  full  bravely  with  a  morion  hidd. 

Did  soeine  to  match  the  gods  in  maiestie. 

She,  by  a  rivers  banke  that  swift  downe  slidd. 

Over  all  the  world  did  raise  a  tropliee  hie ; 

An  hundred  vanquisht  kings  under  her  lay, 

^^  ith  armes  bound  at  tlicir  backs  in  sluiniefuU  wize 

Whilst  i  thus  mazed  was  with,  great  affray, 

I  saw  the  heavens  in  warre  against  her  rize  : 

'I'hen  downe  she  stricken  fell  with  clap  of  thonder. 
That  with  great  noyse  I  wakte  in  sudden  wonder 


VISIONS  OF  THE  WOKlDS  \  AMTIE, 


405 


VISIOl^S  OF   THE   WORLDS    VANITIE. 


One  day,  whiles  that  my  daylie  cares  did  sleepe. 
My  spirit  shaking  off  her  earthly  prison, 
Began  to  enter  into  meditation  deepe 
Of  tilings  exceeding  reach  of  common  reason  ; 
Such  as  this  age,  in  which  all  good  is  geason, 
And  all  that  humble  is,  and  meane  debaced. 
Hath  brought  forth  in  her  last  declining  season, 
Griefe  of  good  mindes,to  see  goodnesse  disgraced  ! 
On    which  when  as    rav    thought    was     throghly 

placed, 
Unto  my  eyes  strange  showes  presented  were, 
Picturing  that  which  I  in  minde  embraced. 
That  yet  those  sights  empassion  me  full  nere 
Such  as  they  were  (faire  ladie  !)  take  in  worth. 
That  when  time  serves  may  bring  things  better 
forth. 

[I. 

In  summers  day,  when  Pliabus  fairly  shone, 

I  saw  a  bull  as  white  as  driven  snowe. 

With  gilden  horaesembowed  like  the  moone. 

In  a  fresh  fio wring  meadow  Iving  lowe: 

Up  to  his  eares  the  verdant  grasse  did  growe. 

And  the  gay  floures  did  offer  to  be  eaten  ; 

But  lie  with  fatnes  so  did  overflovve, 

That  he  all  wallowed  in  the  weedes  downe  beaten, 

Ne  car'd  with  them  his  daintie  lips  to  sweeten  : 

Till  that  a  brize,  a  scorned  little  creature. 

Through  his  faire  hide  his  angrie  sting  did  threaten, 

And  vext  so  sore,  that  all  his  goodly  feature 

And  all  his  plenteous  pasture  nought  him  pleased: 
So  by  the  small  the  great  is  oft  diseased. 


Beside  the  fruitful!  shore  of  muddie  Nile. 

Upon  a  sunnie  banke  outstretchei  hj 

In  monstrous  length,  a  mightie  crocodile. 

That  cram'd  with  guilties  blood  and  greedie  pray 

Of  wretched  people  travailing  that  way, 

Thought    all    things    lesse  than    his     disdainfull 

pride. 
I  saw  a  little  bird  cal'd  Tedula, 
The  least  of  thousands  which  on  earth  abide. 
That  forst  this  hideous  beast  to  open  wide 
The  griesly  gates  of  bis  devouring  hell. 
And  let  him  feede,  as  Nature  did  provide, 
Upon  his  iawes,  that  with  blacke  venim  swell. 

Why  then    should  greatest  things   the  least  dis- 
daine, 

Sith  that  so  small  so  mightie  can  constraine  1 


Tbe  kingly  bird,  that  beares  loves  thunder-clap. 
One  dav  did  scorne  the  simple  scarabee. 
Proud  of  his  highest  service,  and  good  hiip, 
That  made  all  other  fuules  his  thralls  to  bee  • 


The  silly  flie,  that  no  redresse  did  see, 
Spide  where  the  eagle  built  his  towring  nest, 
And,  kindling  fire  within  the  hollow  tree. 
Burnt  up  his  3'ong  ones,  and  hiinselfe  distrest ; 
Ne  suffred  him  in  anie  place  to  rest. 
But  drove  in  loves  owne  lap  his  egs  to  lay  ; 
\\  here  gathering  also  filth  him  to  infest, 
Forst  with  the  filth  his  egs  to  fling  away: 

For  which  when  as  the  foule  waswroth,  said  love, 
"  Lo  !   how  the  least  the  j^reatest  may  reprove." 


Toward  the  sea  turning  my  troubled  eye, 
I  saw  the  fish  (if  fish  I  may  it  cleepe) 
That  makes  the  sea  before  his  face  to  flye. 
And  with  his  flaggie  finnes  doth  seeme  to  sweepe 
The  foniie  waves  out  of  the  dreadfull  deep, 
The  huge  leviathan,  dame  Natures  wonder. 
Making  his  sport,  that  manie  makes  to  weep: 
A  sword-fish  small  him  from  the  rest  did  sunder, 
'I'hat,  in  his  throat  him  pricking  softly  under. 
His  wide  abysse  him  forced  ionh  to  spewe, 
'I'hat  all  the  sea  did  roare  like  heavens  thunder, 
And  all  the  waves  were  stain'd  with  filthio  hewe. 
Hereby  I  learned  have  net  to  despise 
Whatever  thing  seemes  small  in  common  eves. 


An  hideous  dragon,  dreadfull  to  behold, 
W'hose  backe  wiis  arm'd  against  the  dint  of  speare 
With  shields  ofbrasse  that  shone  like  burnisht  golde, 
And  forkhed  sting  that  death  in  it  did  beare. 
Strove  with  a  spider  his  unequall  peare  ; 
And  bad  defiance  to  his  enemie. 
The  subtill  vermin,  creeping  closely  neare, 
Did  in  his  drinke  shed  poyson  privilie  ; 
VVhich,  through  his  er.trailes  spredding  diversly, 
RIade  him  to  sweil,  tnat  nigh  his  bowells  brust. 
And  him  enforst  to  yeeld  the  victorie, 
'I'hat  did  so  much  in  his  owne  greatnesse  trust. 
O,  how  great  vainnesse  is  it  then  to  scorne 
The  weake,  that  hath  the  strong  so  oft  forlorne  ! 


High  on  a  hill  a  goodly  cedar  grewe. 
Of  wondrous  length,  and  stieight  proportion, 
That  farre  abroad  her  daintie  odours  threwe  ; 
Mongst  all  the  daughters  of  proud  Libanon, 
Her  match  in  beautie  was  not  anie  one. 
Shortly  within  her  inmost  jjith  there  bred 
A  little  wicked  worme,  jierceiv'd  of  none, 
That  on  her  sap  and  vitall  moysture  fed  : 
Thpnceforth  hgi  garland  so  much  honoured 
iie^an  to  die,  (O  great  ruth  for  the  same  !) 
And  her  faire  lockes  fell  Irom  her  loftie  head 
That  sho'tly  halde  and  baied  she  became. 

1,  which  this  sight  beheld,  was  much  dismayed, 
To  see  so  goodly  thing  so  soone  decayed. 


406 


VISIONS  OF  THE  WORLDS  VAMTIE. 


Soone  after  this  I  saw  an  elephant, 
Adorn'd  with  bells  and  bosses  gorgeouslie, 
That  on  his  backe  did  beare  (as  batteilant) 
A  gilden  towre,  which  shone  exceeding-lie; 
That  he  himselfe  through  foolish  vanitie, 
Both  for  his  rich  attire,  and  g-oodly  forme, 
Was  puffed  up  wit!)  passing  surquedrie, 
And  shortly  gan  all  other  beasts  to  scorne. 
Till  that  a  little  ant,  a  silly  worme, 
Into  his  nostrils  cres^^ing,  so  him  pained. 
That  casting  downe  his  towres,  he  did  deforme 
Both  borrowed  pride,  and  native  beautie  stained. 
Let  therefore  nought,  that  great  is,  therein  gloria, 
Sith  so  small  thing  his  happines  may  varie. 


Looting  far  foorth  into  the  ocean  wide, 
A  goodly  ship  with  banners  bravely  dight, 
And  flag  in  her  top-gallant,  I  espide 
Through  the  maine  sea  making  her  merry  flight 
Faire  blew  the  wimle  into  her  bosome  right  ; 
And  th'  heavens  looked  lovely  all  the  while  ; 
That  she  did  seeme  to  daunce,  as  in  delight. 
And  at  her  owne  felicitie  did  smile. 
Ail  sodaniely  there  clove  unto  her  keele 
A  little  fish,  that  men  call  Remora, 
Which  stopt  her  course,  and  held  her  by  the  heele, 
That  winde  nor  tide  could  move  her  thence  away. 
Strauno-e  thing,  me  seemetli,  that  so  small  a  thin' 
Should^able  be  so  great  an  one  to  wring. 


A  mighty  lyon,  lord  of  all  the  wood. 

Having  his  hunger  throughly  satisfide 

With  pray  of  beasts  and  spovle  of  living  blood, 

Sate  in  his  dreadles  den  him  thought  V>  hide  : 

His  sterne-se  was  his  prayse,  his  strength  his  pride 

And  all  his  glory  in  his  cruell  clawes, 

1  saw  a  wasp,  that  fiercely  him  defide. 

And  bad  him  battaile  even  to  his  iawes : 

Sore  he  liim  stong,  that  it  tlie  blood  forth  diawoe, 

And  his  proude  lieart  is  fild  with  fretting  ire  • 

In  vaine  he  threats  his  teeth,  his  tuvle,  his  pawiM 

And  from  his  bloodie  eyes  doth  sparkle  fire: 

That  dead  liimself  he  wi>-heth  for  desjiiglit. 

So  weakest  may  anoy  the  most  of  n^iglit ! 


What  time  the  Romaine  empire  bore  the  raine 
Of  all  the  world,  and  florisht  most  in  might, 
The  nations  gan  their  soveraigntie  disdaiue, 
And  cast  to  quitt  them  from  their  bondage  quig 
So,  when  all  shrouded  were  in  silent  night. 
The  Galles  were,  by  corrupting  ol  a  m;ivck-, 
Possest  nigh  of  the  Caj)itol  through  sligli!. 
Had  not  a  goose  the  treachery  bevvra\(le  ; 
If  then  a  goose  great  Rome  from  ruine  stavde 
And  love  himselfe,  the  patron  of  tiie  j)l  icc, 
Preserved  from  being  to  his  foes  betrayde; 
Why  do  vaine  men  mean  things  so  much  (lef;-i-i 
And  in  their  might  rejiose  their  most  assunm 
Sith  nousrht  on  earth  can  clmlenge  Ion <;■(!:.  iur.i 


When  these  sad  sights  were  overpast  and  gone. 
My  spright  was  greatly  moved  in  her  rest, 
With  inward  rutli  and  deare  affection. 
To  see  so  great  things  by  so  small  distrest  : 
Thenceforih  I  gan  in  my  engrieved  brest 
I'o  scorne  all  difference  of  efreat  and  small, 
Sith  that  the  greatest  often  are  oppresl. 
And  unawares  doe  into  daun^er  fall. 
And  ye,  that  read  these  mines  tragicall, 
Learne,  by  tlieir  losse,  to  love  the  low  degree. 
And,  if  that  fortune  chauui^e  you  n[>  to  call 
'lo  honours  seat,  forget  not  what  you  be: 
for  he,  tliat  of  himselfe  is  most  seca.L-, 
-■iiail  fintie  his  state  most  fickle  and  unMiie. 


PKOSOPOPOIA : 

OR, 

MOTHER    HIIBBERDS  TALE, 

BY  ED.  SP. 

DEDICATED  TO    THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE 

THE  LADIE  COMPTON  AND  MOUNTEGLE. 
1591. 


TO    THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE  THE 

LADIE  COMPTON  AND  MOUNTEGLE. 

Most  faire  and  vertuous  ladie ;  having  often 
Bought  opportunitie  by  some  good  meanes  to  make 
knowen  to  your  ladiship  the  humble  affection  and 
faithful!  dutie,  which  I  have  alwaies  professed,  and 
am  bound  to  beare  to  that  house,  from  whence  yes 
spring,  I  have  at  lenglh  found  occasion  to  remember 
the  same,  by  making  a  simple  present  to  you  of 
these  my  idle  labours  ;  which  having  long  ^ithens 
composed  in  the  raw  conceipt  of  my  youth,  I  lately 
amongst  other  papers   lighted   upon,    and    was  by 


others,  which  liked  the  same,  moored  to  set  them 
foorth.  Simple  is  the  device,  and  the  composition 
meane,  yet  carrieth  some  delight,  even  tlie  rather 
because  of  the  simplicitie  and  meannesse  thus  per- 
sonated. The  same  I  beseech  your  ladiship  take  in 
good  part,  as  a  pledge  of  that  profession  which  I 
have  made  to  you  ;  and  keepe  with  you  untill,  with 
some  other  more  worthie  labour,  1  do  redeems  it  out 
of  your  hands,  and  discharge  my  utmost  dutie.  Till 
tiien  wishing  your  ladiship  all  increase  of  honour 
and  happinesse,  I  humblie  take  leave. 

Your  La :  ever  humbly  ; 

Ed.  Sp. 


It  was  the  month,  in  wliich  the  righteous  maide, 

Ihat  for  disdaine  of  sinfuU  worlds  upbraide 

Fled  back  to  heaven,  whence  she  was  first  conceived. 

Into  her  silver  bowre  the  sunne  received  ; 

And  tlie  hot  Svrian  dog  on  him  awayting,  5 

After  the  chafed  lyons  cruell  bavting. 

Corrupted  had  th'  avre  with  his  noysome  breath. 

And    powr'd   on  th'  earth    plague,    pestilence,  and 

Emongst  the  rest  a  wicked  maladie.  [death. 

RaignM  emongst  men,  that  manie  did  to  die,  10 

Depriv'd  of  sense  and  ordinarie  reason  ; 

That  it  to  leaches  seemed  strange  and  greason. 

jNIv  fortune  was,  mongst  manie  others  moe. 

To  be  partaker  of  their  common  woe  ; 

And  my  weake  bodie,  set  on  fire  with  griefe, 

Was  rob'd  of  rest  and  naturall  reliefe, 

In  this  ill  plight,  there  came  to  visite  mee 

Some  friends,  who,  sorie  my  sad  case  to  see, 

Fegan  to  comfort  me  in  chearfull  wist^, 

And  meanes  of  gladsome  solace  to  devise. 

But  set-ing  kindly  sleep  refuse  to  doe 

His  office,  and  my  feeble  eyes  forgoe. 


15 


20 


They  sought  my  troubled  sense  how  to  deceave 
With  talke,  that  might  unquiet  fancies  reave  ; 
And,  sitting  all  in  seates  about  me  round,  25 

With  pleasant  tales  (fit  for  that  idle  stound) 
They  cast  in  course  to  waste  the  weaiie  howres : 
Some  tolde  of  ladies,  and  their  paramoures  ; 
Some  of  brave  knights,  and  their  renowned  squires  ; 
Some  of  the  faeries  and  their  strange  attires  ;         30 
And  some  of  giaunts,  hard  to  be  beleeved ; 
That  the  deligiit  thereof  me  much  releeved. 
Amongst  the  rest  a  good  old  woman  was, 
Hight  Mother  Hubberd,  who  did  farre  snrpas 
The  rest  in  honest  mirth,  that  seem'd  her  well ;     53 
She,  when  her  turne  was  come  her  tale  to  tell, 
Tolde  of  a  strange  adventure,  that  betided 
Betwixt  the  foxe  and  th'  ape  by  him  misguided 
The  wliich  for  that  my  sense  is  oreatly  jileased. 
All  were  my  spirite  lieavie  and  diseased,  40 

lie  write  in  termes,  as  she  the  same  did  say, 
So  well  as  1  her  words  remember  may. 
No  muses  aide  me  needes  liereto  to  coll ; 
Base  is  the  style,  and  matter  meane  withall. 


INIOTIIErv  HUBBERDS  TALK, 


•[  Whilomefsiiiil  .she  )  fietore  the  world  was  civill, 
Tlie  foxe  '.md  tli'  niip,  dislikiiip,-  of  their  evill  46 

And  liard  estnte,  deterniiiifd  to  seete 
Their  fortunes  farre  abroad,  lyeke  wiili  his  lyeke  : 
For  both  were  craftie  and  uidiapjiie  wilted  ; 
Two  fellowes  might  no  where  be  better  fitted.       50 
The  foxe,  that  first  tliis  canse  of  griefe  did  finde, 
Gan  first  tlius  plaine  bis  case  with  words  unkinde. 
"  Neighbour  fjie,  and  my  goship  eke  beside, 
(Both  two  sure  bands  in  friendship  to  be  tide,) 
To  whom  may  I  more  trustely  complaine  55 

The  evill  plight,  that  doth  me  sore  constraiue, 
And  hope  thereof  to  finde  due  remedie? 
Heare  then  my  paine  and  inward  agonie. 
Thus  manie  jeares  I  now  have  spent  and  worne, 
In  meane  regard,  and  basest  fortunes  scorne,  60 

Dooing  my  countrey  service  as  I  might. 
No  lesse  1  dare  sale  than  the  prowdest  wight  ; 
And  still  I  hoped  to  be  up  advaunced, 
For  mv  good  parts  ;  but  still  it  hath  mischaunced. 
Now  therefore  that  no  lenger  liope  I  see,  65 

But  froward  fortune  still  to  follow  mee, 
And  losels  lifted  high,  where  I  did  looke, 
I  meane  to  turne  the  next  leafe  of  the  booke. 
Yet,  ere  that  anie  way  I  doo  betake, 
I  meane  my  gossip,  privie  first  to  make."  70 

"  Ah!  my  deare  gossip,  (answer'd  then  the  ape,) 
Deeply  doo  your  sad  words  my  wits  awhape. 
Both  for  because  your  griefe  doth  great  appears. 
And  eke  because  my  selfe  am  touched  neare  : 
For  1  likewise  have  wasted  much  good  time,  75 

Still  wayting  to  preferment  up  to  clime, 
^V Idlest  others  alwayes  have  before  me  stept, 
And  from  my  beard  the  fat  away  have  swept ; 
'J'hat  now  unto  despaire  I  gin  to  growe 
And  meane  for  better  winde  about  to  throwe.         80 
Therefore  to  me,  my  trustie  friend,  aread 
'J'hv  couucell  :   two  is  better  than  one  head." 
"  Certes  (said  he)  I  meane  me  to  disguize 
In  some  straunge  habit,  after  uncouth  wize, 
Or  like  a  pilgrim,  or  a  lymiter,  85 

Or  like  a  gipsen,  or  a  iuggeler. 
And  so  to  wander  to  the  worldl^sende. 
To  seeke  my  fortune,  where  I  may  it  mende  : 
For  worse  than  that  I  have  I  cannot  meete. 
Wide  is  the  world  1  wote,  and  everie  streets  90 

Is  full  of  fortunes,  and  adventures  straunge, 
Continualliesubiect  unto  chaunge. 
Say,  my  faire  brother  now,  if  this  device 
Doth  like  you,  or  may  you  to  like  entice." 
"  Surely  (said  th'  ape)  it  likes  me  wondrous  well ; 
And,  would  ye  not  j)oore  fellowship  expell,  96 

Rly  selfe  would  offer  you  t'  accomjianie 
In  this  adventures  chauncefuU  ieopardie: 
For  to  wexe  olde  at  home  in  idlejiesse. 
Is  disadventurous,  and  quite  fortunelesse  ;  100 

Abroad  where  change  is,  good  may  gotten  bee." 
The  foxe  was  glad,  and  (juickly  did  agree  : 
So  both  resolv'd,  the  morrow  next  ensuing, 
!So  soone  as  day  api)eard  to  peoples  vewing, 
On  their  intended  iourney  to  proceeds  ;  105 

And  over  night,  whatso  theretoo  did  neede. 
Each  did  prepare,  in  readines  to  bee. 
Tlie  morrow  next,  so  soone  as  one  might  see 
Light  out  of  heavens  windowes  forth  to  looks, 
Botii  their  habiliments  unto  them  tooke,  110 

And  put  themselves  (a  gods  name)  on  their  way  ; 
Whenas  the  ape,  beginning  well  to  wey 
I'his  hard  adventure,  thus  began  t'  advise: 
'  .Now  read.  Sir  Keynold,  as  ye  be  right  wise. 


What  course  ye  weene  is  best  for  us  to  take,        115 

That  for  our  selves  we  may  a  living  make. 

Whether  shall  we  ]irofesse  some  trade  or  skill? 

Or  shall  we  varie  our  device  at  v.ill. 

Even  as  new  occasion  appeares? 

Or  shall  we  tie  our  selves  for  ceriaine  yeares        120 

'i'o  anie  service,  or  to  anie  place  1 

For  it  behoves,  ere  that  into  the  race 

VVs  enter,  to  resolve  first  hereupon." 

"  Now  surelv  brother  (said  the  foxe  anon^ 

Ye  have  this  matter  motioned  in  season  :  125 

For  everie  thing  that  is  begun  with  reason 

Will  come  by  readie  meanes  unto  his  end  ; 

But  things  miscounselled  must  needs  misweiid. 

Thus  therefore  I  advize  upon  the  case, 

Tiiat  not  to  anie  certaine  trade  or  place,  1I:>0 

Nor  anie  man,  we  should  our  selves  applie ; 

For  why  should  he  that  is  at  libertie 

Make  himsslfe  bond  1  siih  then  we  are  free  borne, 

Let  us  all  servile  base  suhieciion  scorne; 

And,  as  we  bee  sonnes  of  the  world  so  wide,       135 

Let  us  our  fiithers  heritage  divide. 

And  chalenge  to  our  selves  our  portions  du« 

Of  all  the  patrimonie,  whicl)  a  few 

Now  hold  in  hugger  mugger  in  their  hand, 

And  all  the  rest  doo  rob  of  good  and  land.  140 

For  now  a  few  have  all,  and  all  have  nought, 

^'et  all  be  brethren  ylike  dearly  bought : 

Tiiere  is  no  right  in  this  partition, 

Ne  was  it  so  by  institution 

Ordained  first,  ne  by  the  law  of  nature,  14i 

But  that  she  gave  like  blessing  to  each  creture 

As  well  of  worldly  livelode  as  of  life, 

'I'hat  there  miglit  be  no  difference  nor  strife, 

Nor  ought  cald  mine  or  thine:  thrice  happie  then 

Was  the  condition  of  mortall  men.  150 

That  was  the  golden  age  of  Saturne  old, 

But  tliis  might  better  be  the  world  of  gold  : 

For  without  golds  novi-  nothing  wilbe  got, 

Therefore  (if  please  you)  this  shalbe  our  plot ; 

Ws  will  not  be  of  anis  occupation,  155 

Let  such  vile  vassalls  borne  to  base  vocation 

Drudge  in  the  world,  and  for  their  living  droyle, 

Which  have  no  wit  to  live  witljouten  toyle- 

But  we  will  vvalke  about  the  world  at  pleasure 

Like  two  free  men,  and  make  our  ease  a  treasure. 

Free  men  some  beggers  call,  but  they  be  free  ;     161 

And  they  which  call  them  so  more  beggers  bee: 

For  they  doo  swinke  and  sweate  to  feed  the  other. 

Who  live  like  lords  of  that  which  they  doo  gather. 

And  yet  doo  never  thanke  them  for  the  sams,       36.') 

But  as  their  due  by  nature  doo  it  clame. 

Such  will  we  fashion  both  out  selves  to  bee. 

Lords  of  the  world  ;  and  so  will  wander  free, 

Where  so  us  listeth,  uncontnd'd  of  anis  : 

Hard  is  our  hap,  if  we  (emongst  so  mauie)  170 

Ligiit  not  on  some  that  may  our  state  amend  ; 

Sildome  but  some  good  commeth  ere  the  end." 

Well  seenul  tiie  ajie  to  like  tliis  ordinaunce  : 

Yet,  well  considering  of  the  circunistauncc. 

As  pausing  in  great  doubt  awhile  he  staid,  175 

And  afterwards  with  grave  advizement  said; 

"  I  cannot,  my  lief  brotlier,  like  but  well 

'J'he  purpose  of  the  complot  which  ys  tell  : 

For  well  1  wot  (conipar'd  to  all  the  rsst 

Of  each  degree)  that  beggers  life  is  best:  180 

And  tiiey,   that  thinke  themselves  the  best  of  all, 

Oft-times  to  begging  are  content  to  fall. 

liut  this  1  wot  withall,  that  we  shall  ronnq 

Into  great  daunger  like  to  bee  undonne. 


MOTHER  FfUBBERDS  TALE. 


409 


Wildlv  to  wander  thus  in  tlie  worlds  eye,  185 

U'ithouten  passport  or  ijood  warrantie, 

For  feare  least  we  like  roi^ues  should  be  reputed, 

And  for  eare-marked  beasts  abroad  be  bruted  ; 

Therefore  1  read,  that  we  our  councells  call. 

How  to  prevent  this  mischiefe  ere  it  fall,  190 

And  how  we  may,  with  most  securitie, 

Beo;  amongst  those  that  beg-sjers  doo  defie.'' 

"  Right  well,  deere  gossip,  ye  advized  have, 

(Said  then  the  foxe,)  but  I  this  doubt  will  save  : 

For,  ere  we  farther  passe,  I  will  devise  195 

A  passport  for  us  both  in  fitte'st  wize. 

And  by  the  names  of  souldiers  us  protect ; 

Thai,  now  is  thought  a  civilly  begging  sect. 

Be  you  the  souldier ;  for  vou  likest  are 

For  manly  semblance,  and  small  skill  in  warre  :  200 

I  will  but  wayte  on  you,  and,  as  occasion 

Falls  out,  mv  selfe  fit  for  the  same  will  fashion." 

The  passport  ended,  both  they  forward  went; 

The  ape  clad  souldierlike,  fit  for  th*  intent. 

In  a  blew  iacket  with  a  crosse  of  redd  205 

And  manie  slits,  as  if  that  he  had  shedd 

Much  blood  through  many  wounds  therein  receaved. 

Which  had  the  use  of  his  right  arm  bereaved  ; 

Upon  his  head  an  old  Scotch  cap  he  wore, 

With  a  plume  fe;ither  all  to  peeces  tore  :  210 

His  breeclies  were  made  after  the  new  cut, 

Al  Portuguese,  loose  like  an  emp'ie  gut ; 

And  his  hose  broken  high  above  the  heeling. 

And  his  shooes  beaten  out  with  traveling. 

But  neither  sword  nor  dagger  he  did  beare  ;        215 

Seemes  that  no  foes  revengement  he  did  feare  ; 

In  stead  of  them  a  handsome  bat  he  held, 

On  which  he  leaned,  as  one  farre  in  elde. 

Shame  light  on  him,  that  through  so  false  illusion, 

Doth  turne  the  name  of  souldiers  to  abusion,       220 

And  that,  which  is  the  noblest  mysterie. 

Brings  to  reproach  and  common  infamie  ! 

Long  they  thus  travailed,  yet  never  met 

Adventure,  whicli  might  them  a  working  set  : 

Yet  manie  waies  they  sought,  and  manie  tryed  ;  225 

Yet  for  their  purposes  none  fit  espyed, 

At  last  they  chaunst  to  meet  upon  the  way 

A  simple  husbandman  in  garments  gray  ; 

\et,  th^jugh  his  vesture  were  but  meane  and  baee, 

A  good  yeoman  he  was  of  honest  place,  230 

.\nd  more  for  thrift  did  care  than  for  gay  clothing  : 

Gay  withdut  good,  is  good   hearts  greatest  loathing. 

J'lie  foxe,  him  spying,  bad  the  ape  liim  dight 

To  play  his  part,  for  loe  !   be  was  in  sight, 

Tlint  (if  he  er'd  not)  should  them  entertaine,      235 

And  yeeld  ihem  timely  profile  for  their  ])aine. 

Eftsoones  the  ape  himselfe  gan  up  to  reare, 

And  on  his  shoulders  high  his  bat  to  beare, 

As  if  good  service  he  were  fit  to  do  ; 

But  little  thrift  for  him  he  (id  it  to  :  240 

And  stoutly  forward  he  his  steps  did  straine. 

That  like  a  handsome  swaine  it  him  became  : 

When  as  they  nigh  approached,  that  good  man, 

Seeing  them  wander  loosely,  first  began 

T'  enquire  of  custome,  what  and  whence  they  were  ? 

To  whom  the  ape  ;  "  I  am  a  souldiere,  246 

That  late  in  warres  have  spent  my  deerest  blood. 

And  in  long  service  lost  both  limbs  and  good  ; 

And  now,  constrain'd  that  trade  to  overgive, 

I  driven  am  to  seeke  some  meanes  to  live  :  250 

Which  might  it  you  in  pitie  please  t'  aftbrd, 

I  would  be  readie,  buth  in  deed  and  word 

To  doo  you  faithfull  service  all  mv  daves, 

TLisyron  v/orld  (that  same  he  w-eping  sayes) 


Brings  downe  the  stowtest  hearts  to  lowest  state :   25.5 

For  miserie  doth  bravest  niindes  abate. 

And  make  them  seeke  for  that  they  wont  to  scorne, 

Of  fortune  and  of  hope  at  once  forlorne." 

The  honest  man,  that  heard  him  thus  complaine, 

Was  griev'd,  as  he  had  felt  part  of  his  paine  ;      260 

And,  well  dispos'd  him  some  reliefe  to  showe, 

Askt  if  in  husbandrie  he  ought  did  knowe, 

i'o  plough,  to  i^laiit,  to  reap,  to  rake,  to  sowe, 

To  hedge,  to  ditch,  to  thrash,  to  thetch,  to  mowe  ; 

Or  to  what  labour  els  he  was  prepared  265 

For  husbands  life  is  labourous  and  hard. 

\Vhenas  the  ape  him  hard  so  much  to  taike 

Of  labour,  that  did  from  his  liking  balke, 

He  would  have  slipt  the  coller  handsomely. 

And  to  him  said  ;  "Good  sir,  full  glad  am  I,        270 

To  take  what  paines  may  anie  living  wiiiht: 

Hut  my  laie  mavmed  limbs  lack  wonted  might 

To  doo  their  kindly  services,  as  needeth  : 

Scarce  this  right  hand  the  mouth  with  diet  feedeth. 

So  that  it  may  no  painfull  worke  endure,  275 

Ne  to  strong  labour  can  it  selfe  enure. 

But  if  that  anie  other  place  you  have, 

Which  askes  small  paines,  but  thriftines  to  save. 

Or  care  to  overlooke,  or  trust  to  gather. 

Ye  may  me  trust  as  your  owne  ghostlv  father."  280 

With  that  the  husbandman  gan  him  avize, 

That  it  for  him  were  fittest  exercise 

Catiell  to  keep,  or  grounds  to  oversee  ; 

And  asked  him,  if  he  could  willing  bee 

Jo  keep  his  sheep,  or  to  attend  his  swyne,  285 

Or  watch  his  mares,  or  take  his  charge  of  kyne? 

"  Gladly  (said  he)  what  ever  such  like  paine 

Ye  put  on  me,  I  will  the  same  sustaine  : 

lint  gladliest  1  of  your  flercie  slieepe 

(.Might  it  vou  please)  would  take  on  me  the  keep. 

For,  ere  that  unto  amies  I  me  betooke,  291 

Unto  my  fathers  sheepe  I  usdeto  looke. 

That  yet  the  skill  thereof  1  have  not  loste  : 

Thereto  right  well  this  curdog,  by  m}'  coste, 

(Weaning  the  foxe)  will  serve  my  sheepe  lo  gather, 

And  drive  to  follow  after  their  bel wether."  296 

'i  he  husbandman  was  meanly  well  content 

Triall  to  make  of  his  endevourment  : 

And,  home  him  leadin^i,  lent  to  him  the  charge 

Of  all  his  flocke,  with  libertie  full  large,  300 

Giving  accom])t  of  th'  annuall  increace 

Both  of  their  lambi-s,  and  of  their  woolley  fleece. 

Thus  is  this  a])e  become  a  siieapheard  swaine. 

And  the  false  foxe  his  dog  :  (God  give  them  paine  '. ) 

For  ere  the  veare  have  halfe  his  course  out-run,  305 

.\nd  doo  returne  from  whence  he  first  begun, 

They  shall  him  make  an  ill  accompt  of  thrift. 

Now  wlienas  time,  flying  with  wiiiges  swift, 

!•  xpired  had  the  terme.  that  these  two  iavels 

Should  render  up  a  reckiiing  of  their  travels         310 

Unto  their  master,  which  it  of  them  sought, 

l-.xeeedingly  they  troubled  were  in  thought, 

Ne  wist  what  aiiswere  unto  him  to  frame, 

Ne  how  to  scape  great  punishment,  or  shame, 

For  their  false  treason  and  vile  tlieeverie  :  315 

For  not  a  lambe  of  all  their  fiockes  supjiiy 

Had  they  to  shew  ;   but,  ever  as  they  bred, 

Ihey  slue  them,  and  upon  their  fleshes  fed ; 

For  that  disguised  dog  lov'd  blood  to  spill. 

And  drew  tlie  wicked  shepheard  to  his  will.         320 

So  twixt  them  both  they  not  a  lambkin  left ;     [reft  ; 

And,  when  lambes  fail'd,  the  old  sheepes  lives  they 

'i'hat  how  t'  ac(|Uite  thnmsel ves  unto  their  lord 

They  were,  in  doubt,  and  flatly  set  abord. 


410 


MOTHER  HUBBERDS  TALE. 


The  foxe  then  counsel'd  th'  ape  for  to  require     325 
Respiie  till  niorrow  t'answere  his  desire  : 
For  times  delay  new  liope  of  helpe  still  breeds, 
The  good  man  granted,  doubting- nought  their  deeds, 
And  bad  next  day  that  all  should  readie  be. 
But  they  more  subtill  meaning'  had  than  he  :         330 
For  the  next  morrovres  meed  they  closely  ment, 
For  feare  of  afterclaps,  for  to  prevent : 
And  that  same  evening,  when  all  shrowded  were 
In  careles  sleep,  they  without  oare  or  feare 
Cruellv  fell  upon  their  flock  in  folde,  335 

And  of  them  slew  at  pleasure  what  thf'y  wolde  : 
Of  which  whenas  they  feasted  had  theii  fill, 
For  a  full  complement  of  all  their  ill, 
They  stole  awav,  and  tooke  their  hastie  flight, 
Carried  in  clowdes  of  all-concealing  night.  340 

So  was  the  husbandman  left  to  his  losse, 
And  thev  unto  their  fortunes  change  to  tosse. 
After  which  sort  thev  wandered  long  while. 
Abusing  manie  through  their  cloaked  guile  ; 
That  at  the  last  they  gan  to  be  descryed 
Of  everie  one,  and  all  their  sleights  espyed. 
So  as  their  begging  now  them  failed  quyte, 
For  none  would  give,  but  all  men  would  them  wyte; 
Yet  would  ^hey  take  no  paines  to  get  their  living, 
But  seeke  some  other  wav  to  gaine  by  giving,    350 
Much  like  to  begging,  but  much  better  named ; 
For  manie  beg,  which  are  thereof  ashamed. 
And  now  the  foxe  had  gotten  him  a  gowne, 
And  th'  ape  a  cassocke  sidelong  hanging  downe  ; 
For  they  their  occupation  meant  to  change,  355 

And  now  in  other  state  abroad  to  range  : 
For,  since  their  souldiers  pas  no  better  spedd, 
They  forg'd  another,  as  for  clerkes  booke  redd. 
^Vho  passing  foorth,  as  their  adventures  fell,       359 
Through  manie  haps,  which  needs  not  here  to  tell  ; 
At  length  chaunst  with  a  formall  priest  to  meete, 
Whom  they  in  civill  manner  first  did  greete, 
And  after  askt  an  almes  for  Gods  deare  love. 
The  man  straight  way  his  choler  up  did  move, 
And  with  reproachfull  tearmes  gan  them  revile,  365 
For  following  that  trade  so  base  and  vile  ; 
And  askt  what  license,  or  what  pas  they  had  ? 
"  Ah  !  (said  the  ape  as  sighing  wondrous  sad) 
Its  an  hard  case,  when  men  of  good  deserving 
Must  either  driven  be  perforce  to  sterving,  370 

Or  asked  for  their  pas  by  everie  squib. 
That  li.-t  at  will  them  to  revile  or  snib  : 
And  yet  (God  wote)  small  oddes  I  often  see 
Twixt  them  that  aske,  and  them  that  asked  bee. 
Natheles  because  you  shall  not  us  misdeeme,      375 
But  that  we  are  as  honest  as  we  seeme, 
Yee  shall  our  j)asport  at  your  pleasure  see, 
And  then  ye  will  (I  hojie)  well  moved  bee." 
iVhich  when  the  priest  beheld,  he  view'd  it  nere. 
As  if  therein  some  text  he  studying  were,  380 

But  little  els  (God  wote)  could  thereof  skill : 
For  read  he  could  not  evidence,  nor  will, 
!Ne  tell  a  written  word,  no  write  a  letter, 
Ne  make  one  title  worse,  ne  make  one  better  : 
Of  such  deep  learning  little  had  he  neede,  385 

Me  yet  of  Latine,  ne  of  Greeke,  that  breede 
Doubts  mongst  divines,  and  difference  of  texts, 
from  wlience  aris'-  diversitie  of  sects. 
And  hateful!  heresies,  of  God  abhor'd  : 
Hut  this  good  sir  did  follow  the  plaine  word,       390 
Ne  medled  with  their  co:.troversies  vaine  ; 
All  his  care  was,  his  service  well  to  saine. 
And  to  .read  homelies  upon  holidayes  : 
When  that  was  done,  he  might  attend  his  playes  ; 


An  easie  life,  and  fit  High  God  to  please.  395 

He,  having  overlookt  their  pas  at  ease, 

Gan  at  the  length  them  to  rebuke  againe, 

That  no  good  trude  of  life  did  entertaine, 

But  lost  their  time  in  wandring  loose  abroad  : 

Seeing  the  world,  in  which  they  booties  boad,     400 

Had  waves  enough  for  all  therein  to  live  ; 

Such  grace  did  God  unto  his  creatures  give. 

Said  then  the  foxe  ;  "  Who  hath  the  world  not  tride, 

From  the  right  way  full  eath  may  waiit'i?r  wide. 

We  are  but  novices,  new  come  abroad,  40."i 

We  have  not  yet  the  tract  of  anie  troad, 

jVor  on  us  taken  anie  state  of  life, 

But  readie  are  of  anie  to  make  preife.  [proved. 

Therefore  might  please  you,  which  the  world  have 

Us  to  advise,  which  forth  but  lately  moved,         410 

Of  some  good  course,  that  we  might  undertake  ; 

Ye  shall  for  ever  us  your  bondmen  make." 

The  priest  gan  wexe  halfe  proud  to  be  so  praide, 

And  thereby  willing  to  affoord  them  aide  ; 

"  It  seemes  (said  lie)  rin-ht  well  that  ye  be  clerks. 

Both  by  your  wittie  words,  and  by  your  werks.  416 

Is  not  that  name  enough  to  make  a  living 

To  him  that  hath  a  whit  of  Natures  giving  ? 

How  manie  honest  men  see  ye  arize 

Uaylie  thereby,  and  grow  to  goodly  prize  ;  420 

To  deanes,  to  archdeacons,  to  commissaries, 

To  lords,  to  principalis,  to  prebendaries  '! 

AH  ioUy  prelates,  worthie  rule  to  beare, 

Who  ever  them  envie  :  yet  spite  bites  neare. 

Why  should  ye  doubt  then,  but  that  ye  likewise 

IMiglit  unto  some  of  those  in  time  arise  ?  426 

In  the  meane  time  to  live  in  good  estate. 

Loving  that  love,  and  hating  those  that  hate  ', 

Being  some  honest  curate,  or  some  vicker. 

Content  with  little  in  condition  sicker.  ["great, 

"  Ah  !    but   (said  th'  ape)  the  charge  is    wondrous 

To  feed  mens  soules,  and  hath  an  heavie  threat,'  432 

'•  To  feed  mens  soules,  (quoth  he)  is  not  in  man  : 

For  they  must  feed  themselves,  doo  what  we  can. 

We  are  but  charg'd  to  lay  the  meate  before  :  43.3 

Eate  they  that  list,  we  need  to  doo  no  more. 

Rut  God  it  is  that  feedes  them  with  liis  grace, 

Tlie  bread  of  life  powr'd  downe  from  heavenly  place. 

Therefore  said  he,  that  with  the  budding  rod 

Did  rule  the  lewes,  All  shalhe  taught  of  God.         440 

'Jhat  same  hath  lesus  Christ  now  to  him  raught. 

By  whom  the  flock  is  rightly  fed,  and  taught: 

He  is  the  shepheard,  and  the  priest  is  liee  ; 

We  but  his  shepheard  swaines  ordain'd  to  bee. 

Therefore  herewith  doo  not  your  selfe  dismay  ;    445 

Ne  is  the  paines  so  great,  but  beare  ye  may  ; 

For  not  so  great,  as  it  was  wont  of  yore, 

It's  now  a  dayes,  ne  halfe  so  streight  and  sore  : 

They  whiloine  used  duly  everie  day 

Their  service  and  their  holie  things  to  say,  450 

At  morne  and  even,  besides  their  anthenies  sweete. 

Their  penie  masses,  and  their  comjilynes  meete, 

Their  dirigi'S,  their  trentals,  and  their  shrifts. 

Their  memories,  their  singings,  and  their  gifts. 

Now  all  those  needlesse  works  are  laid  av^ay ;     455 

Now  once  a  weeke,  upon  the  Sabbath  day. 

It  is  enough  to  doo  our  small  devotion, 

And  then  to  follow  any  nierrie  motion. 

Ne  are  we  tyde  to  fast,  but  when  we  list ; 

Ne  to  weare  garments  base  of  wollen  twist,  460 

But  with  the  finest  silkes  us  to  aray, 

That  before  God  we  may  a])peare  more  gay. 

Resembling  Aarons  glorie  in  his  jjhice  : 

For  farre  unfit  it  is,  that  person  bace 


MOTHER  IlUBBEllDS  TALE. 


411 


Should  with  vi'.e  cloatlis  approach  Gods  Maiestie, 

Whom  no  uncleannes  may  upproacben  nie  ;  466 

Or  that  all  men,  which  anie  master  serve, 

Good  garments  for  their  service  should  deserve  : 

But  he  that  serves  the  Lord  of  Hoasts  iMost  High, 

And  that  in  highest  place  t'  approach  him  nigh,    470 

And  all  the  peoples  jn-ayt-rs  to  present 

Before  his  throne,  as  on  ambassage  sent 

Both  to  and  fro,  should  not  deserve  to  weare 

A  garment  better,  than  of  wooll  or  heire. 

Besides,  we  may  have  lying  by  our  sides  475 

Our  lovely  lasses,  or  bright  shining  brides  ; 

We  be  not  tyde  to  wilfull  chastitie, 

Rut  have  the  gospell  of  free  iibertie." 

By  that  he  ended  had  liis  ghostly  sermon. 

The  foxe  was  well  induc'd  to  be  a  parson  ;  480 

And  of  the  priest  eftsoones  gan  to  enquire. 

How  to  a  benefice  he  might  aspire. 

"  Marie,  there  (said  the  priest)  is  arte  indeed  : 

Much  good  deep  learning  one  thereout  may  reed  ; 

For  that  the  ground-worke  is,  and  end  of  all,       48.5 

How  to  obtaiue  a  beneficiall. 

First  therefore,  when  ve  have  in  handsome  wise 

Your  selfe  attyred,  as  you  can  de\'ise, 

Then  to  some  nobleman  your  selfe  applye. 

Or  other  great  one  in  the  worldes  eye,  490 

That  h.atha  zealous  disposition 

"lo  God,  and  so  to  his  religi  m  : 

There  must  thou  fashion  eke  a  godly  zeale, 

Such  as  no  carpers  may  contrayre  reveale  : 

for  each  thing  fained  ought  more  warie  bee.       495 

There  thou  must  walke  in  sober  gravitee. 

And  seeme  as  saintlike  as  Saint  Radegund  : 

Fast  much,  pray  oft,  looke  lowly  on  the  ground. 

Ami  unto  everie  one  doo  curtesie  meeke  : 

These  lookes  (nought  saving)  doo  a  benefice  seeke. 

And  be  thou  sure  one  not  to  lacke  ere  long.         501 

But  if  thee  list  unto  the  court  to  throng, 

And  there  to  hunt  after  the  hoped  pray. 

Then  must  thou  thee  dispose  another  way  : 

For  there  thou  needs  must  learne  to  laugh,  to  lie, 

To  face,  to  forge,  to  scoffe,  to  companie,  506 

To  crouche,  to  please,  to  be  a  beetle  stock 

Of  thy  great  masters  will,  to  scorne,  or  mock  : 

So  maist  ihou  chaunce  mock  out  a  benefice, 

Unlesse  thou  canst  one  coniure  by  device,  510 

Or  cast  a  figure  for  a  bishoprick  ; 

And  if  one  could,  it  were  but  a  schoole  trick. 

'Ihese  be  the  wayes,  by  which  without  reward 

Livings  in  court  be  gotten,  though  full  hard  ; 

For  nothing  there  is  done  without  a  fee  :  515 

The  courtier  needes  must  recompenced  bee 

With  a  benevolence,  or  have  in  gage 

1  be  primities  of  your  parsonage  : 

Scarse  can  a  bishoprick  forpas  them  by. 

But  that  it  must  be  gelt  in  privitie.     '  520 

Doo  not  thou  therefore  seeke  a  living  there. 

But  of  more  private  persons  seeke  elsewhere, 

Whereas  thou  maist  compound  a  better  penie, 

Ne  let  thy  learning  question 'd  be  of  anie. 

For  some  good  gentleman,  that  hath  the  right      525 

Unto  his  church  for  to  present  a  wight, 

Will  cope  with  thee  in  reasonable  wise  ; 

Tliai  if  the  living  yerely  do  arise 

To  fortie  pound,  that  then  his  youngest  sonne 

Shall  twentie  have,  and  tweutie  thou  hast  wonne  : 

i  hou  hast  it  wonne,  for  it  is  of  franke  gift,  531 

And  he  will  care  for  all  the  rest  to  shilt ; 

Both  that  the  bishop  may  admit  of  thee. 

And  that  therein  thou  maist  maintained  bee. 


This  is  the  way  for  one  that  is  uiilera'd  535 

Living  to  get,  and  not  to  be  discern'd. 

But  they,  that  are  great  clerkes,  have  nearer  waves, 

For  learning  sake  to  living  them  to  raise  : 

Yet  manie  eke  of  them  (God  wote)  are  driven 

T'  accept  a  benefice  in  peeces  riven.  "SIO 

How  saist  thou  (friend)  have  1  not  well  discour>t 

Upon  this  common-place,  though  ])laine,not  woui-.st'? 

Better  a  short  tale  than  a  bad  long  shriving: 

Needes  anie  more  to  learne  to  get  a  living  !" 

"  Now  sure,  and  by  my  hallidome,  (quoth  he^    545 

Ye  a  great  master  are  in  your  degree  : 

Great  thankes  I  yeeld  you  for  your  discipline, 

And  doo  not  doubt  but  duly  to  encline 

]\Iy  wits  theretoo,  as  ye  shall  shortly  heare." 

The  jiriest  him  wisht  good  speed,  and  well  to  iare  : 

So  parted  they,  as  eithers  way  them  led.  551 

But  th'  ape  and  foxe  ere  long  so  well  them  sped. 

Through  the  priests  holesome  counsell  lately  taught, 

And  throgh  their  owae  faire  handling  wisely  wroght. 

That  they  a  benefice  twixt  them  obtained  ;  555 

And  craftie  Reynold  was  a  priest  ordained  ; 

And  th'  ape  liis  parish  clarke  procur'd  to  bee: 

Then  made  they  revell  route  and  goodly  glee. 

But,  ere  long  time  had  passed,  they  so  ill 

Did  order  their  afiaires,  that  th'  evill  will  560 

Of  all  their  parishners  they  had  constraind  ; 

Who  to  the  ordinarie  of  them  complain'd. 

How  fowlie  they  their  olfices  abus'd, 

And  them  of  crimes  and  heresies  accus'd  ; 

That  pursivants  he  often  for  them  sent :  565 

But  they  neglecting  his  commaundement, 

So  long  persisted  obstinate  and  bolde, 

Till  at  the  length  he  published  to  holde 

A  visitation,  and  them  cyted  thether  : 

Then  was  high  time  their  wits  about  to  geather  ;    570 

What  did  they  then,  but  made  a  composition 

With  their  next  neighbor  priest  for  light  condition, 

To  whom  their  living  they  resigned  (juight 

For  a  few  pence,  and  ran  aw;iy  by  night. 

So  passing  through  the  countrey  in  disguize,       575 

They  fled  farre  oil',  where  none  might  them  surprize, 

And  after  that  long  straied  here  and  there, 

Through  everie  field  and  forrest  farre  and  nere  ; 

Yet  never  found  occasion  for  '.heir  tourne. 

But,  almost  sterv'd,  did  much  lament  and  mourne, 

At  last  they  chaunst  to  meete  upon  the  way         581 

The  mule  all  deckt  in  goodly  rich  amy. 

With  bells  and  bosses  that  full  lowdly  rung, 

And  costly  trappings  that  to  ground  downe  hung. 

Lowly  they  him  saluted  in  meeke  wise ;  585 

But  he  through  pride  and  fatnes  gan  despise 

Their  meanesse  ;  scarce  vouchsafte  them  to  requite. 

U  hereat  the  foxe  deep  groning  in  his  sprite, 

Said  ;  "  Ah  !   sir  mule,  now  blessed  be  the  day, 

That  I  see  you  so  goodly  and  so  gay  590 

In  your  attyres,  and  eke  your  silken  hyde 

Fil'd  with  round  flesh  that  everie  bone  doth  hide. 

Seeme;  that  in  I'ruitfull  pastures  ye  doo  live. 

Or  fortune  doth  your  secret  favour  give." 

'  Foolish  foxe  !   (said  the  mule)  thy  wretched  need 

Praiseth  the  thing  that  doth  thy  sorrow  breed.     59C 

For  well  I  weene,  thou  canst  not  but  envie 

My  wealth,  compar'd  to  thine  owne  miserie. 

That  art  so  leane  and  meagre  waxen  late. 

That  scarse  thy  legs  uphold  thy  feeble  gate."       600 

"  Ay  me  !  (said  then  the  foxe)  whom  evil  Lap 

Unworthy  in  such  wretchednes  doth  wrap. 

And  makes  the  scorne  of  other  beasts  to  bee  : 

But  read,  faire  sir,  of  grace,  from  whence  come  yea  j 


412 


MoriiKU  iiL  i'>ni:i?ns  ialk. 


Or  wh;it  of  ti(lins;s  jou  abroad  doo  lieare  ;  605 

Newes  may  perhaps  some  good  unvveeting  beare." 

"  From  royall  court  I  lately  came  (said  he,) 

Where  all  the  braverie  that  eye  may  see, 

And  all  the  hapjiinesse  that  heart  desire. 

Is  to  be  found  ;  he  nothing  can  admire,  610 

That  hath  not  scene  that  heavens  portracture  : 

Mat  tidings  there  is  none  I  you  assure, 

Save  that  which  common  is,  and  knowne  to  all, 

That  courtiers  as  the  tide  doo  rise  and  fall." 

"  But  tell  us  (said  the  a]ie)  we  doo  you  pray       615 

\\  ho  now  in  court  doth  beare  the  greatest  sway  : 

'Ihat,  if  such  fortune  doo  to  us  befall. 

We  mav  seeke  favour  of  the  best  of  all." 

"  ;\Iarie  (said  he)  the  highest  now  in  grace, 

Be  the  wilde  beasts,  that  swiftest  are  in  chase  ;  620 

For  in  their  speedie  course  and  nimble  flight 

The  lyon  now  doth  take  the  most  delight ; 

But  cliieflie  ioyes  on  foote  them  to  beholde, 

Encliaste  with  chaine  and  circulet  of  golde  : 

So  wilde  a  beast  so  tame  y taught  to  bee,  625 

And  buxome  to  his  bands,  is  ioy  to  see  ; 

So  well  his  golden  circulet  him  beseemeth  ; 

But  his  late  chayne  his  liej;e  unmeete  esteemeth  ; 

For  so  brave  beasts  she  loveth  best  to  see 

In  the  wilde  forrest  raunging  fresh  and  free.        630 

Therefore  if  fortune  thee  in  court  to  live 

In  case  thou  ever  there  wilt  hope  to  thrive, 

To  some  of  these  thou  must  thy  selfe  apply  ; 

Els  as  a  thistle-downe  in  th'  ayre  doth  flie, 

So  vainly  shah  thou  to  and  fro  be  lost,  635 

And  lose  thy  labour  and  thy  fruitless  cost. 

And  yet  full  few,  which  follow  them  I  see, 

For  vertues  bare  regard  advaunced  bee, 

But  either  for  some  gainfull  benefit. 

Or  that  they  may  for  their  owne  turnes  be  fit.      640 

Nath'les  perhaps  ye  things  may  handle  soe, 

That  ye  may  better  thrive  than  thousands  moe." 

"  But  (said  the  ape)  how  shall  we  first  come  in. 

That  after  we  may  favour  seeke  to  win  ?" 

"  How  els  (said  he)  but  v^-ith  a  good  bold  face,  645 

And  with  big  words,  and  with  a  s  ately  pace, 

'I'hat  men  may  thinke  of  you  in  general]. 

That  to  be  in  you,  which  is  not  at  all : 

For  not  by  that  which  is,  the  world  now  deemeth, 

(As  it  was  wont)  but  by  that  same  that  seemetii.  650 

Ne  do  I  doubt  but  that  ye  well  can  fashion 

Your  selves  theretoo,  according  to  occasion  : 

So  fare  ve  well,  good  courtiers  may  )'e  bee  !" 

So,  proudlie  neighing,  from  them  parted  bee. 

Then  gan  this  craftie  couple  to  devize,  655 

How  for  the  court  themselves  they  might  aguize  : 

For  thither  they  themselves  meant  to  addresse. 

In  hope  to  (inde  there  hapi)ier  successe. 

So  well  they  shifted,  that  the  a{)e  anon 

Himselfe  had  cloathed  like  a  gentleman,  660 

And  the  slie  foxe,  as  like  to  be  liis  groome, 

That  to  the  court  in  seemly  sort  they  come  ; 

Where  the  fond  ape,  himselfe  uprearing  by, 

Ujjod  his  ti[)toes,  stalketh  stately  by, 

As  if  he  were  some  great  niagnilico,  665 

And  boldlie  doth  amongst  the  boldest  go  ; 

And  his  man  Revnald,  with  fine  counterfesaunce. 

Supports  his  credite  and  his  countenaunce. 

Then  gan  the  courtiers  t;aze  on  everie  side. 

And  stare  on  him,  with  big  lookes  basen-wide,    670 

Wondering  what  mister  wight  he  was,  and  whence  . 

I"or  he  was  cUid  in  strange  accoustrements, 

Fashion'd  with  queint  devises  never  seene 

In  court  before,  yet  there  all  fashions  beeue; 


675 


\  et  he  them  in  newfanglednesse  did  pas  : 

iiut  his  behaviour  altogether  was 

Alia  Turchesca.  much  the  more  admyr'd  ; 

And  his  lookes  loftie,  as  if  he  aspyr'd 

To  dignitie,  and  sdeign'd  the  low  degree  ; 

That  all  which  did  such  strangenesse  in  him  see,  680 

By  secrete  meanes  gan  of  his  state  enquire. 

And  privily  his  servant  thereto  hire  : 

Who,  througly  arm'd  against  such  coverture. 

Reported  unto  all,  that  he  was  sure 

A  noble  gentleman  of  high  regard,  683 

Which  through  the  world  had  with  long  travel  far'd. 

And  seene  the  manners  of  all  beasts  on  ground  ; 

Now  here  arriv'd,  to  see  if  like  he  found. 

Thus  did  the  ape  at  first  him  credit  gaine, 

Which  afterwards  he  wisely  did  maintaine  690 

With  gallant  showe,  and  daylie  more  argument 

Through  his  fine  feates  and  courtly  complement ; 

For  he  could  play,  and  daunce,  and  vaute,  and  spring. 

And  all  that  els  pertaines  to  reveling, 

Onely  through  kindly  aptnes  of  his  ioynta.  695 

Besides  he  could  doo  mauie  other  poynts, 

The  which  in  court  him  served  to  good  stead  : 

For  he  mongst  ladies  could  their  fortunes  read 

Out  of  their  hands,  and  merie  leasings  tell. 

And  iuggle  finely,  that  became  him  well  :  700 

But  he  so  light  was  at  legierdemaine. 

That  what  he  loucht,  came  not  to  light  againe  ; 

Yet  would  he  laugh  it  out,  and  proudly  looke. 

And  tell  them,  that  they  greatly  him  mistooke. 

So  would  he  scott'e  them  out  with  mockerie,        705 

For  he  therein  had  great  felicitie  ; 

And  witJi  sharp  quips  ioy'd  others  to  deface. 

Thinking  that  their  disgracing  did  him  grace  : 

So  whilst  that  other  like  vaine  wits  he  pleased, 

And  made  to  laugh,  his  heart  was  greatly  eased.  710 

But  the  right  gentle  minde  woulde  bite  his  lip, 

']'o  heare  the  lavell  so  good  men  to  nip  : 

For,  though  the  vulgar  yeeld  an  open  eare. 

And  common  courtiers  love  to  gybe  and  fleare 

At  everie  thing,  which  they  heare  spoken  ill,       715 

And  the  best  speaches  with  ill  meaning  spill  ; 

Yet  the  brave  courtier,  in  whose  beauteous  thought 

Regard  of  honour  harbours  more  than  ought, 

L)oth  loath  such  base  condition,  to  backbite 

Anies  good  name  for  envie  or  despite:  720 

He  stands  on  tearmes  of  honourable  minde, 

Ne  will  be  carried  with  tiie  common  winde 

Of  courts  inconstant  mutab.litie, 

Ne  after  everie  tattling  fable  flie  ; 

but  heares,  and  sees,  the  follies  of  the  rest,  725 

And  thereof  gathers  for  iiimselfe  the  best : 

He  will  not  crecj)e,  nor  crouche  with  fained  face, 

But  walkes  upright  with  comely  stedlast  pace. 

And  unto  all  doth  yeeld  due  curtesie; 

But  not  with  kissed  hand  belowe  the  knee  730 

As  that  same  apish  crue  is  wont  to  doo  : 

For  he  disdaines  himselfe  t'  embase  theretoo 

He  hates  fowle  leasings,  and  vile  flatterie, 

'J'wo  filthie  blots  in  noble  gentrie  ; 

And  lothefull  idlenes  he  doth  detest,  735 

'J'he  canker  worme  of  everie  gentle  brest ; 

The  which  to  banish  with  faire  exercise 

Of  knightly  feates,  he  davlie  doth  devise: 

Now  nienaging  the  mouthes  of  stubborne  steedes. 

Now  practisinj;  the  proofe  of  warlike  deedes,       740 

Now  his  bright  arnies  assaying,  now  his  speare, 

Now  the  nigh  aymed  ring  away  to  beare  ; 

At  other  times  he  casts  to  sew  the  chace 

Of  swift  wilde  beasts,  or  runne  on  foote  a  race 


MOTHER  HUBRERDS  TALE. 


413 


750 


755 


reo 


770 


775 


T' enlarge   his  breath,  (large  breath  in  armes  most 

needfull,) 
Or  (As  by  wrestling  to  wex  strong  and  heedfull,  746 
Or  hisstiffe  armes  to  stretch  with  eughen  bowe, 
And  manly  legs  still  passing  too  and  froe, 
Without  a  gowned  beast  him  fust  beside, 
A  vaine  ensamide  of  the  Persian  pride; 
Who,  after  he  had  wonne  tli'  Assyrian  foe, 
Did  ever  after  scorne  on  foote  to  goe. 
Thus  when  this  courtly  gentleman  with  toyle 
Himselfe  hath  wearied,  he  doth  recoyle 
Unto  his  rest,  and  tliere  with  sweete  delight 
Of  musicks  skill  n-vives  his  toyled  spright ; 
Or  els  with  loves,  and  ladies  gentle  sports, 
The  ioy  of  youth,  himselfe  he  recomforts  : 
Or  lastly,  when  the  bodie  list  to  pause. 
His  minde  unto  the  muses  he  withdrawes  ; 
Sweete  ladie  muses,  ladies  of  delight. 
Delights  of  life,  and  ornaments  of  light  ! 
With  whom  he  close  confers  with  wise  discourse, 
Of  natures  woikes,  of  heavens  continuall  course, 
Of  forreine  lands,  of  people  different,  765 

Of  kingdomes  change,  of  divers  gouvernment, 
Of  dreadfull  battailes  of  renowmed  knights  ; 
\Vitli  which  he  kindleth  his  ambitious  sprights 
To  like  desire  and  praise  of  noble  fame, 
The  onely  upshot  whereto  he  doth  ayme  : 
For  all  his  minde  on  lionour  fixed  is, 
To  which  he  levels  all  his  purposis, 
And  in  his  princes  service  spends  his  dayes, 
Not  so  much  for  to  gaine,  or  for  to  raise 
Himselfe  to  high  degree,  as  for  his  grace. 
And  in  liis  liking  to  winne  worthie  place  ; 
Through  due  deserts  and  comely  carriage, 
In  whatso  please  employ  bis  personage. 
That  may  be  matter  meete  to  gaine  him  praise ; 
For  he  is  fit  to  use  in  all  assayes,  780 

^V'hether  for  armes  and  warlike  amenaunce. 
Or  else  for  wise  and  civill  governauncej 
For  he  is  practiz'd  well  in  jjolicie. 
Add  thereto  doth  his  courting  most  applie  : 
To  learne  the  enterdeale  of  princes  strange,         785 
To  maike  th'  intent  of  counsells,  and  the  change 
Of  states,  and  eke  of  private  men  somewhile, 
Supplanted  by  fine  falshood  and  faire  guile  ; 
Of  all  the  which  he  gaihereth  what  is  tit 
T'  enrich  the  storehouse  of  his  powerfull  wit,      790 
Which  through    wise   speaches  and  grave   confer- 
ence. 
He  daylie  eekes,  and  brings  to  excellence. 
Such  is  the  righifull  courtier  in  his  kinde  : 
Kut  unto  such  the  ape  lent  not  his  minde; 
Such  were  for  him  no  fit  companions, 
Such  would  descrie  his  lewd  conditions  : 
But  the  yong  Uistie  gallants  he  did  chose 
'i'o  follow,  meete  to  whom  he  might  disclose 
His  witlesse  pleasance,  and  ill  pleasing  vaine. 
A  thousand  wayes  he  them  could  eiitertaiue, 
\Vitli  all  the  thriftles  games  that  may  be  found  ; 
With  mumming  and  with  masking  all  around, 
With  dice,  with  cards,  with  halliards  farre  unfit, 
With  shuttelcocks,  misseeming  manlie  wit, 
With  courtizans,  and  costly  riotize,  805 

Whereof  still  somewhat  to  his  share  did  rize  : 
Ne,  them  to  pleasure,  would  he  sometimes  scorne 
A  j)andares  coate  (so  basely  was  he  borne)  ; 
'I  hereto  he  could  fine  loving  verses  frame. 
And  play  the  poet  oft.     But  ah,  for  shame,  810 

J.et  not  sweete  poets  praise,  whose  onely  pride 
Is  virtue  to  advance,  and  vice  deride. 


795 


800 


815 


8'20 


Be  with  the  works  of  losels  wit  defamed, 

Ne  let  such  verses  poetrie  be  named  ; 

Yet  he  the  name  on  him  would  rashly  tak3, 

]Maugre  the  sacred  muses,  and  it  make 

A  servant  to  the  vile  affection 

Of  such,  as  he  dejiended  most  upon  : 

And  with  the  sugrie  sweete  thereof  allure 

Chast  ladies  eares  to  fantasies  impure. 

To  such  delights  the  noble  wits  he  led 

Which  him  reliev'd,  and  their  vaine  humours  fed 

Witli  fruitles  follies  and  unsound  delights. 

But  if  perhaps  into  their  noble  sprights 

Desire  of  honor  or  brave  thought  of  armes  825 

Did  ever  creepe,  then  with  his  wicked  charmes 

And  strong  conceipts  he  would  it  drive  away, 

Ne  suffer  it  to  house  there  halfe  a  day. 

And  whenso  love  of  letters  did  inspire 

Their  gentle  wits,  and  kindle  wise  desire,  830 

That  chiefiie  doth  each  noble  minde  adorne. 

Then  he  would  scofte  at  learning,  and  eke  scorne 

The  sectaries  thereof,  as  people  base 

And  simple  men,  which  never  came  in  place 

Of  worlds  affaires,  but,  in  darke  corners  mewd,   835 

]\Iuttied  of  matters  as  their  bookes  them  shewd, 

Ne  other  knowledge  ever  did  attaine. 

But  with  their  gownes  their  gravitie  maintaine. 

From  tliem  he  would  his  impudent  lewde  speach 

Against  (Jods  holie  ministers  oft  reach,  840 

And  mocke  divines  and  their  profession  : 

Wliat  else  then  did  he  by  progression. 

But  mocke  high  God  himselfe,  whom  they  professe? 

But  what  car'd  he  for  God,  or  godlinesse  ? 

AH  his  care  was  himselfe  how  to  advaunce, 

And  to  uphold  his  courtly  countenaunce 

By  all  the  cunning  meanes  he  could  devise  ; 

Were  it  by  honest  wayes,  or  otherwise, 

He  made  small  choyce  :  yet  sure  his  honestie 

Got  him  small  gaines,  but  shameles  flatterie, 

And  filthie  brocage,  and  unseemly  shifts. 

And  borowe  base,  and  some  good  ladies  gifts  : 

But  the  best  helpe,  which  chiefly  him  sustain'd, 

Was  his  man  Raynolds  purchase  wliich  he  ain'd. 

For  he  was  school'd  by  kinde  in  all  the  skill        855 

Of  close  conveyance,  and  each  practise  ill 

Of  coosinage  and  cleanly  knaverie, 

Wiiich  oft  maintain'd  his  masters  braverie. 

Besides  he  usde  another  slipprie  slij;ht. 

In  taking  on  himselfe,  in  common  sight. 

False  personages  fit  for  everie  sted, 

With  which  he  thousands  cleanly  coosined  : 

Now  like  a  merchant,  merchants  to  deceave. 

With  whom  his  crcdite  he  did  often  leave 

In  gage  for  his  gay  masters  hopelesse  dett : 

Now  like  a  lawyer,  when  he  land  would  lett, 

Or  fell  see-simples  in  his  masters  name, 

\\  hich  lie  had  never,  nor  ought  like  the  same  • 

Then  would  he  be  a  broker,  and  draw  in 

Both  wares  and  money,  by  exchange  to  win  : 

Then  would  he  seeme  a  farmer,  that  would  sell 

Bargaines  of  woods,  wliich  lie  did  lately  fell, 

Or  corne,  or  cattle,  or  such  other  ware, 

'Thereby  to  coosin  men  not  well  aware  . 

Of  all  the  which  there  came  a  secret  fee  87.' 

To  th'  ape,  that  he  his  countenaunce  might  bee. 

Besides  all  this,  he  us'd  oft  to  beguile 

Poore  suters,  that  in  court  did  haunt  some  while  : 

For  he  would  learne  their  busines  secretly. 

And  then  informe  his  master  liastely,  880 

'Jliat  he  by  meanes  might  cast  them  to  prevent, 

And  beg  the  sute,  the  >Uiich  the  other  meant. 


845 


830 


860 


865 


870 


«14! 


MOIHER  HUI5BP:KDS  TALE. 


Or  otherwise  false  Reynold  would  abuse 

Tlie  simple  suter,  and  wish  him  to  chuse 

His  master,  being  one  of  great  reunrd  885 

In  court,  to  compas  anie  sute  not  hard, 

In  case  his  paines  were  recompenst  with  reason  : 

So  would  he  worke  the  silly  man  by  treason 

To  buy  his  masters  frivolous  good  will, 

That  had  not  power  to  doo  him  good  or  ill.  890 

So  pitiful!  a  thing  is  suter  state  ! 

Most  miserable  man,  whom  wicked  fate 

Hath  brouglit  to  court,  to  sue  for  had  ywist, 

That  few  have  found,  and  manie  one  hath  mist! 

Full  little  knowest  thou,  that  hast  not  tride,  895 

^^'l!at  hell  ir  is,  in  suing  long  to  bide  : 

To  loose  good  dayes,  that  might  be  better  spent ; 

To  wast  long  niglits  in  pensive  discontent ; 

'J'o  speed  to  day,  to  be  jiut  back  to  morrow  ; 

To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  feare  and  sorrow  ,  900 

To  have  thy  princes  grace,  yet  want  her  peeres  ; 

To  have  thy  asking,  yet  waite  manie  yeeres  ; 

To  fret  thy  soule  with  crosses  and  with  cares  ; 

To  eate  thv  heart  through  comfortles>e  dispaires  ; 

To  fawne,  to  crowche,  to  wnite,  to  ride,  to  ronne,  905 

To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undonne. 

Unhappie  wight,  borne  to  desastrous  end, 

That  doth  his  life  in  so  long  tendance  spend  ! 

Who  ever  leaves  sweete  home,  where  meane  estate 

In  safe  assurance,  without  strife  or  hate,  910 

Findes  all  things  needful!  for  contentment  meeke  ; 

And  will  to  court  for  shadowes  vaine  to  seeke, 

Or  hope  to  gaine,  hiniselfe  will  a  daw  tiie : 

That  curse  God  send  unto  mine  enemie  ! 

For  none  but  such,  as  this  bold  ape  unblest,        915 

Can  ever  thrive  in  that  unluckie  quest ; 

Or  such  as  hath  a  Reynold  to  his  man. 

That  by  his  shifts  his  master  furnisii  can. 

But  yet  this  foxe  could  not  so  closely  hide 

His  craftie  feates,  but  that  they  were  descride     920 

At  length  by  such  as  sate  in  iustice  seate, 

Who  for  the  same  him  fowlie  did  entreate  ; 

And,  having  worthily  luiu  jmnished. 

Out  of  the  court  for  ever  banished. 

And  now  the  ape  wanting  his  huxter  man,  925 

That  wont  provide  his  necessaries,  gan 

To  growe  into  great  lacke,  ne  could  upholde 

His  countenaunce  in  those  his  garments  olde  ; 

Ne  new  ones  could  he  easily  provide. 

Though  all  men  him  uncased  gan  deride  930 

Like  as  a  puppit  placed  in  a  play. 

Whose  part  once  past  all  men  bid  take  away  : 

So  that  he  driven  was  to  great  distresse, 

And  shortly  brought  to  hopelesse  wretchednesse. 

Then  closely  as  he  might  he  cast  to  leave  935 

The  court  not  asking  any  passe  or  leave  ; 

But  ran  away  in  his  rent  rags  by  night, 

Neever  stayd  in  place,  ne  spake  to  wight, 

Till  I  hat  the  foxe  his  copesinate  he  had  found. 

To  whom  coraplayning  his  uidiappy  stound,         940 

At  last  ngaine  with  him  in  travell  iovnd, 

And  with  him  far'd  some  better  chauiice  to  fynde. 

So  in  the  world  long  time  they  wandered, 

And  mickle  want  and  hardnesse  suffered  ; 

That  ihem  repented  much  so  foolishly  945 

To  come  so  /arre  to  seeke  for  misery. 

And  leave  the  sweetnes  of  contented  home, 

Though  eating  hipps,  and  drinkin^j  watry  fome. 

Thus  as  tliey  them  complayned  too  and  fro. 

Whilst  through  the  forest  rechlesse  tliey  did  goe,  950 

Lo  !  where  they  spide,  how  in  a  gloomy  glade, 

The  lyon  sleeping  lay  in  secret  shade. 


His  crowne  and  scepter  lying  him  beside, 

And  having  doft  for  heate  his  dreadfuU  hide  : 

Which  when  they  sawe,  the  ape  was  sore  afrayde, 

And  would  have  fled  with  terror  all  dismayde.     956 

But  him  the  foxe  with  hardy  words  did  stay. 

And  bad  him  put  all  cowardize  away  ; 

For  now  was  time  ('if  ever  they  should  hope) 

To  avme  their  counsels  to  the  fairest  scope,  960 

And  them  for  ever  highly  to  advaunce. 

In  case  the  good,  which  their  owne  happie  chaunce 

Them  freely  offred,  they  would  wisely  take. 

Scarse  could  the  ape  yet  speake,  so  did  he  quake  ; 

Yet,  as  he  could,  he  askt  how  good  might  growe  965 

Where  nought  but  dread  and  death  do  seeme    in 

show. 
"  Now,  (said  he)  whiles  the  lyon  sleepeth  sound, 
]\Iav  we  his  crowne  and  mace  take  from  the  ground. 
And  eke  his  skinne,  the  terror  of  the  wood, 
Where  we  may  our  selves  (if  we  thinke  good)  970 
INIake  kings  of  beasts,  and  lords  of  forests  all, 
Subiect  unto  that  powre  imperiall." 
"  Ah  !  but  (savd  th'  ape)  who  is  so  bold  a  wretch. 
That  dare  his  hardy  hand  to  those  outstretch  ; 
When  as  he  knowes  his  meede,  if  he  be  s|iide,  975 
To  be  a  thousand  deathes,  and  shame  beside  ?" 
"  Fond  ape  !  (sayd  then  the  foxe)   into  whose  brest 
Never  crept  thought  of  honor,  nor  brave  gest, 
^Vll0  will  not  venture  life  a  king  to  be. 
And  rather  rule  and  raigne  in  soveraign  see,        980 
Than  dwell  in  dust  inglorious  and  hace, 
Where  none  shall  name  the  number  of  his  place  ? 
One  ioyous  houre  in  blisfull  happines, 
I  chuse  before  a  life  of  wretchednes. 
Be  therefore  counselled  herein  by  me,  985 

And  shake  off  this  vile-hearted  cowardree. 
If  he  awake,  yet  is  not  death  the  next. 
For  we  may  colour  it  with  some  pretext 
Of  this,  or  that,  that  may  excuse  the  cryme  ■ 
Else  we  may  flye ;  thou  to  a  tree  mayst  clyme,    990 
And  I  creejie  under  ground  ;  but  from  his  reach  : 
Therefore  be  rul'd  to  doo  as  I  doo  teach." 
The  ape,  that  earst  did  nought  but  chill  and  quake. 
Now  gan  some  courage  unto  him  to  take, 
And  was  content  to  attempt  that  enterprise,  995 

Tickled  with  glorie  and  rash  covetise. 
But  first  gan  question,  whether  should  assay 
Those  royall  ornaments  to  steale  away'! 
"  Marie,  that  shall  your  selfe,  (quoth  he  theretoo) 
For  ye  be  fine  and  nimble  it  to  doo  ;  1000 

Of  all  the  beasts,  which  in  the  forrests  bee. 
Is  not  a  fitter  for  this  turne  than  yee  : 
Therefore,  mine  owne  deaie  brother,  take  good  hart. 
And  ever  thinke  a  kingdome  is  your  part." 
Loath  vi'as  the  ape,  though  praised,  to  adventer,  1005 
\'et  faintly  gan  into  his  worke  to  enter. 
Afraid  of  everie  leafe  that  stir'd  him  by, 
And  everie  stick  that  underneath  did  ly  : 
Upon  his  tiptoes  nicely  he  up  went, 
For  making  noyse,  and  still  his  eare  he  lent       1010 
To  everie  sound  that  under  heaven  blew  ; 
Now  went,  now    stopt,  now  crept,  now  backward 

drew. 
That  it  good  sport  had  been  him  to  have  eyde  : 
Yet  at  the  last,  (so  well  he  him  applvde,) 
Through  his  fine  handling,  and  cleanly  play,      101.5 
He  all  those  royall  signes  had  stolne  away. 
And  with  the  foxes  hel])e  them  borne  aside 
Into  a  secret  corner  unesj.ide. 
Whither  whenas  they  came  they  fell  at  words. 
Whether  of  them  should  be  the  lord  of  lords  :    1020 


MOTHER  HUBBERDS  TALE. 


435 


For  til'  ape  was  stryfull,  and  ambicious  : 

And  the  i'oxe  juilefull,  and  most  covetous  ; 

That  neither  pleased  was,  to  have  the  rayne 

Twixt  them  divided  into  even  twaine, 

But  either  (algates)  would  be  lord  alone  :  1025 

Tor  Love  and  Loi  dship  bide  no  jiaragone, 

"  I  am  most  worthie,  (said  the  ape)  sith  I 

For  it  did  put  my  life  in  ieopardie  : 

Thereto  I  am  in  person  and  in  stature 

Most  like  a  man,  the  Lord  of  everie  creature,    1030 

So  that  it  seemeth  I  was  made  to  raigne, 

And  borne  to  be  a  kingly  soveraigne." 

"  Nay  (said  the  foxs)  Sir  Ape,  you  are  astray  : 

For  though  to  steale  the  diademe  away 

Were  the  worke  of  your  nimble  hand,  yet  I       1035 

Did  first  devise  the  plot  by  pollicie  ; 

So  that  it  wholly  springeth  from  my  wit : 

For  which  also  I  claime  ray  selfe  more  fit, 

Than  you,  to  rule:  for  government  of  state 

Will  without  wisedome  scone  be  ruinate.  1040 

And  wliereye  claime  your  selfe  for  outward  shape 

Most  like  a  man,  man  is  not  like  an  ape 

la  his  chiefe  parts,  that  is,  in  wit  and  spirite  ; 

]3ut  I  therein  most  like  to  liimdoo  merite, 

For  my  slie  wyles  and  subtill  craftiness,  1045 

'J'he  title  of  the  kingdome  to  [)ossesse. 

Nath'les  (ray  brother)  since  we  passed  are 

Unto  t'nis  point,  we  will  appease  our  iarre  ; 

And  I  with  reason  meete  will  rest  content. 

That  ye  shall  have  both  crowne  and  government. 

Upon  condition,  that  ye  ruled  bee  1051 

In  all  affaires,  and  counselled  by  mee  ; 

And  that  ye  let  none  other  ever  drawe 

"i'our  minde  from  me,  but  keepe  this  as  a  lawe  : 

And  hereupon  an  oatti  unto  me  plight."  1055 

The  ape  was  glad  to  end  the  strife  so  light. 

And  thereto  swore:  for  who  would  not  oft  sweare, 

And  oft  unsweare,  a  diademe  to  beare? 

Then  freely  up  those  royall  spoyles  he  tooke. 

Yet  at  the  lyons  skin  he  inly  quooke  ;  1060 

But  it  dissembled,  and  upon  his  head 

I'he  crowne,  and  on  his  backe  the  ^kin,  he  did, 

And  the  false  foxe  him  helped  to  array. 

'J'hen  when  he  was  all  dight  he  tooke  his  way 

[nto  the  forest,  that  he  might  be  seene  1065 

Of  the  wilde  beasts  in  his  new  glory  sheene. 

There  the  two  first,  whom  he  encountred,  were 

The  sht-epeand  th'  asse,  who,  striken  both  with  feare 

At  sight  of  him.  gan  fast  away  to  flye  ; 

But  unto  them  tlie  foxe  alowd  did  crv,  1070 

And  in  the  kings  name  bad  them  both  to  stay, 

Upon  the  payne  that  thereof  follow  may. 

Hardly  naythles  were  they  restrayned  so. 

Till  that  the  foxe  forth  toward  them  did  goe. 

And  there  disswaded  them  from  needlesse  feare, 

For  that  the  king  did  favour  to  them  beare  ;      1076 

And  therefore  dreadles  bad  them  come  to  corte  : 

For  no  wild  beasts  should  do  them  any  torte 

There  are  abroad,  ne  would  his  maiestye 

Use  them  but  well,  with  gracious  clemencye,    1080 

As  wh'jrae  he  knew^  to  him  both  fast  and  true: 

So  he  perswaded  them,  with  homage  due 

Themselves  to  humble  to  the  a])e  prostrate. 

Who,  gently  to  them  bowing  in  his  gate, 

Receyved  them  with  chearefull  entertayne.        1085 

Thenceforth  proceeding  v.-ith  his  princely  trayne. 

He  shortly  met  the  tygre,  and  the  bore, 

AVhich  vvitb  the  simple  camell  raged  sore 

In  bitter  words,  seeking  to  take  occasion 

Upon  his  fleshly  corpse  to  make  invasion  :         1090 


But,  soone  as  they  this  mock-king  did  espy. 

Their  troublous  strife  they  stinted  by  and  by. 

Thinking  indeed  that  it  the  lyon  was  : 

He  then,  to  prove  whether  his  powre  would  pas 

As  current,  sent  the  foxe  to  them  streight  way,  1095 

Commaunding  them  their  cause  of  strife  bewray  ; 

And,  if  that  wrong  on  eyther  side  there  were, 

Tliat  he  should  warn^the  wronger  to  appeare 

The  morrow  next  at  court,  it  to  defend  ; 

In  the  meane  time  upon  the  king  t'  attend.  1 100 

The  subtile  foxe  so  well  his  message  sayd. 

That  the  proud  beasts  him  readily  obayd  : 

Whereby  the  ape  in  wondrous  stomach  woxe. 

Strongly  encoraged  by  the  crafty  foxe  ; 

That  king  indeed  liimselfe  he  shortly  thought,  1105 

And  all  the  beasts  him  feared  as  they  ought, 

And  followed  unto  his  palace  bye  ; 

Where  taking  conge,  each  one  by  and  by 

Departed  to  his  home  in  dreadful!  awe, 

Full  of  the  feared  sight,  which  late  they  sawe.  1110 

The  ape  thus  seized  of  the  regall  throne, 

Eftsoones,  by  counsell  of  the  foxe  alone, 

Gan  to  provide  for  all  things  in  assurance. 

I'hat  so  his  rule  might  lenger  have  endurance. 

First  to  his  gate  he  pointed  a  strong  gard,  1115 

That  none  might  enter  but  with  issue  hard  : 

Then,  for  the  safegard  of  his  personage. 

He  did  appoint  a  warlike  equipage 

Of  forreine  beasts,  not  in  the  forest  bred. 

But  part  b}'  land  and  part  by  water  fed  ;  1120 

For  tyrannie  is  witli  strange  ayde  supported. 

Then  unto  him  all  monstrous  beasts  resorted 

Bred  of  two  kindes,  as  griffons,  minotaures. 

Crocodiles,  dragons,  beavers,  and  centaures  : 

With  those  himselfe  he  strengthened  mightelie,  1125 

That  feare  he  neede  no  force  of  enemie. 

Then  gan  he  rule  and  tyrannize  at  will. 

Like  as  the  foxe  did  guide  his  graceless  skill  ; 

And  all  wylde  beasts  made  vassals  of  his  pleasures, 

And  with  their  spoyles  enlarg'd  his  private  treasures. 

No  care  of  iustice,  nor  no  rule  of  reason,  1131 

No  tem})erance,  nor  no  regard  of  season, 

Did  thenceforth  ever  enter  in  his  minde  ; 

J3ut  crueltie,  the  signe  of  currish  kinde  ; 

And  sdeignfuU  pride,  and  wilfull  arrogaunce  ;   11.'35 

Such  followes  tliose  whom  fortune  doth  advaunce. 

But  the  false  foxe  most  kindly  plaid  his  part : 

For,  whatsoever  mother-wit  or  arte 

Could  worke,  he  put  in  proofe  :   no  practise  slie, 

No  counterpoint  of  cunning  policie.  1140 

No  reach,  no  breach,  that  might  him  profit  bring. 

But  he  the  same  did  to  his  purpose  wring. 

Nought  suffered  he  the  ape  to  give  or  graunt. 

But  through  his  liand  alone  must  passe  the  flaunt. 

All  offices,  all  leases  by  him  lept,  1145 

And  of  them  all,  whatso  he  likt,  he  kept. 

Iustice  he  solde  iniustice  lor  to  buy. 

And  for  to  purchase  for  his  progeny. 

Ill  might  It  prosper,  that  ill  gotten  was  ; 

But,  so  he  got  it,  little  did  he  pas.  11 50 

He  fed  his  cubs  with  fat  of  all  the  soyle. 

And  with  the  sweete  of  others  sweating  toyle  ; 

He  crammed  them  with  crumbs  of  benefices. 

And  fild  their  mouthes  with  meedes  of  malefices  ; 

He  cloathed  them  with  all  colours  save  white,  1155 

And  loded  them  with  lordships  and  with  might, 

So  much  as  they  were  able  well  to  beare, 

Tliat  with  the  weight  their  backs  nigh  broken  were  ; 

He  chaflVed  chayres  in  which  churchmen  were  set. 

And  breach  of  lawes  to  privie  ferine  did  let  :      1160 


416  

No  statute  so  establislied  niisht  bee, 

Nor  ordinaunce  so  iieedfull,  but  tbat  }iee 

Would  violate,  tliouoh  not  witli  violence, 

Yet  under  colour  of  tlie  confidence 

TI)H  which  the  ape  repnsM  in  him  alone,  1165 

And  reikned  him  the  Kinj^domes  corner  stone. 

And  ever,  when  he  o>i£;ht  would  bring  to  pas, 

flis  long  experience  the  platf'orme  was  : 

And,  when  he  ought  not  pleasing-  would  put  by, 

'I  he  cloke  was  care  of  thrift,  and  hu.-.baiidry,      1170 

For  to  encrease  the  common  treasures  store; 

But  his  owne  treasure  be  encreased  more, 

And  lifted  up  his  loftie  towres  thereby, 

That  tliev  began  to  threat  the  nei^j-hbour  sky  ; 

The  whiles  the  princes  pallaces  fell  fast  1175 

To  mine:   (for  what  thing  can  ever  last?) 

And  whilest  the  other  peeres,  for  povertie, 

Were  forst  llieir  auncient  houses  to  let  lie, 

And  their  olde  castles  to  the  ground  to  fall. 

Which  their  forefathers  famous  over  all  1180 

Had  founded  for  the  kingdomes  ornament; 

And  for  their  memories  long  moniraent. 

But  he  no  count  made  of  nobilitie, 

Nor  the  wilde  beasts  whom  amies  did  glorifie,  1184 

Therealmeschiefe  strength  and  girlondofthecrowne, 

All  these  through  fained  crimes  he  thrust  adowne, 

Or  made  them  dwell  in  darknes  of  disgrace  : 

For  none,  but  whom  he  list,  might  come  in  place. 

Of  men  of  armes  he  had  but  small  regard, 

r>ut  kept  them  lowe,  and  streigned  verie  hard.  1190 

For  men  of  learning  little  he  esteemed  ; 

His  wisedome  he  above  their  learning  deemed. 

As  for  the  rascall  Commons  least  he  cared  ; 

For  not  so  common  was  his  bountie  shared  ; 

Let  God,  (said  he)  if  please,  care  for  the  mauie, 

1  for  my  selfe  must  care  before  els  anie  :  1196 

So  did  lie  good  to  none,  to  manie  ill, 

So  did  all  the  kingdome  rob  and  pill, 

Yet  none  durst  speake,  ne  none  durst  of  him  plaine  ; 

So  great  he  was  in  grace,  and  rich  through  gaine. 

Ne  would  he  anie  let  to  have  accesse  I'JOl 

Unto  the  prince,  but  by  his  owne  addresse  : 

For  all  that  els  did  come,  were  sure  to  faile  ; 

Yet  would  he  further  none  but  for  availe. 

For  on  a  time  the  sheepe,  to  whom  of  yore        1205 

The  foxe  had  promised  of  friendship  store, 

'Vhat  time  the  ape  the  kingdome  first  did  gaine, 

Came  to  the  court,  her  case  there  to  coraplaine  ; 

How  that  the  wolfe,  her  mortall  enemie. 

Had  sithence  slaine  her  lambe  most  cruellie  ;     1210 

And  therefore  crav'd  to  come  unto  the  king, 

To  let  him  knowe  the  order  of  the  thing. 

"  Soft,  gooddie  sheepe !  (then  said  the  foxe)  not  soe : 

Unto  the  king  so  rash  ye  may  not  goe  ; 

He  is  with  greater  matter  busied  1215 

Than  a  lambe,  or  the  lanibes  owne  mothers  bed. 

Ne  certes  may  I  take  it  well  in  j)art, 

That  ye  mv  cousin  wolfe  so  fowly  thwart. 

And  seeke  with  slaunder  his  good  name  to  blot : 

For  there  was  cause,  els  doo  it  he  would  not :    1220 

Therefor  surcease,  good  dame,  and  hence  depart," 

So  went  the  sheepe  away  with  heavie  hart: 

So  manie  moe,  so  everie  one  was  used, 

Tljat  to  give  largely  to  the  boxe  refused. 

Now  when  high  love,  in  whose  almightie  hand  1225 

The  care  of  kings  and  power  of  empires  stand. 

Silting  one  day  within  his  turret  bye, 

From  whence  he  vewes,  with  bis  hlack-lidded  eye, 

Whaiso  ti.e  heaven  in  his  wide  vawte  containes. 

And  all  that  in  the  deepest  earth  remaines ;        1230 


IMOTHER  HUBBERDS  TALE. 


And  troubled  kingdome  of  wild  beasts  behelde. 
Whom  not  their  kindly  sovereigne  did  welde. 
But  an  usurping  ape,  with  guile  suborn'd. 
Had  all  subverst ;  he  sdeignfully  it  scorn'd 
In  his  great  heart,  and  hardlv  did  refriiine,  1235 

But  that  with  thunder  bolts  he  had  him  slaine. 
And  driven  downe  to  hell,  his  dewest  meed  : 
But,  him  avizing,  he  tbat  dreadfull  deed 
Forbore,  and  rather  chose  with  scornfull  shame 
Him  t )  avenge,  and  blot  his  brutish  name  1240 

Unto  the  world,  tliat  never  after  anie 
Sliould  of  his  race  be  vovd  of  infamie  ; 
And  his  false  counsellor,  the  cause  of  all, 
To  damne  to  death,  or  dole  perpetuall. 
From  whence  he  never  should  be  quiet  nor  stal'd. 
Forthwith  he  Mercurie  unto  him  cal'd  1216 

And  bade  him  flie  with  never-resting  speed 
Unto  the  forrest,  where  wilde  beasts  doo  breed, 
And  there  enquiring  privilv,  to  learne 
What  did  of  late  chaunce  to  the  Ivon  stearne.      1250 
That  he  rul'd  not  the  empire,  as  he  ought ; 
And  whence  were  all  those  plaints  unto  him  brought 
Of  wrongs,   and   spoyles,  by  salvage   breasts  com- 
mitted 
Which  done,  he  bad  the  lyon  be  remitted 
Into  bis  seate,  and  those  same  treachours  vile      1255 
Be  punished  for  their  presumptuous  guile. 
The  Sonne  of  l\Iaia,  soone  as  he  receiv'd 
That  word,  streightwith  his  azure  wings  he  cleav'd 
'J'he  liquiil  clowdes,  and  lucid  firmament ; 
Ne  staid,  till  tbat  he  came  with  steep  descent    1260 
Unto  the  place,  where  his  prescript  did  showe. 
There  stouping,  like  an  arrowe  from  a  bowe, 
He  soft  arrived  on  the  grassie  plaine, 
And  fairly  paced  forth  with  easie  paine. 
Till  that  iinto  the  puUac-e  nigh  he  came.  1265 

Then  gan  he  to  himselfe  new  shape  to  frame  ; 
And  tlrat  faire  face,  and  that  ambrosiall  hew, 
^Vhich  wonts  to  decke  the  gods  immortall  crew. 
And  beautefie  the  sliinie  firmament. 
He  doft,  unfit  for  that  rude  rabblement.  1270 

So,  standing  by  the  gates  in  strange  disguize, 
He  gan  enquire  of  some  in  secret  wize, 
Botii  of  the  king  and  of  his  government, 
And  of  the  foxe,  and  his  false  blandishment : 
And  evermore  he  beard  each  one  complaine       1275 
Of  foule  abuses  both  in  realme  and  raine  : 
Which  yet  to  prove  more  true,  he  meant  to  see, 
And  an  ey-witness  of  each  thing  to  bee. 
Tho  on  his  head  his  dreadfull  hat  he  dight, 
Which  niaketh  him  invisible  in  sight,  1280 

And  mocketh  t.h'  eyes  of  all  the  lookers  on. 
Making  them  thinke  it  but  a  vision. 
Through  power  of  that,  he  runnes  through  eneniiea 

swerds ; 
Through  power  of  that,  be  passeth  tlirough  tbebeids 
Of  ravenous  wilde  beasts,  and  doth  beguile        1285 
Their  greedie  mouthes  of  the  expected  spoyle  ; 
Through  power  of  that,  his  cunning  iheeveries 
He  wonts  to  worke,  that  none  the  same  espies; 
And,  through  the  power  of  that,  he  putteth  on 
What  sha])e  he  list  in  ajiparition.  1290 

'   That  on  his  head  he  wore,  and  in  his  hand 
He  tooke  Caduceus  his  snakie  wand, 
With  which  the  damned  ghosts  he  governeth, 
And  furies  rules,  and  Tartare  tempereth. 
With  that  he  causeth  sleej)  to  seize  the  eyes,     129.'' 
And  feare  the  harts,  of  all  his  enemyes  ; 
And,  when  him  list,  an  universall  night 
Fhrousbout  the  world  he  makes  on  everie  wight ; 


MOTHER  HUBBERDS  TALE. 


417 


As  when  his  syre  with  Alcumena  lay. 

Thus  dight,  into  the  court  lie  tooke  iiis  way,      1300 

Both  through  the  gnrd,  which  never  him  descride, 

And  through  the  watchmen,  who  him  never  spide  : 

Thenceforth  he  past  into  each  secrete  part, 

Whereas  he  saw,  that  sorely  griev'd  his  hart, 

ii,ach  place  abounding  with  t'owle  iniuries,         1305 

And  fild  with  treasure  rackt  with  robberies  ; 

Each  place  defilde  with  blood  of  guiltles  beasts. 

Which  had  been  slaine  to  serve  the  apes  beheasts  , 

Gluttonie,  malice,  pride,  and  covetize. 

And  lawlessnes  raigning-  with  riotize  ;  1310 

Besides  the  intinite  extortions. 

Done  through  the  foxes  great  oppressions. 

That  the  complaints  thereof  could  not  be  tolde. 

Which  when  he  did  with  lothfull  eyes  beholde. 

He  would  no  more  endure,  but  came  his  way,  1315 

And  cast  to  seeke  the  lion,  where  he  may, 

That  he    might    worke    the   avengement     for  this 

shame 
On  those  two  caytives,  which  had  bred  him  blame  : 
And,  seeking  all  the  forrest  busilv, 
At  last  he  found,  where  sleeping  he  did  ly.       1320 
The  wicked  weed,  which  there  the  foxe  did  lay, 
From  underneath  his  head  he  tooke  away. 
And  then  him  waking,  forced  up  to  rize. 
The  lion  looking  up  gan  him  avize, 
As  one  late  in  a  traunce,  what  had  of  long         1325 
Become  of  him  :   for  fantasie  is  strong. 
"  Arise,  (said  ]\IercurieJ  thou  sluggish  beast, 
That  here  liest  senseles,  like  the  corpse  deceast. 
The  whilste  thy  kingdome  from  thy  head  is  rent, 
And  thy  throne  royall  with  dishonour  blent :     1330 
Arise,  and  doo  thy  selfe  redeeme  from  shame. 
And  be  aveng'd  on  those  that  breed  thy  blame." 
Thereat  enraged,  soone  he  gan  upstart. 
Grinding  his  teeth,  and  grating  his  great  hart  ■ 
And,  rouzing  up  himselfe,  for  his  rough  hide     1335 
He  gan  to  reach ;  but  no  where  it  espide  : 
Therewith  he  gan  full  terribly  to  rore, 
And  chafte  at  that  indignitie  right  sore. 
But  when  his  crowne  and  scepter  both  he  wanted, 
Lord !  how  he  fum'd,  and  sweld,  and  rag'd,  and 

panted ;  1340 

And  threatend  death,  and  thousand  deadly  dolours  j 
Tojthem|that  had  purlovn'd  his  princely  honours. 


With  that  in  hast,  disroabed  as  he  was, 

lie  toward  his  owne  pallace  forth  did  pas  ; 

And  all  the  way  he  roared  as  he  went,  1345 

That  all  the  forrest  witli  astonishment 

Thereof  did  tremble,  and  the  beasts  therein 

Fled  fust  av^'ay  from  that  so  dreadfull  din. 

At  last  he  came  unto  his  mansion. 

Where  all  the  gates  he  found  fast  lockt  anon,    1350 

And  manie  warders  round  about  them  stood  : 

With  that  he  roar'd  alowd,  as  he  were  wood. 

That  all  the  pallace  quaked  at  the  stound, 

As  if  it  quite  were  riven  from  the  ground, 

And  all  within  were  dead  and  hartles  leli ;         lS'35 

And  the  ape  himselfe,  as  one  whose  wits  were  reft. 

Fled  here  and  there,  and  everie  corner  sought 

To  hide  himselfe  from  his  owne  feared  thought. 

But  the  false  fose,  when  he  tiie  lion  heard. 

Fled  closely  forth,  streightway  of  death  afeard,  1360 

And  to  the  lion  came,  fiill  lowly  creejiing, 

Witli  fained  face,  and  watrie  eyne  halfe  weeping', 

T'  excuse  his  former  treason  and  abusion. 

And  turning  all  unto  the  apes  confusion  : 

Nath'les  the  royall  beast  forbore  beleeving,       1365 

But  bad  him  stay  at  ease  till  further  preeving. 

Tlien  when  he  saw  no  entrance  to  him  graunted. 

Roaring  yet  lowder  that  all  harts  it  daunted. 

Upon  those  gates  with  f(;rce  he  fiercely  flewe. 

And,  rending  them  in  pieces,  felly  slewe  1370 

Those  warders  strange,  and  all  that  else  he  met. 

But  th'  ape  still  flying  he  no  where  might  get  : 

From  rowme  to  rowme,  from  beame  tobeamehe  fled 

All  breathles,  and  for  feare  now  almost  ded  : 

Yet  him  at  last  the  lyon  spide,  and  caught,         1375 

And  forth  with  shame  unto  his  iudgement  brought. 

Then  all  the  beasts  he  caus'd  assembled  bee, 

To  hears  their  doon:e,  and  sad  ensample  see  : 

The  foxe,  first  author  of  that  treacherie. 

He  did  uncase,  and  then  away  let  flie.  1380 

But  th'  apes  long  taile(which  then  he  had)  he  qtiio-ht 

Cut  off,  and  both  eares  pared  of  their  hight  ; 

Since  which,  all  apes  but  halfe  their  eares  have  left, 

And  of  their  tailes  are  utterlie  bereft. 

So  Mother  Hubberd  her  discourse  did  end  .  1385 
Which  ])ardon  me,  if  I  amisse  have  pend  ; 
For  weake  was  my  remembrance  it  to  hold, 
And  bad  her  tongue  that  it  so  bluntly  tolde.      138 


PEOTHALAMION: 


o». 


A    SPOU  S  A  LL    VERSE. 


EDM.    SPENSER, 

In  honour  of  the  double  marriage  of  the  two  honorable  and  vertuous  ladies,  the  Ladie  Elizabeth,  and  toa 
Ladie  Katherine  Somerset,  daughters  to  the  right  honorable  the  Earle  of  Worcester,  and  espoused  to  the 
two  worthie  gentlemen,  M.  Henry  Gilford  and  M.  William  Peter,  Esquyers. 


Calme  was  the  day,  and  through  the  trembling  ayre 

Sweete-brenthing  Zepbyrus  did  softly  play 

A.  gentln  spirit,  that  lightly  did  delay 

Hot  Titans  beames,  which  then  did  glyster  feyre  ; 

When  I,  (whom  [whose]  sullein  care,  5 

Through  discontent  of  my  long  fruitlesse  stay 

In  )irinces  court,  and  expectation  vayne 

Of  idle  hopes,  which  still  doe  fly  away, 

Like  empty  shadows,  did  afflict  my  brajne,) 

Wallet  forth  to  ease  my  payne  10 

Along  the  shoare  of  silver  streaming  Themmes  ; 

Whose  rutty  bank,  the  which  his  river  hemmes, 

Was  pavnted  all  witli  variable  flowers, 

And  all  the  meades  adornd  with  dainty  gemmes 

Fit  to  decke  maydens  boivres,  .  15 

And  crowne  their  paramours 

Against  the  brydale  day,  which  is  not  long  : 

Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

There,  in  a  meadow,  by  the  rivers  side, 
Aflocke  of  nymphes  1  chaiinced  to  espy,  20 

All  lovely  daughters  of  the  flood  thereby, 
With  goodly  greenish  locks,  all  loose  uatyde, 
As  each  had  bene  a  bryde  ; 
And  each  one  had  a  little  wicker  basket, 
iMade  of  fine  twigs,  entrayled  curiously,  26 

[n  wliich  tliey  gathered  flowers  to  fill  their  flasket, 
And  witb  fine  fingers  crept  full  feateously 
The  tender  stalkes  on  bye. 
Of  every  sort,  which  in  that  meadow  grew, 
They  gathered  some  ;  the  violet,  ])allid  blew,         30 
The  little  dazie,  that  at  evening  closes. 
The  virgin  lillie,  and  the  jirimrose  trew, 
\Vith  store  of  vermeil  roses. 
To  deck  their  bridegroomes  posies 
Against  tlie  brvdale  day,  which  was  not  long  :        35 
Sweet 'Jhemmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song 


With  that  I  saw  two  swannes  of  goodly  hewe 
Come  softly  swimming  downe  along  the  lee  ; 
Two  fairer  birds  I  yet  did  never  see  ; 
The  snow,  which  doth  the  top  of  Pindus  strew,      10 
Did  never  whiter  shew. 

Nor  Jove  himselfe,  when  he  a  swan  would  be 
For  love  of  Leda,  whiter  did  appeare  ; 
Yet  Leda  was  (the  say)  as  white  as  he, 
Yet  not  so  white  as  these,  nor  nothing  near  ;         -15 
So  purely  v/hite  they  were, 

That  even  the  gentle  stream,  the  which  them  bare, 
Seem'd  foule  to  them,  atid  bad  his  billowes  spare 
To  wet  their  silken  feathers,  least  they  might 
Soyle  their  fayre  plumes  with  water  not  so  fayre,  50 
And  marre  their  beauties  bright, 
'i'hat  shone  as  heavens  light. 
Against  their  brydale  day,  which  was  not  long: 
Sweet  Theumies  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

Eftsoones  the  nymphes,  wliich  now  had  flowers  their 
Kan  all  in  haste  to  see  that  silver  brood,  [fill, 

As  they  came  floating  on  the  cristal  flood  ;  57 

Whom  when  they  sawe,  they  stood  amazed  still. 
Their  wondering  eyes  to  fill  ; 

Them  seem'd  they  never  saw  a  sight  so  fayre,       60 
Of  fowles,  so  lovely,  that  they  sure  did  deeme 
Them  heavenly  borne,  or  to  be  that  same  payre 
Which  througii  the  skie  draw  A'enus  silver  teemej 
For  sure  they  did  not  seeme 

To  be  begot  of  any  earthly  seede,  65 

But  rather  angels,  or  of  angels  breede  ; 
^'et  were  they  bred  of  soiners-heat,  they  say. 
In  sweetest  season,  when  each  flower  and  weede 
The  earth  did  fresh  aray  ; 

So  fresh  they  seem'd  as  day,  70 

Even  as  their  brydale  day,  which  was  not  long  : 
Sweet  Themmes  I  runiie  softly,  till  1  end  my  song 


PROTHALAMION. 


419 


Then  forth  they  all  out  of  their  baskets  drew 

Great  store  of  flowers,  the  honour  of  the  field, 

That  to  the  sense  did  fragrant  odours  yield,  75 

All  which  upon  those  goodly  birds  they  threw 

And  all  the  waves  did  strew, 

That  like  old  Peneus  waters  they  did  seeme. 

When  downe  along  by  pleasant  Tempes  shore, 

Scattred  with  flowres,  through  Thessalythey  streeme, 

That  they  appeare,  through  lilies  plenteous  store,  81 

Like  a  brydes  chamber  flore. 

Two  of  those  nymphes,   meane  while,  two  garlands 

bound 
Of  freshest  flowres  which  in  that  mead  they  found, 
The  which  presenting  all  in  trim  array,  85 

Their  snowie  foreheads  therewi-thall  they  crownd. 
Whilst  one  did  sing  this  lay, 
Prepar'd  against  that  day, 

Against  their  brydale  day,  which  was  not  long  : 
Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song. 

"  Ye  gentle  birdes  !  the  worlds  faire  ornament,     91 

And  heavens  glorie,  whom  this  happie  bower 

Doth  leade  unto  your  lovers  blissfull  hower, 

loy  may  you  have,  and  gentle  liearts  content 

Of  your  loves  comjdoment  ;  95 

Ami  let  faire  Venus,  that  is  queene  of  love. 

With  her  heart-quelling  sonne  upon  vou  smile. 

Whose  smile,  they  say,  hath  vertue  to  remove 

All  loves  dislike,  and  friendships  faultie  guile 

For  ever  to  assoile.  100 

Let  endlesse  peace  your  steadfast  hearts  accord. 

And  blessed  plentie  wait  upon  3-our  bord  ; 

And  let  your  bed  with  pleasures  chast  abound, 

Tliat  fruitfuU  issue  may  to  3'ou  afford. 

Which  may  your  foes  confound,  105 

And  make  your  ioys  redound 

Upon  your  brydale  day,  which  is  not  long! 

Sweet  Themmes!  runne  softlie,  till  lend  my  song." 

So  ended  she ;  and  all  the  rest  around 
To  her  redoubled  that  her  undersong,  110 

Which  said  their  brydale  daye  should  not  be  long: 
And  gentle  eccho  fiom  the  neighbour  ground 
riieir  accents  did  resound. 
Sa  forth  those  ioyous  birds  did  passe  along 
Adowne  the  lee,  that  to  them  nnirmuide  iow,      li5 
As  he  would  speake,  but  that  he  lackt  s  tccg, 
Vet  did  by  signes  his  glad  affection  show, 
Making  his  streame  run  slow. 
And  all  the  foule  which  in  his  flood  did  dwell 
Gail  flock  about  these  twaine,  that  did  excell       120 
The  rest,  so  far  as  Cynthia  doth  shend 
The  lesser  stars.     So  they,  euranged  well. 
Did  on  those  two  atte 7  d. 

And  their  best  service  lend  124 

Against  their  wedding  day,  which  was  not  lono- : 
Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  lend  my  song. 


At  length  thev  all  to  mery  London  came. 
To  ir.ery  Loudon,  my  most  kyndly  nurse. 
That  to  me  gave  thislifes  first  native  sourse. 
Though  from  another  place  I  take  my  name,        130 
An  house  of  auncient  fame  : 

There  when  they  came,  whereas  those  bricky  towres 
The  which  on  I'hemmes  brode  aged  backe  doe  rvde. 
Where  now  the  studious  lawyers  have  their  bowers, 
There  whylome  wont  the  Templer  Knights  to  byde. 
Till  they  decayd  through  pride  :  136 

Next  whereunto  there  standes  a  stately  place, 
Where  oft  I  gayned  giftes  and  goodly  grace 
Of  that  great  lord,  which  therein  wont  to  dwell. 
Whose  want  too  well  now  feels  my  freendles  case  ; 
But  ah  !  here  fits  not  well  141 

01d3  Woes,  but  ioyes,  to  tell 

Against  the  briilale  daye,  which  is  not  long: 
Sweet  Themmes!  runne  softly,  tdl  I  end  my  song. 

Yet  therein  now  doth  lodge  a  noble  peer,  145 

Great  Englands  glory,-  and  the  worlds  wide  wonder, 
Whose  dreadf'ull    name  late  through  all  Spaine  did 

thunder. 
And  Hercules  two  pillors  standing  neere 
Did  make  to  quake  and  feare  : 

Faire  branch  of  honor,  flower  of  chevalrie  !  150 

That  fillest  England  with  thy  triumphs  fame, 
loy  have  thou  of  thy  noble  victorie, 
And  endlesse  happinesse  of  thine  owne  name 
That  promiseth  the  same  ; 

That  through  thy  provi'esse,  and  victorious  amies, 
Thy  country  may  be  freed  from  forraine  harmes;    156 
And  great  Elisaes  glorious  name  may  ring- 
Through  al  the  world,  fill'd  with  thy  wide  alarmes, 
Which  some  brave  muse  may  sing 
To  ages  following,  160 

Upon  the  brydale  day,  which  is  not  long : 

Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  softly,  till  I  end  my  song^ 


166 


170 


From  those  high  towers  this  noble  lord  issuing. 
Like  radiant  Hesper,  when  his  golden  hayre 
In  tir  ocean  billowes  he  hath  bathed  fay  re. 
Descended  to  the  rivers  open  vewing, 
Witii  a  areat  tiaine  ensuiiig. 
Above  tne  rest  were  goodly  to  bee  scene 
Two  genile  iiuigiits  of  lovely  face  and  feature. 
Beseeming  well  the  bower  of  any  queene. 
With  gifts  of  wit,  and  ornaments  of  nature. 
Fit  for  so  goodly  stature. 

That  like  the  twins  of  love  they  seem'd  in  sight, 
Which  decke  the  baulcjricke   of  the  heavens  bright; 
They  two,  forth  pacing  to  the  rivers  side,  175 

lieceiv'd  those  two  faire  brides,  their  loves  delight; 
Which,  at  th'  appointed  tyde. 
Each  one  did  make  his  bryde 

Against  their  brydale  day,  which  is  not  long:       179 
Sweet  Themmes  !  runne  aoftly,  till  I  end  my  song. 


KPITHALAMIOM. 


Ye  learned  sisters,  which  have  oftentimes 

15eene  to  me  ayding,  others  to  adorne, 

Whom  ye  thought  worthy  of  your  gracefull  rymes, 

1  hat  even  tlie  greatest  did  not  greatly  scorne 

To  heare  theyr  names  sung  in  your  simple  layes,     5 

But  ioyed  in  theyr  praise  ; 

And  when  ye  list  your  own  mishaps  to  mourne. 

Which  death,  or  love,  or  fortunes  wreck  did  rayse, 

Your  string  could  soone  to  sadder  tenor  turne, 

And  teach  the  woods  and  waters  to  lament  10 

Your  doleful!  dreriment : 

Now  lay  those  sorrowfull  complaints  aside; 

And,  having  all  your  heads  with  girlands  crownd, 

Helpe  me  mine  owne  loves  prayses  to  resound  ; 

Ne  let  the  same  of  any  be  envide  :  15 

So  Orpheus  did  for  his  owne  bride  ! 

So  I  unto  mv  selfe  alone  will  sing; 

The  woods  shall  to  me  answer,  and  my  eccho  ring. 

Early,  before  the  worlds  light-giving  lampe 

His  golden  beame  upon  the  hils  doth  spred,  CO 

Having  disperst  the  nights  unchearfull  dampe, 

Doe  ye  awake  ;  and,  with  fresh  lustyhed. 

Go  to  the  bowre  of  my  beloved  love, 

My  truest  turtle  dove  ; 

Bid  her  awake  ;  for  Hymen  is  awake,  2t 

And  long  since  ready  forth  his  maske  to  move, 

With  his  bright  tead  that  flames  with  many  a  flake, 

And  many  a  bachelor  to  waite  on  him. 

In  theyr  fresii  garments  trim. 

Bid  her  awake  therefore,  and  soone  her  dight,       30 

For  16e !  the  wished  day  is  come  at  last, 

i  hat  shall,  for  all  the  paynes  and  sorrowes  past, 

Pav  to  her  usury  of  long  delight: 

And,  whylest  she  doth  iier  dight. 

Doe  ye  to  her  of  ioy  and  solace  sing,  35 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your  eccho  ring. 

Bring  with  you  all  the  nymphes  that  you  can  heare 

Both  of  the  rivers  and  the  forrests  greene,  ' 

And  of  the  sea  that  neighbours  to  her  neare  : 

All  with  gay  girlands  goodly  wel  beseene.  40 

And  let  them  also  with  them  bring  in  hand 

Another  gay  girland, 

i'"or  m)'-  fayre  love,  of  lillyes  and  of  roses, 

B'uind  truelove  wize,  wiili  a  blew  silke  riband. 

And  let  them  make  great  store  of  bridale  poses,     45 

And  let  them  eke  bring  store  of  other  flowers, 

To  deck  the  bridale  bowers. 

And  let  the  ground  whereas  her  foot  shall  tread. 

For  feare  the  stones  her  tender  foot  should  wrong, 

Be  strewd  with  fragrant  flowers  all  along,  50 

And  diapred  lyke  the  discolored  mead. 

AV'jich  done,  doe  at  her  cliamber  dore  awayt, 

Kor  she  will  waken  strayt; 


The  whiles  do  ye  this  song  unto  her  sing, 

The  woods  shall  to  you  answer,  and  your  echo  ring. 

Ye  nj-mphes  of  Mulla,  which  with  careful!  lieed  56 
The  silver  scaly  trouts  do  tend  full  well, 
And  greedy  pikes  which  use  therein  to  feed  ; 
(Those  trouts  and  pikes  all  others  doe  excel! ;) 
And  ye  likewise,  which  keepe  the  rushy  lake,       61 
^Vhere  none  doo  fishes  take; 
Bynd  up  the  locks  the  which  hang  scatterd  light, 
And  in  Isis  waters,  which  your  mirror  make. 
Behold  your  faces  as  the  christall  bright. 
That  when  you  come  whereas  my  love  doth  lie,    65 
No  blemish  she  may  spie. 

And  eke,  ye  lightfuot  mayds,  which  keepe  the  dore, 
That  on  the  hoary  mountayne  use  to  towre ; 
And  the  wylde  wolves,  which  seeke  them  todevoure, 
With  your  Steele  darts  doe  chace  from  coming  neer : 
Be  also  present  here,  71 

To  helpe  to  decke  her,  and  to  help  to  sing. 
That  all   the  woods  may  answer,    and  your  eccho 
ring. 

V/ake  now,  my  love,  awake ;  for  it  is  time ; 
The  ros}'  morne  long  since  left  Tithoiis  bed,  75 

All  ready  to  her  silver  coche  to  clyme ; 
And  Phttbus  gins  to  siiew  his  glorious  bed. 
Hark  !  how  the  ch'3erfull  birds  do  chaunt  theyr  laies 
And  Carroll  of  Loves  praise. 

The  merry  Jarke  hir  mattins  sings  aloft;  80 

'ihe  thrush  rejilyes  ;  the  mavis  descant  playes: 
The  ouzell  shiills  ;  the  ruddock  warbles  soft; 
So  goodly  all  agree,  with  sweet  consent, 
'I'o  this  dayes  merriment. 

All !  my  deere  love,  why  doe  ye  sleepe  thus  long,  85 
When  meeter  were  that  ye  should  now  awake, 
T'auavt  the  comming  of  your  ioyous  make. 
And  hearken  to  the  birds  love-learned  song, 
I'he  deawy  leaves  among! 

For  they  of  ioy  and  pleasance  to  you  sing,  90 

That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  theyr  eccho 
ring. 

INIy  love  is  now  awake  out  of  her  dreame. 

And  her  fayre  eyes,  like  stars  that  dimmed  were 

Witli    darksome  cloudes,    now  shew  theyr   goodly 

beams 
More  bright  then  Hesperus  his  head  doth  rere.     95 
Come  now,  ye  damzels,  daughters  of  delight, 
Helpe  (juickly  her  to  dight: 

But  first  come  ye  fayre  houres,  which  were  begot. 
In  loves  sweet  paradice  of  day  and  night ; 
WJiich  doe  the  seasons  of  the  year  allot,  100 

And  all,  that  ever  in  this  world  is  fayre, 
Do  make  and  still  repayre  : 


EPITHALAMIOV. 


421 


And  ye  three  liandmavds  of  the  Cyprian  queene, 
The  which  doe  still  adorn  her  beauties  pride, 
Helpe  to  adorne  my  beautifullest  bride :  105 

And,  as  ve  lier  array,  still  throw  betweene 
Some  graces  to  be  seene  ; 
And,  as  ve  use  to  Venus,  to  her  sing-, 
The  wliiles  the  woods  shal  answer,  and  your  eccho 
ring. 

Now  is  my  love  all  ready  forth  to  come  :  llO 

Let  all  the  virgins  therefore  well  awayt: 
And  ye  fresh  boyes,  that  tend  upon  her  groome, 
Prepare  your  selves  ;  for  he  iscomming  strayt. 
Set  all  your  things  in  seemely  good  aray. 
Fit  for  so  ioyfull  day  :  115 

The  ioyfulst  day  that  ever  sunne  did  see. 
Fair  sun  !  shew  forth  thy  favourable  ray, 
And  let  thy  lifuU  heat  not  fervent  be. 
For  feare  of  burning  her  sunshyny  face. 
Her  beauty  to  disgrace.  120 

O  fayrest  Phcebus  !   father  of  the  muse  ! 
If  ever  I  did  honour  ihee  aright,  | 

Or  sing  the  thing  that  mote  thv  mind  delight, 
Doe  not  thy  servants  simple  boone  refuse  ; 
But  let  this  day,  let  this  one  day,  be  mine,  125 

Let  all  the  rest  be  thine. 

Then  I  thv  soveravne  pravses  loud  vvil  sing. 
That  all  the  woods   shal  answer,    acd  theyr  eccho 
ring. 

Harke!  how  the  minstrils  gin  to  shrill  aloud 
Their  merrv  musick  ihat  resounds  from  far,  130 

The  pipe,  the  tabor,  and  the  trembling  croud, 
That  well  agree  withoufen  breach  or  iar. 
But,  most  of  all,  the  damzels  doe  delight, 
^^  hen  they  their  tymbrels  smyte. 
And  thereunto  doe  daunce  and  carrol  sweet,         135 
That  all  the  sences  they  doe  ravish  quite  ; 
The  whyles  the  boyes  run  up  and  downe  the  street, 
Crying  aloud  witli  strong  confused  noyce. 
As  if  it  were  one  voyce. 

Hymen,  1'6  Hymen,  Hvnien,  thev  do  shout;         140 
That  even  to  the  heavens  theyr  shouting  shrill 
Doth  reach,  and  all  the  firmament  doth  fill; 
To  which  the  people  standing  all  about. 
As  in  approvance,  doe  thereto  ajiplaud. 
And  loud  advaunce  her  laud ;  145 

And  evermore  they  Hymen,  Hymen  sing. 
That  all  the  woods  them   answer,   and  theyr  eccho 
ring. 

Loe!  where  she  comes  along  with  portly  pace, 

L}-ke  Phcebe,  from  her  chamber  of  the  east, 

Arysing  forth  to  run  her  mighty  race,  150 

Clad  all  in  white,  that  seems  a  virgin  best. 

So  well  it  her  beseems,  that  ye  would  weene 

Some  angell  she  had  beene. 

Her  long  loose  yellow  locks  lyke  golden  wyie, 

Sprinckled  with  ])erle,  and  psrling  flowres  atweene, 

Doe  lyke  a  golden  mantle  her  attvre ;  156 

And,  being  crowned  with  a  <;irland  greene. 

Seem  lyke  some  maydeu  (|ueene. 

Her  modest  eyes,  ahai-hed  tt  behold 

So  many  gazers  as  on  her  dc  stare,  16() 

Upon  the  lowly  ground  aifi>ecl  are; 

Ne  dare  lift  up  her  couDtenance  too  bold. 

But  blush  to  heare  her  pray  ies  sung  so  loud. 

So  farre  from  being  proud. 

Nathle.--se  doe  ve  still  loud  "ler  prayses  sing,        165 

That  all  the  woods  may  ans-'/er,  and  your  eccho  ring. 


Tell  me,  ye  merrhants  daughters,  did  ye  see 

So  fayre  a  creature  in  vour  towne  before  ; 

So  sweet,  so  lovely,  and  so  mild  as  she, 

Adornd  with  beautyes  grace  and  vertues  store  ?  A70 

Her  goodly  eyes  lyke  saphyres  shining  bright, 

Her  foiehead  yvory  white. 

Her  cheekes  lyke  apples  which  the  sun  hath  rudded. 

Her  lips  lyke  cherries  charming  men  to  byte. 

Her  brest  like  to  a  bowl  of  creame  uncrudded,    175 

Her  paps  lyke  lyllies  budded, 

Her  snowie  neck  lyke  to  a  marble  towre ; 

And  all  her  body  like  a  pallace  favre. 

Ascending  up,  with  manv  a  stately  stayre, 

To  honors  seat  and  chastities  sweet  bo.vre.  180 

Why  stand  ye  still  ve  virgins  in  amaze. 

Upon  her  so  to  gaze, 

\\  biles  ye  for^^et  your  former  lay  to  sins:. 

To  which  the  woods  d  id  answer,  and  your  eccho  ring  ? 

But  if  ye  saw  that  which  no  eyes  can  see,  185 

The  inward  beauty  of  her  lively  spright, 
Garnisht  with  heavenly  guifts  of  high  degree. 
Much  more  then  would  ye  wonder  at  that  sight, 
And  stand  astoni>hf.  lyke  to  those  which  red 
Wedusaes  mazefnl  iied.  190 

There  dwells  sweet  love,  and  constant  chastity, 
Unspotted  fayth,  and  comely  womanhood. 
Regard  of  honour,  and  mild  modesty  ; 
There  vertue  raynes  as  queene  in  royal  throne, 
And  giveth  lawes  alone.  195 

The  which  the  base  afteciions  doe  obay, 
And  yeeld  theyr  services  unto  her  will ; 
Ne  thought  of  things  uncomely  ever  may 
I  hereto  approch  to  tempi  her  mind  to  ill. 
Had  ye  once  .--eene  these  her  celestial  threasures, 
And  unrevealed  pleasures,  201 

'J  hen  would  ye  wonder,  and  her  ])rayses  sing. 
That  all  the  woods  should  ansiver,  and  your  eccho  ring. 

0]ien  the  temple  gates  unto  my  love. 

Open  th' m  wide  that  she  may  enter  in,  205 

And  all  the  postes  adorne  as  doth  behove. 

And  all  the  pillonrs  deck  with  giilands  trim, 

For  to  receyve  this  saynt  with  honour  dew. 

That  commeth  in  to  y  u. 

With  trembling  steps,  and  humble  reverence,      210 

She  commeth  in,  before  th'  Almighties  view ; 

Of  her  ye  virgins  learne  obedience. 

When  so  ye  come  into  those  holy  places. 

To  humble  your  proud  faces: 

Bring  her  up  to  th'  high  altar,  that  she  may         215 

TliB  sacred  ceremonies  there  partake. 

The  which  do  endlesse  matrimony  make ; 

And  let  the  roring  organs  loudly  play 

The  praises  of  the  Lord  in  lively  notes  ; 

The  whiles,  with  hollow  throates,  220 

The  choristers  the  loyous  antheme  sing. 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  their  eccho  ring. 

Behold,  whiles  she  before  the  altar  stands. 

Hearing  the  holy  priest  that  to  her  speakes, 

And  blesseth  her  with  his  two  happy  hands,         225 

How  the  red  roses  flush  up  in  her  clieekes. 

And  the  pure  snow,  with  goodly  vennill  stayne 

Like  crimsin  dyde  in  graviie: 

That  even  the  angels,  which  continually 

About  the  sacred  altar  doe  ■eniaiue,  230 

Fi'rget  the:r  service  and  about  her  tly. 

Ofte  peeping  in  her  i'ace,  that  seems  more  fayre 

The  more  they  on  it  stare. 


4 'J  2 


F.1'1  rilALAhlON. 


But  her  sad  eyes,  still  fastened  on  the  ground, 
Are  governed  with  goodly  raodes'.y,  235 

That  suffers  not  one  look  to  ghmnce  awry, 
AVhich  may  let  in  a  little  thought  unsownd. 
Why  hlush  ye,  love,  to  give  to  me  your  hand, 
The  pledge  of  all  our  band ! 

Sing,  ye  sweet  angels,  Alleluya  sing,  210 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your  eccho  ring. 

Now  al  is  done  :  bring  home  the  bride  ajjaine  ; 
Bring  home  the  triumph  of  our  victory  : 
Bring  home  with  you  the  glory  of  her  gaine, 
Mith  ioyance  bring  her  and  with  iollity.  24,5 

IVever  had  man  more  iovfuU  day  than  this. 
Whom  heaven  would  heape  with  blis, 
IVIake  feast  therefore  now  all  this  live-long  day; 
This  day  for  ever  to  me  holy  is. 
Poure  out  the  wine  without  restraint  or  stay,       230 
Poure  not  by  cups,  but  by  the  belly  full, 
Poure  out  to  all  that  wull, 

And  sprinkle  all  the  posts  and  wals  with  wine. 
That  they  may  sweat,  and  drunken  be  withail. 
Crowne  ye  god  BacchMs  with  a  coronall,  255 

And  Hymen  also  crowne  with  wreaths  of  vine  ; 
And  let  the  Graces  daunce  unto  the  rest, 
For  they  can  doo  it  best : 

The  whiles  tbe  maydens  doe  theyr  carroll  sing, 
To  whicli  the  woods  shall  answer,   and  theyr  eccho 
ring.  260 

King  ye  the  bels,  ye  yong  men  of  the  towne. 

And  leave  your  wonted  labors  for  this  day  : 

'i  his  day  is  holv  ;   doe  ye  write  it  downe, 

1'hat  ye  for  ever  it  remember  may. 

This  day  the  sunne  is  in  his  chiefest  bight,  265 

AVith  Barnaby  the  bright. 

From  whence  declining  daily  by  degrees, 

He  somewhat  loseth  of  his  heat  and  light. 

When  once  the  Ciab  behind  his  back  he  sees. 

But  for  this  time  it  ill  ordained  was,  270 

To  choose  the  longest  day  in  all  the  yeare. 

And  shortest  night,  when  longest  fitter  were : 

Yet  never  day  so  long,  but  late  would  passe. 

Rin'_'  ye  the  bels,  to  make  it  weare  away, 

Anil  bonefiers  make  all  day;  275 

A.nd  daunce  about  them,  and  about  tliem  sing, 

'J'liat  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your  eccho  ring. 

All !   when  will  this  long  weary  day  have  end. 

And  lende  me  leave  to  come  unto  my  love? 

How  slovvlv  do  the  houres  theyr  numbers  spend? 

How  slowly  does  sad  'lime  his  feathers  move?    281 

Hast  thee,  O  fayrest  planet,  to  thy  home. 

Within  the  westnine  fome: 

Thy  tyred  steedes  long  since  have  need  of  rest. 

Long  though  it  be,  at  la.-t  I  see  it  gloome,  285 

And  the  bright  evening-star  with  golden  creast 

Appeare  out  of  the  east. 

Fayre  chdde  of  beautie  !  glorious  lampe  of  love  ! 

That  all  the  host  of  heavin  in  rankes  doost  lead. 

And  guidest  lovers  throu.L:h  the  nights  sad  dread, 

How  chearefully  thou  lookest  from  above,  291 

And  seemst  to  laugh  atweene  thy  twinkling  light, 

As  ioying  in  the  sight 

Of  these  glad  many,  which  for  ioy  do  sins,  'i94 

That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  their  eccho  ring ! 

Now  cease,  ye  damsels,  your  delights  fore-past ; 
nougl)  it    is  that  all  the  day  was  youres  : 
Now  uay  is  doen,  and  night  is  nigliing  fast, 
Now  bring  the  bryde  into  the  brydall  bowres. 


The  night  is  Cf:me,  now  soon  her  disaray,  300 

And  in  her  bed  her  lay  ; 

Lay  her  in  lillies  and  in  violets. 

And  silken  curteins  over  her  display. 

And  odoured  sheets,  and  arras  coverlets. 

J5ehold  how  goodly  my  faire  love  does  ly,  305 

In  proud  humility  ! 

Like  unto  !\Iaia,  when  as  love  her  took 

In  Tempe,  lying  on  the  flowry  gras, 

Twixt  sleepe  and  vi-ake,  after  she  weary  was. 

With  bathing  in  the  Acidalian  brooke.  .SIO 

Now  it  is  night,  ye  damsels  may  be  gone, 

And  leave  my  love  alone, 

And  leave  likewise  your  former  lay  to  sing 

The  woods  no  more  shall  answer,  nor  your  eccho  ring. 

Now  welcome,  night !  thou  night  so  long  expected, 

'J'hat  long  dales  labour  doest  at  last  defray,  316 

And  all  my  cares,  whicli  cruell  Love  collected, 

Hast  sumd  in  one,  and  cancelled  for  ave  : 

Spread  thy  broad  wing  over  my  love  and  me, 

That  no  man  may  us  see  ;  320 

And  in  thy  sable  mantle  us  enwrap. 

From  feare  of  perrill  and  foule  horror  free. 

Let  no  false  treason  seeke  us  to  entrap. 

Nor  any  dread  disquiet  once  annoy 

The  safety  of  our  io)- ;  "  325 

But  let  the  night  be  calme,  and  qnietsome, 

\\'ithout  tempestuous  storms  or  sad  afray : 

Lvke  as  when  love  with  faj^re  Alcmena  lay, 

When  he  begot  the  great  Tirynthian  groonie  : 

Or  lyke  as  when  he  with  thy  selfe  did  lie  330 

And  begot  Majestie. 

And  let  the  mayds  and  yongmen  cease  to  sing  ; 

Ne  let  the  woods  them  answer,  nor  theyr  eccho  ring 

Let  no  lamenting  cryes,  nor  dolefull  teares. 

Be  lieard  all  night  within,  nor  yet  without :  3j5 

Ne  let  false  whispers,  breeding  h;dden  feares, 

Breake  gentle  sleepe  with  misconceived  dout. 

Let  no  deluding  dreames,  nor  dreadful  sights. 

Make  sudden  sad  aifrights  ; 

Ne  let   house-fyres,  nor  lightnings  helpless  harmes, 

Ne  let  the  ponke,  nor  other  evill  sprig lits,  341 

Ne  let  mischievous  v.-itches  with  theyr  charmes, 

Ne  let  hob-goblins,   names  whose  seuce    we   see 

not. 
Fray  us  with  things  that  be  not  : 
Let  not  the  skriech-owle  nor  the  storke  be  heard,  3 15 
Nor  the  night  raven,  that  still  deadly  yels ; 
Nor  damned  ghosts,  cald  uj)  with  mighty  spels. 
Nor  griesly  vultures,  make  us  once  alTeard  : 
Ne  let  th'  unpleasant  (\uyre  of  frogs  still  croking 
Make  us  to  wish  theyr  choking.  ,350 

Let  none  of  these  theyr  drery  accents  sing  ; 
Ne  let  the  woods  them  answer,  nor  theyr  eccho  ring. 

l)Ut  let  stil  Silence  trew  night-watches  keepe, 

i'hat  sacred  I'eace  may  in  assurance  rayne, 

And  t>niely  Sleep,  when  it  is  tvme  to  sleepe,      355 

I\Iay  j)()ure  his  limbs  lorth  on  your  jiieasant  playne ; 

The  whiles  an  hundred  little  winged  loves, 

JJke  divers-fethered  d^jves. 

Shall  fly  and  flutter  round  about  the  bed. 

And  in  the  secret  darke,  that  none  reproves,         360 

Then-  j)rety  siealthes  shall  worke,  and  snares  shall 

spread 
To  iilch  away  sweet  snatches  of  delight. 
Conceal d  through  covert  ni<rht. 


EPITHALAMION. 


423 


Ye  sonnes  of  Venus,  play  your  sports  at  will ' 

For  greedy  pleasure,  carelesse  of  your  toyes,        365 

Thinks  more  upon  lier  paradise  of  ioyes. 

Then  what  ye  do,  albe  it  good  or  ill. 

All  night  therefore  atfend  your  merry  play, 

For  it  will  soone  be  day  : 

Now  none  doth  hinder  you,  that  say  or  sing  ;       370 

Ne  will  the  woods  now  answer,  nor  youreccho  ring-. 

Who  is  the  same,  which  at  my  window  peepes  ? 

Or  whose  is  that  faire  face  that  shines  so  bright  ? 

Is  it  not  Cinthia,  she  that  never  sleepes, 

But  walkes  about  high  heaven  al  the  night?        375 

O  !  fiivrest  goddesse,  do  thou  not  envy 

My  love  with  me  to  spy : 

For  thou  likewise  didst  love,  though  now  unthought, 

And  for  a  fleece  of  wooll,  which  privily 

The  Latraian  shepherd  once  unto  thee  brought,  380 

His  pleasures  with  thee  wrought. 

Therefore  to  us  be  favorable  now ; 

And  sith  of  wemens  labours  thou  hast  charge. 

And  generation  goodly  dost  enlarge, 

Encline  thy  will  t' effect  our  wishfuU  vow,  385 

And  the  chast  womb  informe  with  timely  seed, 

That  may  our  comfort  breed  : 

Till  which  we  cease  our  hopefull  hap  to  sing  ; 

Ne  let  the  woods  us  answer,  nor  our  eccho  ring. 

And  thou,  great  luno  !  which  with  awful  might  390 

The  lawes  of  wedlock  still  dost  patronize  ; 

And  the  religion  of  the  faith  first  plight 

With  sacred  rites  hast  taught  to  solemnize ; 

And  eke  for  comfort  often  called  art 

Of  women  in  their  smart ;  395 

Eternally  bind  then  this  lovely  band, 

And  all  thy  blessings  unto  us  impart. 

And  thou,  glad  Genius !  in  whose  gentle  hand 


The  bridale  bovvre  and  geniall  bed  remame. 

Without  blemish  or  staine  ;  400 

And  the  svseet  pleasures  of  theyr  loves  delisiht 

With  secret  ayde  doost  succour  and  supply. 

Till  they  bring  forth  the  fruitfull  progeny ; 

Send  us  the  timelv  fruit  of  this  same  night. 

And  thou,  fiiyre  Hebe !  and  thou.  Hymen  free!  405 

Grant  that  it  may  so  be. 

Till  which  we  cease  your  further  prayse  to  sing ; 

Ne  any  woods  shall  answer,  nor  your  eccho  ring. 

And  ye  high  heavens,  the  temple  of  the  gods. 

In  which  a  thousand  torches  flaming  bright         41C 

Doe  burne,  that  to  us  wretched  earthly  clods 

In  dreadful  darknesse  lend  desired  light ; 

And  all  ye  powers  which  in  the  same  remayne, 

SI  ore  than  we  men  caa  faynel 

Pour  out  your  blessing  on  us  plentiously,  415 

And  happy  influence  upon  us  raiiie,' 

That  we  may  raise  a  large  posterity. 

Which  from  the  earth,  ■svhich  they  may  long  possesse 

With  lasting  happinesse, 

Up  to  your  haughty  pallaces  may  mount ;  420 

And,  for  the  guerdon  of  theyr  glorious  merit, 

May  heavenly  tabernacles  there  inherit. 

Of  blessed  saints  for  to  increase  the  count. 

So  let  us  rest,  sweet  love,  in  hope  of  this, 

And  cease  till  then  our  tymely  ioyes  to  sing  :       425 

The  woods  no  more  us  answer,  nor  our  eccho  ring: 

Song!  made  in  lieu  of  many  ornaments, 

With  ichich  my  lore  should  duty  have  been  dect, 

Which  cutting  off  through  hasty  accidents, 

Ye  would  not  stall  your  dew  time  to  expect,  430 

But  promist  both  to  recompens  ; 

Be  unto  her  a  goodly  ornament, 

And  for  short  time  an  endlesse  monimenl  !  433 


POEMS. 


In  youth,  before  I  waxed  old. 
The  blynd  boy,  Venus  baby. 
For  want  of  cunning  made  me  bold, 
In  bitter  hyve  to  grope  for  honny  : 
But,  when  he  saw  me  stung  and  cry. 
He  tooke  his  wings  and  away  did  fly. 


As  Diane  hunted  on  a  uay, 

She  chaunst  to  come  where  Cupid  lay, 

His  quiver  by  his  head  : 

One  of  his  shafts  she  stole  away, 

And  one  of  hers  did  close  convay 

Into  the  others  stead  : 

V\  ith  that  Love  wounded  my  loves  hart. 

But  Diane  beasts  with  Cupids  dart. 


I  SAW,  in  secret  to  my  dame 
How  little  Cupid  humbly  cam  j. 


And  said  to  her;  "  All  hayle,  my  mother!" 
But,  when  he  saw  me  laugh,  for  shame 
His  face  with  bashfull  blood  did  flame. 
Not  knowing  Venus  from  the  other. 
"  Then,  never  blush,  Cupid,  quoth  I, 
For  many  have  err'd  in  this  beauty." 


Upon  a  day,  as  Love  lay  sweetly  slumbring 
All  in  in  his  mothers  lap  ; 

A  gentle  bee,  with  his  loud  trumpet  murm'ring, 
j   About  him  flew  by  hap. 
Whereof  when  he  was  wakened  with  the  I'.oyse,     5 
And  saw  the  beast  so  small ; 

"  Whats  this  (quoth  he)  that  giv^s  so  great  a  voyce 
That  wakens  men  withallt  " 
In  angry  wize  he  flies  about, 

And  threatens  all  with  corage  stout.  10 

To  whom  his  mother  closely  smiling  sayd, 
'Twixt  earnest  and  'twixt  game  : 
"  See  !  thou  thyselfe  likewise  art  lyttle  made. 
If  thou  regard  the  same. 


434 


POEMS. 


And  yet  thou  sufFrest  neyther  goda  in  sky,  15 

Nor  men  in  earth,  to  rest: 

But,  when  tbou  art  disposed  cruelly, 

Theyr  slgepe  tbou  doost  molest. 

Then  eyther  change  thy  cruelty, 

Or  give  like  leave  unto  the  fly." 

Nathelesse,  the  cruell  boy,  not  so  content, 

Would  needs  the  fly  pursue  ; 

And  in  his  liand,  with  heedlesse  hardiment. 

Him  caught  for  to  subdue. 

But,  when  on  it  he  hasty  hand  did  lay. 

The  bee  him  stung  therefore : 

"  Now  out  alas,  he  cryde,  and  well  away, 

I  wounded  am  full  sore  : 

The  tly,  that  I  so  much  did  scorne, 

Hath  hurt  me  with  his  little  borne." 

Unto  bis  mother  straight  he  weeping  came. 

And  of  his  griefe  complayned  : 

Who  could  not  chuse  but  laugh  at  his  fond  game. 

Though  sad  to  see  him  pained.  [smart  35 

"Think  now  ((luoch  she)  my  son,  bow  great   tho 

Of  those  whom  thou  dost  wound  : 

Full  many  thou  hast  pricked  to  the  hart^ 

That  pitty  never  found  : 


20 


25 


30 


'i  lierefore,  henceforth  some  pitty  take, 

\Vlien  thou  doest  spoyle  of  lovers  make."  40 

She  tooke  him  streight  full  pitiously  lamenting, 

And  wrapt  him  in  her  smock  : 

She  wrapt  him  softly,  all  the  while  repenting 

'J'hat  he  the  fly  did  mock. 

She  drest  bis  wound,  and  it  embaulmed  well 

With  salve  of  soveraigne  might : 

And  then  she  bath'd  him  in  a  dainty  well. 

The  well  of  deare  delight. 

Who  would  not  oft  be  stung  as  this. 

To  be  so  bath'd  in  Venus  blis  ? 

'i'he  wanton  boy  was  shortly  wel  recured 

Of  that  his  malady  : 

]3ut  he,  soone  after,  fresh  again  enured 

His  former  cruelty. 

And  since  that  time  he  wounded  hath  my  selfe      53 

With  his  sharpe  dart  of  love  : 

And  now  forgets  the  cruell  carelesse  elfe 

His  mothers  heast  to  prove. 

So  now  I  languish,  till  be  please 

My  pining  anguish  to  appease.  60 


45 


50 


AMORETTI: 

0(t, 

SONNETS. 

BY     EDM.    SPENSER. 


TO  THE  AUTHOR. 


Darke  is  the  day,  when  Phffibus  face  is  shiouded, 
And  weaker  sights  Tnay  wander  soone  astray : 
But,  when  they  see  liis  glorious  rays  unclouded. 
With  steddy  steps  they  keej)  the  perfect  way  . 
■So,  while  this  muso  in  forraine  land  doth  stay, 
Invention  weej)s,  and  pens  are  cast  aside  ; 
The  time,  like  night,  depriv'd  of  chearfull  dav  ; 
And  few  do  write,  bat  (ah  !)  too  soon  may  slide. 
Then,  hie  thee  home,  that  art  our  perfect  guide. 
And  with  thy  wit  illustrate  England's  fame. 
Daunting  thereby  our  neighbours  ancient  pride. 
That  do,  for  poesie,  challenge  chiefest  name  : 
So  we  that  live,  and  ages  that  succeetl. 
With  great  applause  thy  learned  works  shall  read. 
G.  \V.  Senior. 


Air  !   Colin,  whether  on  the  lowly  plaine. 
Piping  to  sliejiherds  thy  sweet  roundelays: 
Or  wlietlier  singing,  in  some  lofty  vaine, 
Heroicke  deeds  of  })ast  or  present  days  , 
Or  whether  in  lliy  lovely  mistresse  praise. 
Thou  list  to  exercise  thy  learned  quill ; 
Thy  muse  Iiath  got  such  ijrace  and  power  to  please, 
With  rare  invention,  beautified  by  skill, 
As  wlio  therein  can  ever  ioy  their  fill ! 
0  !  tliorefore  let  that  ha]>py  muse  proceed 
To  clime  tho  hei  ht  of  Vertues  sacred  hill. 
Where  endlesse  honourshall  be  made  thy  meed  ; 
Because  no  malice  of  succeeding  dales 
Can  rase  those  records  of  thy  lasting  praise. 

G.  W.  JUNIOB, 


SONNETS. 


42f 


Happy,  ye  leaves  !   wlien  as  those  lilly  hands. 
Which  liold  my  life  in  tlieir  dead-doing  might, 
Shall  handle  you,  and  hold  in  loves  soft  bands, 
Lyke  captives  tremblins;-  at  the  victors  sigJit. 
And  happy  lines!  on  which,  with  starry  lii;ht. 
Those  lamping"  ej'es  will  deigne  sometimes  to  look, 
And  leade  the  sorrowes  of  my  d\ing  spriglit, 
Written  with  teares  in  harts  close-bleeding  book. 
And  happy  rvmes  !  bath'd  in  the  sacred  brooke 
Of  Helicon,  whence  she  derived  is  ; 
When  ve  behold  that  angels  blessed  looke, 
My  soules  long-lacked  food,  mv  heavens  blis  ; 
Leaves,  lines,  and  rymes,  seeke  her  to  please  alone, 
Whom  if  ve  please,  I  care  for  other  none  ! 


Unquiet  thought  I  whom  at  the  first  I  bred 
Of  th'  inward  bale  of  my  love-jiined  hart  ; 
And  sithens  have  with  sighes  and  sorrowes  fed. 
Till  greater  then  my  woinbe  thou  woxen  art: 
Breake  forth  at  length  out  of  the  inner  part, 
In  which  thou  lurkest  lyke  to  vipers  brood  ; 
And  seeke  some  succour  botli  to  ease  my  smart. 
And  also  to  sustayne  thy  sell'e  with  food. 
But,  if  in  presence  of  that  favrest  proud 
Thou  chance  to  come,  fall  lowly  at  her  feet ; 
And,  with  meek  humblesse  and  afflicted  mood. 
Pardon  for  thee,  and  ^race  for  me,  intreat : 

Which  if  she  graunt,  then  live,  and  my  love  cherish: 
If  not,  die  soone  ;  and  I  with  thee  will  perish. 


The  soverayne  beauty  which  I  doo  admyre, 
Witnesse  the  world  how  wortliv  to  be  prayzed  ! 
The  light  whereof  hath  kindled  hfavenlv  fyre 
In  my  fraile  spirit,  by  her  from  basenesse  raysed  ; 
That  being  now  with  her  huge  brightnesse  dazed. 
Base  tlnng  I  can  no  more  endure  to  view  : 
But,  looking  still  on  her,  I  siand  amazed 
At  wondrous  sight  of  so  celestiall  hew. 
So  when  my  toung  would  speak  her  praises  dew. 
It  stopped  is  with  thoughts  astonishment  ; 
And,  when  my  pen  would  write  her  titles  true. 
It  ravisht  is  wiih  fancies  wonderment : 

Yet  in  my  hart  I  then  both  speak  and  write 
The  wonder  that  my  wit  cannot  endite. 


New  yeare,  forth  looking  out  of  lanus  gate. 

Doth  seeme  to  promise  hope  of  new  delight : 

And,  bidding  th'old  adieu,  his  passed  date 

Bids  all  old  thoughts  to  die  in  dumpish  spright  : 

And,  calling-  forth  out  of  sad  Winters  night 

Fresh  Love,  that  long  hath  slt-pt  in  cheerlesse  bower, 

Wils  him  awake,  and  soone  about  him  dight 

His  wanton  wingsand  darts  of  deadly  power. 

For  lusty  Spring  now  in  his  timely  hovvre 

Is  ready  to  come  forth,  him  to  receive ; 

And  warns  the  earth  with  diverscolord  flowre 

To  decke  hir  ^c  Ife,  and  her  f  dre  mantle  weave 

Then  \ou,  faire  flowre  !  in  whom  fresh  youth  doth 
Prepare  your  selfe  new  love  to  entertaine.   [raine, 

V. 

Rudely  thou  wrongest  my  deare  harts  desire. 
In  finding  fault  witli  her  too  portly  jiride  : 
The  thing  wiiicli  I  doo  most  in  iier  admire. 
Is  of  the  world  unworthy  most  envide  : 


For  in  those  Ipftie  lookes  is  close  implide. 
Scorn  of  base  things,  and  sdeigneof  foul  dishonour: 
'i  hretning  rash  eies  which  gaze  on  her  so  wide, 
That  loosely  they  ne  dare  to  looke  u])on  her. 
Such  pride  is  praise  ;  such  portlinesse  is  honor  ; 
That  boldned  innocence  beares  in  hir  eies  ; 
And  her  faire  countenance,  like  a  j^oodly  bannej, 
Spreds  in  defiaunce  of  all  enemies. 

Was  never  in  this  world  aught  worthy  tride. 
Without  some  spark  of  such  self-pleasing  jiride. 


Be  nought  dismayd  that  her  unmoved  mind 
Doth  still  persist  in  her  rebellious  pride: 
Such  love,  not  lyke  to  lusts  of  baser  kynd, 
The  harder  wonne,  the  firmer  will  abide. 
The  durefull  oake,  whose  sap  is  not  yet  dride. 
Is  long  ere  it  conceive  the  kindling  f'vre  ; 
But,  when  it  once  doth  burne,  it  doth  divide 
Great  heat,  and  makes  his  flames  to  heaven  aspire. 
So  hard  it  is  to  kindle  new  desire 
In  gentle  brest,  that  shall  endure  for  ever : 
Deepe  is  the  wound,  that  dints  the  parts  entire 
With  chaste  affects  that  nought  but  death  can  sever  ; 
Then  thinke  not  long  in  taking  little  paine 
To  knit  the  knot,  that  ever  shall  remaine. 


Fayre  eyes  !  the  myrrour  of  my  mazed  hart. 

What  wondrous  vertiie  is  contayn'd  in  you. 

The  which  both  lyfe  and  death  forth  from  you  dart, 

Into  the  obiect  of  your  mighty  view  ? 

For,  when  ye  mildly  looke  with  lovely  hew, 

Then  is  my  soule  with  life  and  love  inspired 

But  when  ye  lowre,  or  looke  on  me  askew. 

Then  do  I  die,  as  one  with  lightning  fvred. 

But,  since  that  lyfe  is  more  than  death  desyred, 

Looke  ever  lovely,  as  becomes  you  best ; 

That  your  bright  beams,  of  my  weak  eies  admyred, 

May  kindle  living  hre  within  my  brest. 

Such  life  should  be  the  honor  of  your  light, 
Such  death  the  sad  ensample  of  3^our  might. 


More  then  most  faire,  full  of  the  living  fire, 
Kindled  above  unto  the  Maker  nere  ; 
No  eies  but  ioyes,  in  whicii  al  powers  conspire. 
That  to  the  world  naught  else  be  counted  deare; 
I'hrugh  your  bright  beams  doth  not  the  blinded  guest 
Shoot  out  his  darts  to  base  affections  wound  ; 
Bu'  anL;els  come  to  lead  fraile  mindes  to  rest 
In  chast  desires,  on  heavenly  beauty  bound. 
You  frame  my  thoughts,  and  fashion  me  within  ; 
You  stop  my  toung,  and  teach  my  hart  to  speake; 
You  calme  the  storme  that  passion  did  begin, 
Strong  thruuh  your  cause,  but  by  your  vertue  weak. 
Dark  is  the  world,  where  your  lii^ht  shined  never  j 
Well  is  he  borne,  that  may  beliold  you  ever. 


LoxG-wniLE  I  sought  to  what  I  might  conijiare 
1  hose  powrefull  eies,  which  lighten  my  dark  spright  ^ 
Yet  find  I  nought  on  eartli,  to  which  1  dare 
Resemble  th'  ymage  of  their  goodly  light. 
Not  to  the  sun  ;  for  they  doo  shine  by  r.ighi, 
Nor  to  the  moone  ;  for  they  are  change;i  never; 
Nor  to  tlie  starres  ;   for  they  have  purer  siglit  ■ 
Nor  to  the  tire;  for  they  consume  not  ever 


426 


so^'l\f:l^. 


Nor  to  tbe  lightning- ;  for  they  still  persever  ; 

Nor  to  the  diamond  ;  for  they  are  more  tender; 

Nor  unto  cristall;  for  nought  may  them  sever; 

Nor  unto  glasse  ;  such  basenesse  mought  offend  her. 
Then  to  the  Rlaker  selfe  they  likest  be, 
Whose  li"ht  doth  lighten  all  that  here  we  see. 


UNrticinEous  Lord  of  Love,  what  law  is  this, 

I'hat  me  thou  makest  tluis  tormented  be, 

The  whiles  she  lordeth  in  licentious  blisse 

Of  her  freewill,  scorning  both  thee  and  me? 

See  I  how  the  tyrannesse  doth  ioy  to  see 

Tiie  huge  massacres  which  her  eyes  do  make ; 

And  humbled  harts  brings  captive  unto  thee, 

'I'hat  thou  of  them  mayst  mightie  vengeance  take, 

But  her  proud  hart  doe  thou  a  little  shake, 

And  that  high  look,  with  which  she  doth  comptroU 

All  this  worlds  pride,  bow  to  a  baser  make. 

And  al  her  faults  in  thy  black  booke  enroll : 

That  I  mav  laugh  at  her  in  equall  sort,         [sport. 

\s  she  doth  laugh  at  me,  and  makes  my  pain  her 


Dayi.y  when  I  do  seeke  and  sew  for  peace. 

And  hostages  doe  offer  for  my  truth  ; 

She,  cruell  warriour,  doth  herselfe  addresse 

To  battell,  and  the  weary  war  renew'th ; 

Ne  wilbe  moov'd  with  reason,  or  with  rewth. 

To  graunt  small  respit  to  my  restlesse  toile ; 

But  greedily  her  fell  intent  poursewth, 

Of  my  poore  life  to  make  unpittied  spoile. 

Yet  mv  poore  life,  all  sorrowes  to  assoyle, 

I  would  her  yield,  her  wrath  to  pacify  : 

But  then  she  seeks,  with  torment  and  tunnoyle, 

To  force  me  live,  and  will  not  let  me  dy. 

All  j)aine  hath  end,  and  every  war  hath  peace  ; 

But  mine,  no  price  nor  prayer  may  surcease. 


One  day  I  sought  with  her  hart-thrilling  eies 
To  make  a  truce,  and  termes  to  entertaine  : 
All  fearlesse  then  of  so  false  enimies. 
Which  sought  me  to  entrap- in  treasons  traine. 
So,  as  I  then  disarmed  did  remaine, 
A  wicked  ambush  which  lay  hidden  long, 
In  the  close  covert  of  her  guilful  eyen. 
Thence  breaking  forth,  did  thick  about  me  throng 
Too  feeble  1  t'  abide  the  brunt  so  strong. 
Was  forst  to  yield  my  selfe  into  their  hands  ; 
Who,  me  captiving  streight  with  rigorous  wrong 
Have  ever  since  kept  m.e  in  cruell  bands. 
So,  ladie,  now  to  you  I  doo  compl-aine. 
Against  your  eies,  that  iustice  I  may  gaine. 


In  that  proud  port,  which  her  so  goodly  graceth, 
'Whiles  her  faire  face  she  reaves  up  to  the  skie. 
And  to  the  ground  her  eie-lids  low  embaseth, 
Most  goodly  temperature  ye  mav  descry  ; 
Myld  humblesse,  mixt  nith  awfull  maiestie. 
For,  looking  on  the  eaitli  whence  she  was  borne, 
Her  minde  remembreth  her  mortalitie, 
VVhatso  is  fayrest  shall  to  earth  returne. 
But  that  same  lofty  countenance  seenies  to  scorne 
Base  thing, and  thinke  how  she  to  heaven  may  clime; 
Treading-  downe  earth  as  lothsonie  and  forlorne, 
That  iiinders  heavenly  thoughts  with  drossy  slime. 

Yet  lowly  still  vouchsafe  to  looke  on  me  ; 

Such  lowlinesse  shall  make  you  lofty  be. 


Rfiourne  agayne,  my  forces  late  disraayd. 

Unto  the  siege  by  you  abandon'd  quite. 

Great  shame  it  is  to  leave,  like  one  -.ifravd. 

So  faire  a  peece,  for  one  repulse  so  light. 

'Gaynst  such  strong  castles  needeth  greater  might 

Then  those  small  forts  which  ye  were  wont  belay  : 

Such  haughty  mynds,  enur'd  to  hardy  fii;ht, 

Disdayne  to  yield  unto  the  first  assay. 

Bring  therefore  all  the  forces  that  ye  may. 

And  lay  incessant  battery  to  her  heart ; 

Playnts,  prayers,  vowes,  ruth,  sorrow,  and  dismay ; 

Those  engins  can  the  proudest  love  convert : 

And,  if  those  faj'le,  fall  down  and  dy  before  her  ; 

So  dying  live,  and  living  do  adore  her. 


Ye  tradefull  merchants,  that,  with  weary  toyle. 

Do  seeke  most  pretious  things  to  make  your  gain  ; 

And  both  the  Indias  of  their  treasure  spoile  ; 

What  needeth  you  to  seeke  so  farre  in  vaine? 

For  loe,  my  love  doth  in  her  selfe  containe 

All  this  worlds  riclies  that  may  farre  be  found  : 

If  sajihyres,  loe,  her  eies  be  saphyres  plaine  ; 

If  rubies,  loe,  hir  lips  be  rubies  sound ; 

If  pearles,  hir  teeth  be  ])earles,  both  pure  and  round  ; 

If  yvorie,  her  forehead  yvory  weene  ; 

If  gold,  her  locks  are  finest  gold  on  ground  ; 

If  silver,  her  faire  hands  are  silver  sheene  : 
]'>ut  that  which  fairest  is,  but  few  behold. 
Her  mind  adornd  with  verlues  manifold. 


One  day  as  I  unwarily  did  gaze 
On  those  fayre  eyes,  my  loves  immortall  light; 
The  whiles  my  stonisht  hart  stood  in  amaze, 
Thro-.igh  sweet  i'lusion  of  her  lookes  delight; 
I  mote  perceive  how,  in  her  ghtuncing  sight, 
Legions  of  loves  with  little  wings  did  fly  ; 
Darting  their  deadly  arrows,  fyry  blight. 
At  every  rash  beholder  passing  by. 
One  of  those  archers  closely  I  did  spy, 
Avming  his  arrow  at  ray  very  hart : 
When  suddenly,  with  tw-incle  of  her  eye. 
The  dainzell  broke  his  misintended  dart. 

Had  she  not  .--o  doon,  sure  I  had  bene  slayne; 

Yet  as  it  was,  I  hardly  scap't  with  paine. 


The  glorious  pourtraict  of  that  angels  face, 
JNIade  to  amaze  weako  mens  confused  skil, 
And  this  worlds  w-ortblesse  glory  to  embase. 
What  ]ien,  what  pencill,  can  espresse  her  fill? 
For  though  he  colours  could  devize  at  will. 
And  eke  his  learned  hand  -at  pleasure  guide. 
Least,  tremblin^i,  it  his  workmanship  should  spill; 
Yet  many  wondrous  things  there  -are  beside  ; 
The  sweet  eye-glaunces,  that  like  arrowes  glide  ; 
The  charming  smiles,  that  rob  sence  from  the  hart; 
The  lovely  pleasaunce  ;  and  the  lofty  ])ride  ; 
Cannot  expressed  be  by  any  art. 

A  greater  craftesmans  hand  thereto  doth  neede. 
That  can  expresse  the  life  of  things  indeed. 


The  rolling  wheels  that  runneth  often  round, 
Tbe  hardest  Steele,  in  tract  of  time  doth  teare* 
And  drizling  dro[is,  that  often  doe  redound. 
The  firmest  flint  doth  in  continuance  wcare : 


SONNF.IS. 


427 


let  cannot  1,  with  many  a  drooping  teare 
And  long;  intreaty,  soflen  her  hard  hart ; 
That  she  will  once  vouchsafe  mv  plaint  to  hears. 
Or  iooke  with  pitty  on  my  payneful  smart ; 
But,  when  I  pleade,  she  liids  me  play  my  part ; 
And,  when  I  weep,  she  sayes,  Teares  are  but  water, 
And,  when  I  sigh,  she  sayes,  I  know  the  art; 
And,  when  I  waile,  she  turnes  hir  selfe  to  laughter. 
So  do  I  weepe,  and  wavle,  and  pleade  in  vaine, 
Whiles  she  as  Steele  and  flint  doth  still  remayne. 


The  merrv  cuckow,  messenger  of  sjiring, 
His  troinpet  shrill  hath  thrise  already  sounded, 
That  warnes  al  lovers  wayte  upon  their  king. 
Who  now  is  coming  forth  with  girland  crouned. 
With  noyse  whereof  the  quyre  of  byrds  resounded, 
Their  anthemes  sweet,  devized  of  loves  prayse. 
That  all  the  woods  thevr  ecclioes  back  rebounded. 
As  if  tliev  knew  the  meaning  of  their  laves. 
'But  mongst  them  all,  which  did  Loves  honor  rayse. 
No  word  was  heard  of  her  that  most  it  ought ; 
But  she  his  precept  proudly  disobayes. 
And  doth  his  ydle  message  set  at  nought. 

Therefore,  O  Love,  unlesse  she  turne  to  thee 

Ere  cuckow  end,  let  her  a  rebell  be! 


In  vaine  I  seeke  and  sew  to  her  for  grace, 
And  doe  myne  humbled  hart  before  her  poure  ; 
The  whiles  her  foot  she  in  mv  necke  doth  place. 
And  tread  my  life  downe  in  the  lowly  floure. 
And  yet  the  lyon  that  is  lord  of  power. 
And  reigneih  over  every  beast  in  field. 
In  his  most  pride  disdeigneth  to  devoure 
The  silly  lambe  that  to  his  might  doth  yield. 
But  she,  more  cruell,  and  more  salvage  wylde, 
Tlian  either  lyon  or  the  lyonesse  ; 
Shames  not  to  be  wi'h  gniltlesse  bloud  defylde  , 
But  takf  th  glory  in  her  cruelnesse. 

Fayrer  then  fayrest !   let  none  ever  sa)'^. 
That  ye  were  blooded  in  a  yeelded  pray. 


W^As  it  the  worke  of  nature  or  of  art, 

"Which  tenipred  so  the  feature  of  her  face. 

That  pride  and  meeknesse,  mixt  by  equall  part. 

Doe  both  appeare  t'  adorne  her  beauties  o-yace  ? 

For  with  mild  pleasance,  which  doth  pride  displace. 

She  to  her  love  doth  lookers  eyes  alluri-  ; 

And,  with  stern  countenance,  back  again  doth  chace 

Their  looser  lookes  that  stir  u[)  lustes  impure  ; 

With  such  strange  fermes  her  eyes  she  doth  inure. 

That,  with  one  Iooke,  she  d<)th  my  life  dismay ; 

And  with  another  doth  it  streight  recure  ; 

Hei-  smile  nie  drawes  ;  her  frowne  me  drives  away. 

Thus  doth  she  traine  and  leach  me  with  her  lookes  ; 

Such  art  of  eyes  I  never  read  in  bookes  ! 


Tins  holy  season,  fit  to  fast  and  pray, 

Men  to  devotion  ought  to  be  inclynd  : 

Therefore,  I  lykevvi.se,  on  so  holy  day. 

For  my  sweet  saynt  some  service  fit  will  find. 

Her  temple^fayre  is  built  within  mv  mind. 

In  which  her  glori  us  ymage  jdaced  is; 

On  which  my  thoughts  doo  day  and  night  attend, 

Lyke  isacred  pnests  that  lu  ver  thinke  amisse  ' 


There  I  to  her,  as  th'  author  of  my  blisse, 
\\'ill  builde  an  altar  to  appease  her  yre  ; 
And  on  the  same  my  hart  will  sacrifise. 
Burning  in  flames  of  pure  and  Chaste  desyre  : 
The  which  vouchsafe,  O  goddesse,  to  accept. 
Amongst  thy  deerest  relicks  to  be  kept. 

XXIII. 

Penelope,  for  her  Ulisses  sake, 
Deviz'd  a  web  her  wooers  to  deceave ; 
In  which  the  woike  that  she  all  day  did  make. 
The  same  at  night  she  did  againe  unreave  : 
Such  subtile  craft  my  damzell  dothconceave, 
Th'  imjiortune  suit  of  my  desire  to  shonne  : 
For  all  that  I  in  many  dayes  do  weave, 
In  one  short  houre  I  find  by  her  undonne. 
So,  when  I  thinke  to  end  that  I  begoniie, 
I  must  begin  and  never  bring  to  end  : 
For  witli  one  Iooke  she  sjjils  that  long  I  sponne ; 
And  with  one  word,  my  whole  years  work  doth  rend 
Such  labour  like  the  spyders  web  I  fynd, 
Whose  fruitlesse  worke  is  broken  with  least  wynd 

XXIV. 

When  I  behold  that  beauties  wonderment. 
And  rare  perfection  of  each  goodly  part ; 
Of  natures  skill  the  onely  complement  ; 
I  honor  and  admire  the  Makers  art. 
But  when  I  feele  tlie  bitter  balefull  smart, 
Which  her  fay  re  eyes  un  wares  doe  worke  in  mee, 
That  death  out  of  iheyr  shiny  beames  doe  dart  j 
I  thinke  that  I  a  new  Pandora  see. 
Whom  all  the  gods  in  councell  did  agree 
Into  this  sinfull  world  from  heaven  to  send  ; 
That  she  to  witked  men  a  scourge  should  bee. 
For  all  their  faults  with  which  they  did  ofi^end. 
But,  since  ye  are  my  scourge,  1  will  intreat. 
That  for  my  faults  ye  will  me  gently  beat. 


How  long  shall  this  lyke  dying  lyfe  endure, 
And  know  no  end  of  her  owne  mysery. 
But  wast  and  weare  away  in  termes  unsure, 
'Twixt  feare  and  hope  dejiending  doubtfully! 
Yet  better  were  attonce  to  let  me  die. 
And  show  the  last  ensample  of  your  pride  ; 
Then  to  torment  me  thus  with  cruelty, 
To  prove  your  powre,  which  I  too  wel  have  tride. 
But  yet  if  in  j'our  hardned  brest  ye  hide 
A  close  intent  at  last  to  shew  me  grace  ; 
I'hen  all  the  woes  and  wrecks  which  I  abide. 
As  meanes  of  blisse  I  gladly  wil  embrace  ; 

And  wish  that  more  and- greater  they  miyht  be. 
That  greater  meede  at  last  may  turne  to  mee. 


Sweet  is  the  rose,  but  growes  upon  a  brere ; 

Sweet  is  the  iunipeer,  but  sharpe  his  bough  ; 

Sweet  is  the  eglantine,  but  pricketh  nere  ; 

Sweet  is  the  firbloome,  but  his  braunches  rough  ; 

Sweet  is  the  cypresse,  but  his  rynd  is  rough  ; 

Sweet  is  the  nut,  but  bitter  is  his  pill  ; 

Sweet  is  the  broome-flowre,  but  yet  sowre  enough  j 

And  sweet  is  moly,  but  his  root  is  ill. 

So  every  sweet  with  soure  is  tempred  still. 

That  maketh  it  be  coveted  the  more  : 

For  easie  things,  that  may  be  got  at  will. 

Most  sorts  of  men  doe  set  but  little  store. 
Why  then  should  I  accompt  of  little  paine. 
That  eudlesse  pleasure  shall  unto  me  gaine  \ 


i28 


SONNETS. 


FAiRE]irouclI  now  tell  me,  wliy  sliouklfairebe  proud, 
Sitli  all  worlds  fjlorie  is  but  drosse  uncleane, 
And  in  the  shade  of  death  it  selfe  shall  shroud, 
flowever  now  thereof  ye  little  weene  ! 
That  goodlv  idoll,  now  so  gay  beseene, 
Shalldofte  her  iieshes  borrowd  fayre  attyre , 
And  be  forgot  as  it  had  never  beene  ; 
That  many  now  much  worship  and  admire  ! 
\e  any  then  shall  after  it  infjuire, 
Ne  any  mention  shall  thereof  remaine. 
But  what  this  verse,  that  never  shall  expyre, 
Shall  to  your  purchas  with  her  thankles  pain  ! 

Faire  !  be  no  lenger  proud  of  that  shall  perish  ; 
But  that,  which  shall  vou  make  immortall,  cherish. 


'1'he  laurel-leafe,  which  you  this  day  doe  wears. 

Gives  me  great  hope  of  your  relenting  mynd  : 

For  since  it  is  the  badge  which  I  doe  beare. 

Ye,  bearing  it,  doe  seeme  to  me  inclind  : 

The  powre  thereof,  which  ofte  in  me  1  find, 

Let  it  lykewise  your  gentle  brest  inspire 

With  sweet  infusion,  and  put  you  in  mind 

Of  that  proud  mayd,  whom  now  those  leaves  attyre  : 

Proud  Daphne,  scorning  Phoebus  lovely  fyre. 

On  the  Thessalian  shore  from  him  did  flie  : 

For  which  the  gods,  in  theyr  revengefull  yre. 

Did  her  transforme  into  a  laurell-tree. 

Then  fly  no  more,  fayre  Love,  from  Phebuschace, 
But  in  vour  brest  his  leafe  and  love  embrace. 


See  !  how  the  stubborne  damzell  doth  deprave 
My  simple  meaning  with  disdaynfull  scorne  ; 
And  by  the  bay,  which  I  unto  her  gave, 
Accoumpts  my  self  her  ca])five  (|uite  forlorne. 
'I"he  bay,  quoth  she,  is  of  the  victours  born. 
Yielded  them  by  the  vanqnisht  as  tlieyr  meeds, 
And  they  therewith  doe  Poetes  heads  adorne, 
To  sing  the  glory  of  their  famous  deeds. 
But  sith  she  will  the  conquest  challeng  needs, 
Let  her  accept  me  as  her  failhfull  thrall ; 
That  her  great  triumj)h,  which  my  skill  exceeds, 
I  may  in  trump  of  fame  blaze  over  all. 

Then  would  I  decke  her  head  with  glorious  bayes, 
And  fill  the  world  with  her  victorious  prayse. 


My  love  is  lyke  to  yse,  and  1  to  fyre  ; 
How  comes  it  then  that  this  her  cold  so  great 
Is  not  dissolv'd  through  my  so  hot  desyre. 
But  harder  growes  the  more  1  her  intreat ! 
Or  how  comes  it  that  my  exceeding  heat 
Is  not  delavd  by  her  hart-frozen  cold ; 
But  that  I  burne  n)uch  more  in  boyling  sweat, 
And  feele  my  flames  augmented  manifold  ! 
What  more  miraculous  thing  may  be  told, 
I'Jiat  fire,  which  all  things  melts,  should  harden  yse; 
And  yse,  which  is  congcald  with  sencelesse  cold. 
Should  kiiulle  fyre  by  wonderful  devyse  ! 
Such  is  the  ])(jwre  of  love  in  gentle  mind, 
That  it  can  alter  all  the  course  of  kynd. 

xxxr. 

Ah  !  why  hath  n'ature  to  so  hard  a  hart 
(jiven  so  goodly  giftes  of  beauties  grace! 
Whose  pryde  dejiraves  each  other  better  part, 
And  all  those  pretious  ornaments  deface. 


Sith  to  all  other  beastes,  of  bloodj'-  race, 
A  dreadCull  countenance  she  given  hath  ; 
That  with  theyr  terrour  all  the  rest  may  chace. 
And  warne  to  shun  the  daunger  of  theyr  wrath. 
J5ut  my  proud  one  doth  worke  the  greater  scath, 
Through  sweei  allurement  of  her  lovely  hew; 
That  she  the  better  may,  in  bloody  bath 
Of  such  poore  thralls,  hercruell  hands  embrew. 
But,  did  she  knov/  how  ill  these  two  accord, 
Such  cruelty  she  would  have  soone  abhord. 


The  paynefuU  smith,  with  force  of  fervent  heat. 
The  hardest  yron  soone  doth  mollify  ; 
That  with  his  heavy  sledge  he  can  it  beat. 
And  fashion  to  what  he  it  list  apply. 
Yet  cannot  all  these  flames,  in  which  I  fry, 
Her  hart  more  hard  then  yron  soft  a  whit; 
Ne  all  the  playnts  and  prayers,  with  which  I 
Doe  beat  un  th'  a>flvile  of  her  stuhberne  wit : 
But  still,  the  more  she  fervent  sees  my  fit. 
The  more  slie  frieseth  in  her  wilfull  pryde  ; 
And  harder  growes,  the  harder  she  is  smit 
With  all  the  playnts  which  to  her  be  applyde. 
What  then  remaines  but  I  to  ashes  burne. 
And  she  to  stones  at  length  all  frosen  turne  ! 


Great  wrong  I  doe,  I  can  it  not  deny, 
To  that  most  sacred  empresse,  my  dear  dred. 
Not  finishing  her  Queene  of  Faery, 
That  mote  enlarge  her  living  prayses,  dead  . 
But  Lodwicli',  this  of  grace  to  me  aread  ; 
Do  ye  not  thinck  th'  accomplishment  of  it. 
Sufficient  worke  for  one  mans  simple  head. 
All  were  it,  as  the  rest,  but  rudely  writ? 
How  then  should  I,  without  another  wit, 
Thinck  ever  to  endure  so  tedious  toyle ! 
Sith  that  this  one  is  tost  with  troublous  fit 
Of  a  proud  love,  that  doth  my  spirite  spoyle. 
Cease  then,  till  she  vouchsafe  to  grawnt  me  rest 
Or  lend  you  me  another  living  brest. 

XXXIV. 

Lyke  as  a  ship,  that  through  the  ocean  wyde, 
By  conduct  of  some  star,  doili  make  her  way ; 
Whenas  a  storm  hath  dimd  her  trusty  guyde. 
Out  of  her  course  doth  wander  far  astray  ! 
So  I,  whose  star,  that  wont  with  her  bright  ray 
Me  to  direct,  with  cloudes  is  over-cast. 
Doe  wander  now,  in  darknesse  and  dismay, 
Through  hidden  perils  round  about  me  plast ; 
^'et  liojie  I  well  that,  when  this  storme  is  past, 
I\lv  flclice,  the  lodestar  of  my  lyfe, 
W  ill  shine  again,  and  looke  on  me  at  last. 
With  lovely  light  to  cleare  my  cloudy  grief. 
Till  then  I  wander  carefull,  comfortlesse, 
In  secret  sorrow,  and  sad  pensivenesse. 


My  hungry  eyes,  through  greedy  covetize 
Still  to  behold  the  obiect  of  their  paine. 
With  no  contentment  can  themselves  suffize  ; 
l')Ut,  liaving,  pine  ;   and,  having  not,  complains. 
For,  lacking  it,  they  cannot  lyfe  sustayne  ; 
And,  having  it,  they  gaze  on  it  the  more ; 
In  iheir  amazement  lyke  Narcissus  vaine, 
Whose   eyes   him    starv'd  :    so   plenty   makes  me 
poore. 


SONNETS. 


429 


Yet  are  mine  eyes  so  filled  wiih  the  store 
Ot"  tliat  {"aire  sight,  that  nothing-  else  thi^v  brooks, 
But  lothe  the  things  which  they  did  like  before, 
And  can  no  more  endure  on  them  to  looke. 
All  this  worlds  glory  seemeth  vayne  to  me. 
And  all  their  showes  but  shadowes,  saving  she. 


Tell  me,  when  shall  these  wearie  woes  have  end. 
Or  shall  their  ruthlesse  torment  never  cease  ; 
But  al  my  days  in  pining  lengour  spend, 
Without  hope  of  asswayement  or  release? 
Is  there  no  meanes  for  me  to  purchace  peace, 
Or  make  agreement  with  lier  thrilling  eyes; 
But  that  their  cruelty  doth  still  increace, 
And  dayly  more  augment  my  miseryes  ? 
But,  when  ye  have  shew'd  all  extremityes, 
Then  think  how  little  glory  ye  have  gayned 
By  slaying  him,  whose  lyfe,  though  ye  despyse, 
IMote  have  your  life  in  honour  long  maintayned. 
But  by  his  death,  which  some  perhaps  will  mone, 
Ye  shall  condemned  be  of  many  a  one. 


What  guyle  is  this,  that  those  her  golden  tresses 
She  doth  attyre  under  a  net  of  gold  ; 
And  with  sly  skill  so  cunningly  them  dresses, 
That  which  is  gold,  or  haire,  may  scarse  be  told? 
Is  it  that  mens  frayle  eyes,  which  gaze  too  bold, 
She  muv  entangle  in  that  golden  snare  ; 
And,  being  caught,  may  craftily  enfold 
1  heir  weaker  harts,  which  are  Lot  weW  aware? 
Take  heed,  therefore,  myne  eyes,  how  ye  doe  stare 
Henceforth  too  rashl)'  on  that  guilefull  net. 
In  which,  if  ever  ye  entrapped  are, 
Out  of  her  bands  ye  by  no  meanes  shall  get. 
Fondnesse  it  were  for  any.  being  free. 
To  covet  fetters,  though  they  golden  bee  ! 


Auiox,  when,  through  tempests  cruel  wrake, 
He  forth  was  thrown  into  the  greedy  seas  ; 
Through  the  sweet  musick,  which  his  harp  dfidmake, 
'Vllur'd  a  dolphin  him  from  death  to  ease. 
But  my  rude  musick,  which  was  wont  to  please 
Some  dainty  eares,  cannot,  with  any  skill. 
The  dreadfull  tempest  of  her  wrath  appease, 
Nor  move  the  dolphin  from  her  stubborn  will. 
But  in  her  pride  she  dooth  persever  still. 
All  carelesse  how  my  life  for  her  decayes: 
Vet  with  one  word  she  can  it  save  or  spill. 
To  spill  were  pitty,  but  to  save  were  prayse  ! 
Chuse  rather  to  be  praysd  for  doing  good, 
Then  to  be  blamed  for  spilling  guiltlesse  blood. 

XXXIX. 

Sweet  Smile  !  the  daugher  of  the  Queene  of  Love, 
Expressing  all  thy  mothers  powrefuU  art, 
With  which  she  wants  to  temper  angry  love; 
When  all  the  gods  he  threats  with  thundring  dart : 
Sweet  is  thy  vertue,  as  thy  selfe  sweet  art. 
For,  when  on  me  thou  shinedst  late  in  sadnesse, 
A  melting  pleasaunce  ran  through  every  part. 
And  me  revived  with  hart-robbing  gladnesse. 
Wliylest  rapt  with  ioy  resembling  heavenly  madness. 
My  soule  was  ravisht  quite  as  in  a  traunce ; 
And  feeling  thence,  no  more  her  sorrowes  sadnesse, 
l'"'l  on  the  fulnesse  of  that  chearfull  glaunce, 
t\lore  sweet  than  nectar,  or  ambrosiall  meat, 
beem'd  every  bit  which  thenceforth  I  did  eat. 


INIark  wlien  she  smiles  with  amiable  cheare, 
And  tell  me  whereto  can  ye  lyken  it ; 
\\'hen  on  each  eyelid  sweetly  doe  appears 
An  hundred  graces  as  in  shade  to  sit. 
Lykest  it  seemeth,  in  my  simple  wit, 
Unto  the  fayre  sunshine  in  somers  day  ; 
That,  when  a  dreadfull  storme  away  is  flit, 
Thrugh  the  broad  world  doth  spred  his  goodly  ray. 
At  sight  whereof,  each  bird  that  sits  on  spray. 
And  everv  beast  that  to  his  den  was  fled, 
Comes  forth  afresh  out  of  their  late  dismay. 
And  to  the  light  lift  up  their  drouping  bed. 
So  my  storme-beaten  hart  likewise  is  cheared 
With  that  sunshine,  when  cloudy  looks  are  cleared. 


Is  it  lier  nature,  or  is  it  her  will. 
To  be  so  cruell  to  an  humbled  foe? 
If  nature  ;  then  she  may  it  mend  with  skill : 
If  will ;  then  she  at  will  may  will  forgoe. 
But  if  her  nature  and  her  will  be  so. 
That  she  will  plague  the  man  that  lores  her  most, 
And  take  delight  t'  encrease  a  wretches  woe  ; 
Then  all  her  natures  goodly  guifts  are  lost: 
And  that  same  glorious  beauties  ydle  boast 
Is  but  a  bayt  such  wretches  to  beguile, 
As,  being  long  in  her  loves  tempest  tost. 
She  meanes  at  last  to  make  her  pitious  spoyle. 
O  fayrest  fayre!  let  never  it  be  named, 
I'hat  so  fayre  beauty  was  so  fowly  shamed. 


The  love  which  me  so  cruelly  tormenteth 
So  pleasing  is  in  my  extreamest  paine, 
That,  all  the  more  my  sorrow  it  augmentetli. 
The  more  I  love  and  doe  embrace  my  bane. 
Ne  do  I  wish  (for  wishing  were  but  value) 
To  be  acquit  fro  my  continual  smart ; 
But  ioy,  her  thrall  for  ever  to  remayne. 
And  yield  for  pledge  my  poor  and  captyved  hart ; 
The  which,  that  it  from  her  may  never  start. 
Let  her,  yf  please  her,  bynd  with  adamant  chayne 
And  from  all  wandring  loves,  which  mote  pervart 
His  safe  assurance,  strongly  it  restrayne. 
Onelylet  her  abstaine  from  cruelty. 
And  doe  me  not  before  my  time  to  dy. 


Shall  I  then  silent  be,  or  shall  I  speake  ? 

And,  if  I  speake,  her  wrath  renew  I  shall; 

And,  if  I  silent  be.  my  hart  will  breake. 

Or  choked  be  with  overflowing  gall. 

What  tyranny  is  this,  both  ray  hart  to  thrall, 

And  eke  my  toung  with  proud  restraint  to  tie  ; 

I'hat  neither  I  may  speake  nor  thinke  at  all, 

But  like  a  stupid  stock  in  silence  die  ! 

Yet  I  my  hart  with  silence  secretly 

Will  teach  to  speak,  and  my  iust  cause  to  plead  ; 

And  eke  mine  eies,  with  meek  humility, 

Love-learned  letters  to  her  eyes  to  read  :  [spel 

Which  her  deep  wit,  that  true  harts  thought  can 
Wil  soon  conceive,  and  learne  to  construe  well. 


When  those  renoumed  noble  peres  of  Greece, 
Through  stubborn  pride,  among  themselves  did  iar 
Forgetfull  of  the  famous  golden  fleece  ; 
Then  Orpheus  with  his  harp  theyr  strife  did  bar. 


430 


SONNETS. 


But  this  contimiall,  cruell,  civill  warre, 
The  which  my  selfe  against  my  seli'e  doe  make  ; 
Whilpst  my  weak  powres  of  passions  warreid  arre  ; 
No  skill  can  stint,  nor  reason  can  aslake. 
But,  when  in  hand  my  tunelesse  harp  I  take, 
Then  doe  I  more  augment  my  foes  despight ; 
And  griefe  renew,  and  passions  doe  awake 
To  battaile,  fresh  against  my  selfe  to  fight. 

Mongsl  whome  the  more  I  seeke  to  settle  peace, 
The  more  I  fynd  their  malice  to  increase. 


Leavk,  lady  !  in  your  glasse  of  cristall  clene, 
Your  goodly  selt'e  for  evermore  to  vew : 
And  in  my  selfe,  my  inward  selfe,  I  meane, 
Most  lively  Ivke  behold  your  semblant  trew. 
Within  my  hart,  though  hardly  it  can  shew 
Thing  so  divine  to  vew  of  earthly  eye, 
The  fayre  idea  of  your  celestiall  hew 
And  every  part  remaines  immortally  : 
And  were  it  not  that,  tlirough  your  cruelty, 
^Vith  sorrow  dimmed  and  deform'd  it  were. 
The  goodly  ymage  of  your  visnomy, 
Clearer  than  cristall,  would  therein  appere. 
But,  if  your  selfe  in  me  ye  playne  will  see. 
Remove  the  cause  by  wliich  your  fayre  beanies 
darkned  be. 


When  my  abodes  prefixed  time  is  spent, 
My  cruell  fbj,re  streight  bids  me  wend  my  way  : 
But  then  from  heaven  most  hideous  stormes  are  sent, 
\s  willing  me  against  her  will  to  stay. 
Whom  then  shall  I,  or  heaven  or  her,  obay? 
The  heavens  know  best  what  is  the  best  for  me  : 
But  as  she  will,  whose  will  my  life  doth  sway, 
My  lower  heaven,  so  it  perforce  must  be. 
But  ye  high  heavens,  that  all  this  sorrowe  see, 
Sith  all  your  tempests  cannot  liold  me  backe, 
A.swage  your  storms  ;  or  else  both  you,  and  she. 
Will  both  together  me  too  sorely  wracke. 
Enough  it  is  for  one  man  to  sustaine 
The  stormes,  which  she  alone  on  me  doth  raine. 


Trust  not  the  treason  of  tliose  smyling  lookes, 
Untill  ye  have  their  guylefull  traynes  well  tryde : 
For  they  are  lyke  but  unto  golden  hookes. 
That  from  the  foolish  fish  tlieyr  bayts  do  hyde  : 
So  she  with  flattring  smyles  weake  harts  doth  guyde 
Unto  her  love,  and  teinjUe  to  theyr  decay ; 
Whome,  being  caught,  she  kills  with  cruell  prjde. 
And  feeds  at  pleasure  on  the  wretched  pray  : 
Yet,  even  whylst  lier  bloody  hands  them  slay, 
Her  eyes  looke  lovely,  and  upon  tliem  smyle  ; 
That  they  take  pleasure  in  their  cruell  play. 
And,  dying,  doe  themselves  of  payne  beguyle. 
O  mighty  ciiarm  !  whicli  makes  men  love  th.eyr  bane. 
And  tliinck  they  dy  with  pleasure,  live  with  payne. 

XI.VllI. 

Innocent  paper  ;  whom  too  cruel]  hand 
Did  make  the  matter  to  avenge  her  yre  : 
od,  ere  slie  could  thy  cause  well  understand, 
id  sacrifice  unto  the  greedy  fyre. 
ell  worthy  thou  to  have  found  better  hyre, 
en  so  bad  end  for  hereticks  ordavncd  ; 
heresy  nor  treason  didst  consjiiie, 

ustly  payned. 


Whom  she,  all  carelesse  of  his  grief  constrayned 
To  utter  fortli  the  anguish  of  his  hart : 
And  would  not  heare,  when  he  to  her  complayned 
The  piteous  passion  of  his  dying  smart. 
Vet  live  for  ever,  though  against  her  will. 
And  speake  her  good,  though  she  requite  it  ill 


FAvnE  cruell !  why  are  ye  so  fierce  and  cruell? 
Is  it  because  your  eyes  have  powre  to  kill  ? 
Then  know  that  mercy  is  the  Mighties  iewell 
And  greater  glory  think  to  save  then  spill. 
But  if  it  be  your  pleasure,  and  proud  will. 
To  shew  the  powre  of  your  imperious  eyes  ; 
Then  not  on  him  that  never  thought  you  ill. 
But  bend  your  force  against  your  enemyes  : 
Let  them  feel  the  utmost  of  your  crueltyes  ; 
And  kill  «ith  looks  as  cockatrices  do: 
But  him,  that  at  your  footstoole  humbled  lies 
With  mercifull  regard  give  mercy  to. 

Such  mercy  shall  you  make  admyr'd  to  be  ; 

So  shall  you  live,  by  giving  life  to  me. 

Long  languishing  in  double  malady 
Of  my  harts  wound,  and  of  my  bodies  griefe  ; 
There  came  to  me  a  leach,  that  would  apply 
Fit  medicines  for  my  bodies  best  reliefs. 
Vayne  man,  quoth  1,  that  hast  but  little  priefe 
In  deep  discovery  of  the  mynds  disease  ; 
Is  not  the  hart  of  all  the  body  chiefe. 
And  rules  the  members  as  it  selfe  doth  please  ? 
Then,  with  some  cordialls,  seeke  for  to  appease 
l"he  inward  languor  of  my  wounded  hart  ; 
And  then  my  body  shall  have  shortlji-  ease  : 
But  such  sweel  cordialls  passe  physicians  art. 

Then,  my  lyfes  leach  !  doe  your  skill  revea  le  ; 

And,  with  one  salve,  both  hart  and  body  healeil- 


Doe  I  not  see  that  fayrest  ymages 

Of  hardest  marble  are  of  purpose  made. 

For  that  they  slioiild  endure  through  many  ages, 

Ne  let  theyr  fiimous  moniments  to  fade? 

Why  then  doe  I,  untrainde  in  lovers  trade, 

Her  hardnes  blame,  which  I  shouldmore  coiiini'end? 

Sith  never  ought  was  excellent  assade 

Which  was  not  hard  t'  atchieve  and  bring  to  end. 

Ne  ought  so  hard,  but  ho,  tliat  would  attend, 

JNIote  soften  it  and  to  his  will  allure  : 

So  do  I  hope  her  stubborne  hart  to  bend. 

And  that  it  then  more  stedfast  will  endure  : 

Only  my  paines  wil  be  the  more  to  get  her  ; 

But,  having  her,  my  ioy  wil  be  the  greater. 

LII. 

So  oft  as  homeawrd  I  from  her  depart, 
I  go  lyke  one  that,  having  lost  the  field. 
Is  prisoner  led  away  with  heavy  hart, 
J3espoyld  of  warlike  armes  and  knowen  shield. 
So  doe  I  now  my  self  a  prisoner  yield 
To  sorrow  and  to  solitary  paine ; 
From  presence  of  my  dearest  deare  exylde, 
Ijong-while  alone  in  langour  to  remaine. 
There  let  no  thought  of  ioy,  or  pleasure  vaine. 
Dare  to  approach,  that  may  my  solace  breed  ; 
Hut  siuhh'n  dumps,  and  drery  sad  disdayne 
Of  all  worlds  ghulnesse,  more  my  torment  feod. 
So  I  her  absens  vvdl  my  penaunce  make. 
That  of  her  preselis  I  my  meed  may  take. 


SONNETS. 


The  pantlier,  knowing  that  his  spotted  liyde 
Doth  please  all  beasts,  but  that  his  looks  them  fray  : 
AVithin  a  bush  his  dreadl'ul  head  doth  hide. 
To  let  them  gaze,  whylst  he  on  them  may  pray : 
Right  so  my  eruell  fayre  with  me  doth  play; 
For,  with  the  goodly  semblance  of  her  hew. 
She  doth  allure  me  to  mine  owne  decay, 
And  then  no  mercy  will  unto  me  shew. 
Great  shame  it  is,  thing  so  divine  in  view, 
Made  for  to  be  the  worlds  most  ornament, 
To  make  the  bayte  her  gazers  to  embrew  : 
Good  shames  to  be  to  ill  an  instrument ! 
But  mercy  doth  with  beautie  best  agree, 
As  in  theyr  Maker  ye  theni  best  may  see. 


Of  this  worlds  theatre  in  which  we  stay. 
My  love,  like  the  spectator,  ydly  sits  ; 
Beholding  me,  that  all  the  pageants  play, 
Dis;juvsing  diversly  my  troubled  wits. 
Sometimes  I  ioy  when  glad  occasion  fits, 
And  mask  in  myrth  lyke  to  a  comedy  : 
Soone  after,  when  my  iov  to  sorrow  flits, 
I  waile,  and  make  my  woes  a  tragedy. 
Yet  she,  beliolding  me  with  constant  eye, 
Delights  not  in  my  merth,  nor  rues  my  smart  : 
But,  when  I  laugh,  she  mocks  ;  and,  when  I  cry. 
She  laughs,  and  hardens  evermore  ber  hart. 

What  then  can  move  her  ?  if  not  merth  nor  mone, 
She  is  no  woman,  but  a  senceless  stone. 


So  oft  as  I  her  beauty  doe  behold. 

And  therewith  doe  Ler  cruelly  compare, 

I  marvaile  of  what  substance  was  the  mould, 

The  which  her  made  attonce  so  eruell  faire. 

Not  earth  ;  for  her  high  thoughts  more  heavenl)'  are  ; 

Not  water  ;  for  her  love  doth  burne  like  fyre  : 

Not  ayre  ;  for  she  is  not  so  light  or  rare  : 

Not  fyre  :  for  she  doth  friese  with  faint  desire. 

Then  needs  another  element  inquire 

Whereof  she  mote  be  made  ;  that  is,  the  skye. 

For  to  the  heaven  her  haughty  looks  aspire  : 

And  eke  her  love  is  pure  immortall  bye. 

Then,  siih  so  heaven  ye  lykened  are  the  best. 

Be  lyke  in  mercy  as  in  all  the  rest. 


Fayre  ye  be  sure,  but  eruell  and  unkind. 
As  is  a  tygre,  that  with  greedinesse 
Hunts  after  blond  ;  when  he  by  chance  doth  find 
A  feeble  beast,  doth  telly  him  oppresse. 
fayre  be  ye  sure,  but  proud  and  pitilesse, 
As  is  a  storme,  that  all  things  doth  prostrate  ; 
finding  a  tree  alone  all  comfortlesse. 
Beats  on  it  strongly,  it  to  ruinate, 
fayre  be  ye  sure,  but  hard  and  obstinate. 
As  is  a  rocke  amidst  the  raging  floods  ; 
Gaynst  which,  a  ship,  of  succour  desolate. 
Doth  suffer  wreck  both  of  her  selfe  and  goods. 
That  ship,  that  tree,  and  that  same  beast,  am  I, 
Whom  ye  doe  wreck,  doe  mine,  and  destroy. 


Sweet  svarriour  !  when  shall  I  have  peace  with  you  ? 
High  time  it  is  this  warre  now  ended  were  j 
Which  I  no  lenger  can  endure  to  sue, 
Ne  your  incessant  battry  more  to  beare  • 


So  weake  my  powres,  so  sore  my  wounds,  appear. 

That  wonder  is  how  I  should  live  a  iot, 

Seeing  my  hart  through-launced  every  where 

With  thousand  arrowes,  which  your  eies  have  shot. 

Yet  shoot  ye  sharpely  still,  and  spare  me  not. 

But  glory  thinke  to  make  these  cruel  stoures. 

Ye  cruel!  one  !  what  glory  can  be  got, 

In  slaying  him  that  would  live  gladly  yours  ! 

Make  peace  therefore,  and  graunt  me  timely  grace. 
That  al  my  wounds  w'ill  heale  in  little  space. 


By  her  that  is  most  assured  to  her  selfe. 
Weake  is  th'  assurance  that  weake  flesh  reposeth 
In  her  own  powre,  and  scorneth  others  ayde  ; 
That  soonest  fals,  when  as  she  most  supposeth 
Her  selfe  assur'd,  and  is  of  nought  affrayd. 
All  flesh  is  frayle,  and  all  her  strength  unstavd. 
Like  a  vaine  bubble  blowen  up  with  avre  ; 
Devouring  tyme  and  changeful  chance  have  pravd. 
Her  glorious  pride  that  none  may  it  repayre. 
Ne  none  so  rich  or  wise,  so  strong  or  fayre, 
But  fayleth,  trusting  on  his  owne  assurance; 
And  he,  that  standeth  on  the  hyghest  stayre, 
Fals  lowest:   for  on  earth  nought  hath  endurance. 
Why  then  doe  ye,  proud  fayre,  misdeeme  so  farre 
That  to  your  selfe  ye  most  assured  arre  ! 


TiiEiSE  happie  she  !  that  is  so  well  assured 
Unto  her  selfe,  and  setled  so  in  hart, 
That  neither  will  for  better  be  allured, 
Ne  feard  with  worse  to  any  chaunce  to  start ; 
But,  like  a  steddy  ship,  doth  strongly  part 
The  raging  waves,  and  keepes  her  course  aright ; 
Ne  ought  for  tempest  doth  from  it  depart, 
Ne  ought  for  fayrer  weathers  false  delight. 
Such  selfe-assurance  need  not  feare  the  spight 
Of  grudging  foes,  ne  favour  seek  of  friends  : 
But,  in  the  stay  of  her  owne  stedfast  might, 
Neither  to  one  herselfe  nor  other  bends. 

IMost  happy  she,  that  most  assur'd  doth  rest ; 

But  he  most  happy,  who  such  one  loves  best. 


They,  that  iii  course  of  heavenly  spheares  are  skild, 
To  every  planet  point  his  sundry  yeare : 
In  which  her  circles  voyage  is  fulfild. 
As  Mars  in  three-score  years  doth  run  his  spheare. 
So,  since  the  winged  god  his  planet  cleare 
Began  in  me  to  move,  one  yeare  is  spent : 
The  which  doth  longer  unto  rne  appeare. 
Then  al  those  fourty  which  my  life  out-went. 
Then  by  that  count,  wliich  lovers  books  invent. 
The  spiieares  of  Cupid  fourty  yeares  contuiues: 
Which  I  have  wasjed  in  long  languishment. 
That  seem'd  the  longer  for  my  greater  paines. 
But  let  my  loves  fayre  planet  short  her  wayes. 
This  year  ensuing,  or  else  short  my  dayes. 


The  glorious  image  of  the  Makers  beautie. 
My  soverayne  saynt,  the  idoll  of  ray  thougiit. 
Dare  not  henceforth,  above  the  bounds  ol  dewtie^ 
T'  accuse  of  pride,  or  rashly  blame  for  ought. 
For  being,  as  she  is,  divinely  wrought, 
And  of  the  brood  of  angels  hearenly  born  ; 
And  with  the  crew  of  blessed  saynts  upbrought. 
Each  of  which  did  her  with  theyr  guifta  adorne-, 


432 


SONNETS. 


Tiie  bud  of  iov,  the  blossome  of  the  inorne, 
The  beame  of  lijiht,  whom  Tiiortal  eyes  adinyre  ; 
What  Tea>.on  is  it  then  but  she.  should  sconie 
Hase  things,  that  to  her  love  too  bold  aspire  ! 
Such  heavenlv  formes  ou^hl  rather  worshlpt  be, 
Then  dare  belov'J  bv  men  of  mi-ane  degree. 


The  weary  yeare  his  race  now  liavinj;-  run, 
The  new  be'gins  his  compast  coarse  anew  : 
With  shew  of  raorning-  mylde  he  hath  begun, 
Betokening  peace  and  plenty  to  ensew. 
So  let  us,  which  this  cliaunge  of  weather  vew, 
Chaiinge  eke  our  mynds,  a)id  former  lives  amend; 
The  old  yeares  sinnes  forepast  let  us  eschew, 
And  fly  the  faults  with  which  we  did  offend. 
Then  shall  the  new  yeares  ioy  forth  freshly  send. 
Into  the  glooming  world,  his  gladsome  ray  : 
And  all  these  stormes,  which  now  his  beauty  blend, 
Shall  tiirne  to  calmes,  and  tymely  cleare  away.  ^ 
So,  likewise.  Love!  cheare  you  your  heavy  spright, 
And  chaunge  old  yeares  annoy  to  new  delight. 


After  long  stormes  and  tempests  sad  assay, 

Which  hardly  I  endured  heretofore, 

In  diead  of  death,  and  daungerous  dismay. 

With  which  my  silly  bark  was  tossed  so 

I  doe  at  length  descry  the  happy  shore, 

[n  which  I  hope  ere  long  for  to  arryve  : 

Fay  re  soyle  itseemes  from  far,  and  fraught  with  store 

Of  all  that  deare  and  daynty  is  alyve. 

Most  happy  he  1  that  can  at  last  atchyve 

The  ioyous  safety  of  so  sweet  a  rest  ; 

Whose  least  delight  sufficeth  to  deprive 

Remembrance  of  all  paines  which  him  opprest. 

Ail  paines  ate  nothing  in  respect  of  this  ; 

All  sorrowes  short  that  uaine  eternall  blisse. 


CoMMiNG  to  kisse  her  lyps,  (such  grace  I  found, ( 
Me  seemd,  I  smelt  a  gardin  of  sweet  flowres. 
That  dainty  odours  from  them  threw  around, 
For  damzeis  iit  to  decke  their  lovers  ])owres. 
Her  lips  did  smell  lyke  unto  gillyflowers  ; 
Her  ruddy  cheekes,  lyke  unto  roses  red  ; 
Her  snowy  browes,  like  budded  bellamoures  ; 
Her  lovely  eyes,  lyke  jiincks  but  newly  spred  ; 
Her  goodly  bosome,  lyke  a  strasvherry  bod  ; 
Her  neck,  lyke  to  a  bounch  of  cuUambynes  ; 
Her  breast,  lyke  lillyes,  ere  their  leaves  be  shed  ; 
Her  nipples,  lyke  young  blossomed  jessemynes  : 

Such  fragrant  flowers  doe  give  most  odorous  smell ; 

But  her  sweet  odour  did  them  all  excell. 


Ihe  doubt  which  ye  misdeeme,  fayre  love,  is  vaine. 
That  fondly  feare  to  lose  your  liberty  ; 
When,  losing  one    two  liberties  ye  gayne. 
And  make  him  bond  that  bondage  earst  did  fly. 
Sweete  be  the  bands,  the  which  true  love  doth  tye 
Without  costraynt,  or  dread  of  any  ill  : 
The  gentle  hirde  feeles  no  ca])tivify 
Wiihin  her  cage;  but  sings,  and  feeds  her  fill. 
There  pride  dare  not  approch,  nor  discord  spill 
The  league  twixt  them,  that  loyal  love  hath  bound  : 
But  simple  truth,  and  mutual  good-will, 
Seeks  with  sweet  peace,  to  salve  each  otliers  wound: 
There  Fayth  doth  fearless  dwell  in  brasentowre, 
And  sjiotlesse  Pleasure  builds  her  sacred  bowre. 


To  all  those  happy  blessings,  which  ye  have 
With  plenteous  hand  by  heaven  upon  you  thrown; 
This  one  disparagement  they  to  you  gave, 
Tiiat  ye  your  love  lent  to  so  meane  a  one. 
Ye,  whose  high  worths  surpassing  paragon 
Could  not  on  earth  have  found  one  fit  for  mate, 
Ne  but  in  heaven  matchable  to  none, 
Why  did  ye  stoup  unto  so  lowly  slate  ? 
But  ye  thereby  much  greater  glory  gate. 
Then  had  ye  sorted  with  a  ])rinces  pere  • 
For,  now  your  light  doth  more  itselfe  dilate. 
And,  in  my  darknesse,  greater  doth  appeare, 
Yet,  since  your  light  hatli  once  enlumind  me, 
With  my  reflex  yours  shall  encreased  be. 


Lyke  as  a  huntsman  after  weary  chace, 
Seeing  the  game  from  him  escapt  away. 
Sits  downe  to  rest  him  in  some  shady  place, 
With  panting  hounds  beguiled  of  their  pray  : 
So,  after  long  pursuit  and  vaine  assay. 
When  1  all  weary  had  the  chace  forsooke. 
The  gentle  deer  returnd  the  selfe-same  way. 
Thinking  to  quench  her  thirst  at  the  nextbrooke; 
There  she,  beholding  me  with  mvlder  looke. 
Sought  nut  to  fly,  hut  fearlesse  still  did  bide  ; 
'i'ill  I  in  hand  her  yet  halfe  trembling  tooke. 
And  with  her  owne  goodwill  her  fyrmely  tyde. 
Strangi'  thing,  me  seemd,  to  see  a  beast  so  wyld, 
So  goodly  wonne,  with  her  owne  will  beguyld. 


Most  glorious  Lord  of  lyfe  !  that,  on  this  day, 
Didst  make  thy  triumph  over  death  and  sin  ; 
And,  having  h;irrov/d  hell,  didst  bring  away 
Ca])tivity  thence  captive,  us  to  win  : 
This  ioyous  da}',  dear  Lord,  with  ioy  begin  ; 
And  grant  that  we,  for  whom  thou  diddest  dy, 
lieing  with  thy  deare  blood  clene  washt  from  sin. 
May  live  for  ever  in  felicity  ! 
And  that  thy  love  we  weighing  worthily, 
]\lay  likewise  love  thee  for  the  same  againe  ; 
And  fur  thy  sake,  that  all  lyke  deare  didst  buy. 
With  love  may  one  another  entertayne  ! 

So  let  us  love,  deare  love,  lyke  as  we  ought 
Love  is  the  lesson  which  the  Lord  us  tauirht. 


The  famous  warriors  of  the  anticke  world 
Us'd  irophees  to  erect  in  stately  wize  ; 
In  which  they  would  the  records  have  enrold 
Of  theyr  great  deeds  and  valorous  emprize. 
^Vhat  trophee  then  shall  I  most  fit  devize, 
In  which  I  may  record  the  memory 
Of  my  loves  conquest,  peerlesse  beauties  prise, 
Adorn'd  with  honour,  love,  and  chastity! 
I'^ven  this  verse,  vowd  to  eternity. 
Shall  he  thereof  immortall  moniment; 
And  tell  her  praise  to  all  posterity, 
'J'hat  may  admire  such  worlds  rare  wonderment, 
The  hapj)y  j)urchase  of  my  glorious  spoile, 
Ciotten  at  last  with  labour  and  long  toyle. 


Fresh  Spring,  the  herald  of  loves  mighty  king, 
In  whose  cote-armour  richly  are  displayd 
All  sorts  of  flowres,  the  which  on  earth  do  spring 
In  goodly  colours  gloriously  arrayd  ; 


SONNETS 


4SS 


GoE  to  my  love,  where  she  is  carelesse  layd, 
Yet  in  her  winters  bowre  not  well  awake  ; 
Tell  her  the  ioyous  time  wil  not  be  staid, 
Unlesse  she  doe  liim  bv  the  forelock  take  ; 
Bid  her  therefore  her  selfe  soone  ready  make, 
To  wayt  on  Love  amongst  his  lovely  crew  ; 
Where  every  one,  that  misseth  then  her  make, 
Shall  be  by  him  amearst  with  penance  dew. 

Make  liast,  therefore,  sweet  love,  whilst  it  is  prime  ; 

For  none  can  call  againe  the  passed  time. 


I  lOY  to  see  how,  in  your  drawen  work. 
Your  selfe  unto  the  bee  ye  doe  compare  ; 
And  me  unto  the  spyder,  that  doth  lurke 
In  close  awayt,  to  catch  her  unaware : 
Rig'ht  so  your  selfe  were  caught  in  cunning  snare 
Of  a  deare  foe,  amd  thralled  to  his  love  ; 
In  whose  streight  bands  ye  now  captived  are 
So  firmely,  that  ye  never  may  remove. 
But  as  your  worke  is  woven  all  about 
With  woodbynd  flowers  and  fragrant  eglantine  ; 
So  sweet  your  prison  you  in  time  shall  prove. 
With  many  deare  delights  bedecked  fyne. 
And  all  thensforth  eternall  peace  shall  see 
Betweene  the  spyder  and  the  gentle  bee. 


Oft,  when  my  spirit  doth  spred  her  bolder  winges, 
la  mind  to  mount  up  to  the  purest  sky  ; 
It  down  is  weighd  with  thought  of  earthly  things, 
And  clogd  with  burden  of  mortality  ; 
Where,  when  that  soverayne  beauty  it  doth  spy. 
Resembling  heavens  glory  in  her  light, 
Drawn  with  sweet  pleasures  bayt,  it  back  doth  fly, 
And  unto  heaven  forgets  her  former  flight. 
There  my  fraile  fancy,  fed  with  full  delight. 
Doth  batiie  in  blisse,  and  mantleth  most  at  ease  ; 
Ne  thinks  of  other  heaven,  but  how  it  might 
Her  harts  desire  with,  most  contentment  please. 
Hart  need  not  wish  none  other  happinesse, 
But  here  on  earth  to  have  such  hevens  blisse. 


Bf.ing  my  self  captyved  here  in  care, 
My  hart,  (whom  none  with  servile  bands  can  tye, 
But  the  fayre  tresses  of  your  golden  hayre,) 
Breaking  his  prison,  forth  to  you  doth  fly. 
Like  as  a  byrd,  that  in  ones  hand  doth  spy 
Desired  food,  to  it  doth  make  his  flight : 
Even  so  my  hart,  that  wont  on  your  fayre  eye 
To  feed  his  fill,  flyes  backe  unto  your  sight. 
Doe  you  him  take,  and  in  your  bosome  bright 
Gently  encage,  that  he  may  be  your  thrall : 
Perhaps  he  there  may  learne,  with  rare  delight, 
To  sing  your  name  and  prayses  over  all : 
That  ii  hereafter  may  you  not  repent. 
Him  lodging  in  your  bosome  to  have  lent. 


JMosT  happy  letters  !  fram'd  by  skilfuU  trade. 
With  whicli  that  happy  name  was  first  desynd. 
The  which  three  times  thrise  happy  hath  me  made. 
With  guifts  of  body,  fortune,  and  of  mind. 
Tlie  first  ms'  being  to  me  gave  by  kind, 
From  mother's  womb  deriv'd  by  dew  descent  : 
1  he  second  is  my  sovereigne  queene  most  kind, 
'I  h-it  honour  and  large  richesse  to  me  lent: 


The  third,  my  love,  my  lifes  last  ornament, 
Bv  wiiom  mv  spirit  out  of  dust  was  ravsed  ; 
To  speake  her  pravse  and  glory  excellent, 
Of  all  alive  most  worthy  to  be  praysed. 
Ye  three  Elizabeths  !   for  ever  live, 
That  three  such  graces  did  unto  me  (live. 


One  day  I  wrote  her  name  upon  the  strand  ; 
But  came  the  waves,  and  washed  it  away: 
Agayne,  I  wrote  it  with  a  second  hand ; 
But  came  the  tyde,  and  made  my  pavnes  his  pray. 
Vayne  man,  sayd  she,  that  doest  in  vaine  assay 
A  mortall  thing  so  to  immortalize ; 
For  I  my  selve  shall  lyke  to  this  decav. 
And  eke  my  name  bee  wyped  out  lykewize. 
Not  so,  quod  I  ;  let  baser  things  devize 
To  dy  in  dust,  but  you  shall  live  by  fame  : 
]\Iy  verse  your  vertues  rare  shall  eternize. 
And  in  the  hevens  wryte  your  glorious  name. 

Where,     when    as    death    shall    all    the    world 
subdew. 

Our  love  shall  live,  and  later  life  renew 


Favre  bosome  !  fraught  with  vertues  richest  tresure. 
The  neast  of  love,  the  lodging  of  delight, 
The  bowre  of  blisse,  the  paradice  of  pleasure. 
The  sacred  harbour  of  that  hevenly  spright  ; 
Hovv  was  I  ravislit  with  your  lovely  sight, 
And  my  frayle  thoughts  too  rashly  led  astray ! 
Whiles  diving  deepe  through  amorous  insight. 
On  the  sweet  spoyle  of  beautie  they  did  pray  , 
And  twixt  her  paps,  (like  early  fruit  in  Alay, 
Whose  harvest  seemd  to  hasten  now  apace,) 
They  loosely  did  theyr  wanton  winges  display, 
And  there  to  rest  themselves  did  boldly  place. 
Sweet  thoughts  !   I  envy  your  so  happy  rest. 
Which  oft  I  wisht,  yet  never  was  so  blest. 


Was  it  a  dreame,  or  did  I  see  it  playne; 
A  goodly  table  of  pure  yvory. 
All  spred  with  juncats,  fit  to  entertayne 
The  greatest  prince  with  pompous  roialty  : 
IMongst  which,  there  in  a  silver  dish  did  ly 
Tvi'o  golden  apples  of  unvalewd  price; 
Far  passing  those  which  Hercules  came  by, 
Or  those  which  Atalauta  did  entice  ; 
Exceeding  sweet,  yet  voyd  of  sinfull  vice  ; 
That  many  sought,  yet  none  could  ever  taste  ; 
Sweet  fruit  of  pleasure,  brought  from  Paradice 
By  Love  himselfe,  and  in  his  garden  plaste. 

Her  brest  that  table  was,  so  richly  spredd  ; 

My  thoughts  the  guests,  which  would   thereon 
have  fedd. 


Lackyng  my  love,  I  go  from  place  to  place, 
Lyke  a  young  fawne,  that  late  hath  lost  the  hynd  ; 
And   seeke   each   where,    where   last   I   sawe    her 

face. 
Whose  ymage  yet  I  carry  fresh  in  mynd. 
I  seeke  the  fields  with  her  late  footing  s}^ld; 
I  seeke  her  bowre  with  her  late  presence  deokt ; 
Yet  nor  in  field  nor  bowre  I  can  her  fynd ; 
Yet  field  and  bowre  are  full  of  her  aspect : 


4J4 


SONA'Ki;*. 


But,  when  nivite  eyes  I  thereunto  direct, 
They  vdly  back  return  to  rae  agaj-ne  : 
And,  when  I  hope  to  see  theyr  trew  obiect, 
I  fvnd  niv  self  but  fed  with  fancies  vayne. 

Cease  then,  myne  eyes,  to  seeke  her  selfe  to  see  ; 

And  let  my  thoughts  behold  her  selfe  in  mee. 

LXXIX. 

i\lEN  call  you  fayre,  and  you  doe  credit  it, 

For  that  your  selfe  ye  daily  such  doe  see  : 

But  the  trew  fayre,  that  is  the  gentle  wit, 

And  vertuous  mind,  is  much  more  praysd  of  me  : 

For  all  the  rest,  how  ever  fayre  it  be. 

Shall  tuine  to  nought  and  lose  that  glorious  hew  ; 

But  onelv  that  is  permanent  and  free 

From  frayle  corruption,  that  doth  flesh  ensew. 

That  is  trew  beautie  :  that  doth  argue  you 

To  be  divine,  and  bom  of  heavenly  seed  ; 

Deriv'd  from  that  fayre  spirit,  from  whom  all  true 

And  perfect  beauty  did  at  first  proceed  : 

He  only  fayre,  and  wl;at  he  fayre  hath  made  ; 

All  other  fayre,  lyke  flowres,  untymely  fade. 

LXXX. 

After  so  long  a  race  as  I  have  run 
Tlirough  faery  land,  which  those  six  books  compile, 
Give  leave  to  rest  me  being  half  fordonne. 
And  gather  to  myselfe  new  breath  awhile. 
Then,  as  a  steed  refreshed  after  toyle, 
Out  of  my  prison  I  will  break  anew; 
And  stoutly  will  that  second  workassoyle, 
Whh  strong  endevour  and  attention  dew. 
Till  then  give  leave  to  me,  in  pleasant  mew 
To  sport  my  muse,  and  sing  my  loves  sweet  praise ; 
The  contemplation  of  whose  heavenly  hew. 
My  spirit  to  an  higher  pitch  will  rayse, 
But  let  her  pravses  yet  he  low  and  mtane. 
Fit  for  the  handmayd  of  the  Faery  Queene. 

LXXXI. 

Fayri;  is  my  love,  when  her  fayre  golden  iiaires 
^\  ith  the  loose  wynd  ye  waving  chance  to  marke  ; 
Favre,  when  the  rose  in  her  red  cheekes  appeares  ; 
Or  in  her  eyes  the  fyre  of  love  does  sparke. 
F'ayre,  when  her  brest,  lyke  a  rich  laden  baike, 
With  pretious  merchandize  she  forth  doth  lay; 
Fayre,  when  that  cloud  of  pryde,  which  oft  doth  dark 
Her  goodly  light,  with  smiles  she  drives  away. 
But  fayiest  she,  when  so  she  doth  display 
'J  he  gate  with  pearles  and  rubyes  richly  dight ; 
Throgh  wliich  her  words  so  wise  do  make  their  way 
To  beare  the  message  of  her  gentle  spright. 
Tlie  rest  be  works  of  natures  wonderment: 
But  this  the  worke  of  harts  astonishment. 

LXXXII. 

Toy  of  my  life  !  full  oft  for  loving  you 
1  blesse  my  lot,  that  was  so  lucky  plac'd  : 
But  then  the  more  your  owne  mishap  I  rew, 
'J'hat  are  so  much  by  so  meane  love  embased. 
For,  had  the  equall  hevens  so  much  you  graced 
In  'his  as  in  the  rest,  ye  mote  invent 
borne  hevenly  wit,  whose  verse  could  have  enchased 
V'our  glorious  name  in  golden  moniment. 
But  since  ye  deignd  so  goodly  to  relent 
To  me  your  thrall,  in  whom  is  little  worth ; 
That  little,  that  I  am,  shall  all  be  spent 
In  setting  your  immortal  [jravses  forth  : 
Whose  lofty  argument,  ui)lifting  me, 
Shall  lift  you  up  unto  an  high  degree. 


Let  not  one  sparke  of  filthy  lustfull  fyre 

Breake  out,  that  may  her  sacred  peace  molest  ; 

Ne  one  light  glance  of  sensuall  desyre 

Attempt  to  work  her  gentle  mindes  unrest : 

But  pure  affections  bred  in  spotlesse  brest. 

And   modest  thoughts  breathd  from  well-tempred 

spirits, 
Goe  visit  her,  in  her  chaste  bowre  of  rest, 
Accompanyde  with  angelick  delightes. 
There  fill  your  selfe  with  those  most  ioj'ous  sights, 
The  which  my  selfe  could  never  yet  attayne  : 
But  speake  no  word  to  her  of  these  sad  plights, 
Which  her  too  constant  stiflTuesse  doth  constrayn 
Onely  behold  her  rare  perfection, 
Aud  blesse  your  fortunes  fayre  election. 


The  world  that  cannot  deeme  of  worthy  things, 
When  I  doe  praise  her,  say  I  doe  but  flatter: 
So  does  the  cuckow,  when  the  mavis  sings. 
Begin  his  witlesse  note  apace  to  clatter. 
But  they  that  skill  not  of  so  heavenly  matter, 
All  that  they  know  not,  envy  or  admyre  ; 
Bather  then  envy,  let  them  wonder  at  lier, 
But  not  to  deeme  of  her  desert  aspyre. 
Deepe,  in  the  closet  of  my  parts  entyre. 
Her  worth  is  written  with  a  golden  quill, 
That  me  with  heavenly  fury  doth  inspire, 
And  my  glad  mouth  with  her  sweet  prayses  fill. 

^Vhich  when  as  Fame  in  her  shril  trump  shail 
thunder, 

Let  the  world  chuse  to  envy  or  to  wonder. 


Venfmous  tongue,  tipt  with  vile  adders  sting. 
Of  that  self  kynd  with  which  the  furies  fell 
Ther  snaky  heads  doe  combe,  from  which  a  spring 
Of  poysoned  words  and  spightfull  speeches  well ; 
Let  all  the  plagues,  and  horrid  paines,  of  hell 
Upon  thee  fall  for  thine  accursed  byre  ; 
That  with  false  forged  lyes,  which  thou  didst  tell, 
In  my  true  Love  did  stirre  up  coles  ofyre; 
J'he  sparkes  whereof  let  kindle  thine  own  fyre, 
And,  catching  hold  on  thine  own  wicked  hed, 
Consume  thee  quite,  that  didst  with  guile  conspire 
In  my  sweet  peace  such  breaches  to  have  bred  ! 
Shame  be  thy  meed,  and  mischiefe  thy  reward, 
Due  to  thy  selfe,  that  it  for  me  prepard ! 


Since  I  did  leave  the  presence  of  my  love. 
Many  long-weary  dayes  I  have  outworne  ; 
And  many  nights,  that  slowly  seemd  to  move 
Theyr  sad  protract  from  evening  untill  morn. 
For,  when  as  day  the  heaven  dotii  adorne, 
I  wish  that  night  the  noyous  day  would  end: 
And,  when  as  night  hath  us  of  light  forlorne, 
I  wish  that  day  would  shortly  reascend. 
Thus  I  the  time  with  expectation  spend, 
And  faine  my  griefe  with  chaunges  to  beguile, 
'J'hat  further  seemes  his  terme  still  to  extend. 
And  maketh  every  minute  seem  a  mvle. 

So  sorrowe  still  doth  seem  too  loii^  to  last ; 

But  ioyous  houres  do  fly  away  too  fast. 


SONNK-'S. 


435 


Since  T  have  lackt  the  comfort  of  tliat  liglit, 
'lite  which  was  wont  to  lead  my  th'.ughts  astray  ; 
I  wander  as  in  darkncsse  of  the  night, 
AffVayd  of  every  dangers  least  dismay. 
Ne  ought  I  see,  though  in  the  clearest  dav, 
When  others  gaze  upon  theyr  shadowes  vayne. 
But  th"  only  image  of  that  heavenly  ray, 
Whereof  some  glance  doth  in  mine  eie  remayne. 
Of  which  beholding  the  id»a  playne, 
llirough  contemplation  of  my  purest  part, 
With  light  thereof  I  doe  my  self  sustayne, 
And  thereon  feed  my  love-afiamisht  hart. 

But,  with  such  brightnesse  whvlest  1  fill  my  mind, 
1  starve  my  body,  and  mine  eyes  doe  blynd. 


LXZXVIII. 

LvKE  as  rlie  c-ulvc-r,  on  the  bared  bough, 

Sits  mourning  for  the  absence  of  her  mate  ; 

And,  in  her  songs,  sends  many  a  wishful  votv 

For  his  returne  that  seenies  to  linger  late: 

So  I  alone,  now  left  disconsolate, 

Mourne  to  my  selfe  the  absence  of  my  love  ; 

And,  wandring  here  and  there  all  desolate, 

Seek  with  my  playnts  to  match  that  mournful  dove  • 

A"e  icy  of  oHglit,  that  under  heaven  doth  hove, 

Can  comfort  me,  but  her  owne  ioyous  sight : 

Whose  sweet  aspect  both  GoU  and  man  can  move, 

In  her  unspotted  pleasauns  to  delight. 

Dark  is  my  day,  whyles  her  fayre  light  I  mis, 
And  dead  my  life  that  wants  sucii  lively  blis. 


SONIS^ETS 

WRITTEN  BY  SPENSER, 


COLLECTED  FROM  THE  ORIGINAL  PUBLICATIONS  IN  WHICH  THEY  APPEARED. 


To  the  right  worshipfull  my  singular  good  frend. 
M.  Gabriell  Harvey,  Doctor  of  the  Lauen 

H.AnvEV,  the  happy  above  happiest  men 
1  read  ;  that,  sitting  like  a  looker-on 
Of  this  worldes  stage,  doest  note  with  critique  pen 
I  he  sharpe  dislikes  of  each  condition  : 
And,  as  one  carelesse  of  suspition, 
Ne  fawnest  for  the  favour  of  the  great; 
Ne  fenrest  foolish  reprehension 
Of  faulty  men,  which  daunger  to  thee  threat: 
Hut  freely  doest,  of  what  thee  list,  entreat, 
l^ike  a  great  lord  of  peerelesse  liberty  ; 
Lifiing  the  good  up  to  high  honours  seat, 
And  the  evill  damning  evermore  to  dy : 
For  life,  and  death,  is  in  thy  doomeful  writing! 
So  thy  renowme  lives  ever  by  endighting. 
Dublin,  this  xviij.  of  Jul}',  1586. 

Your  devoted  friend,  during  life, 

Edmund  Spencer. 
II. 
Prefixed  to  "  Ne^'inw,  or  A  Treatise  of  Nobility,"  &;c. 

Wiioso  wil  seeke,  by  right  deserts,  t'  attaine, 
Unto  the  type  of  true  nobility  ; 
And  not  by  painted  shewes,  and  titles  vaine. 
Derived  farre  from  famous  auncestrie  : 
Behold  them  both  in  their  right  visnomy 
Here  truly  pourtray'd,  as  they  ought  to  be. 
And  striving  both  for  termes  of  dignitie, 
'J'o  be  advanced  highest  in  degree. 
And,  when  thou  doost  with  equall  insight  see 
The  ods  twixt  both,  of  both  the  deem  aright. 
And  chuse  the  better  of  them  both  to  thee  : 
But  thanks  to  him,  that  it  deserves,  behight ; 
To  Nenna  first,  that  first  this  worke  created, 
And  next  to  Jones,  that  truely  it  translated. 

Ei>.  Spenser. 


Upoh  the  Historie  of  George  Castriot,  alias  Scanderbeg, 
king  of  the  Epirots,  tramlated  into  Englis'i. 

Wherefore  doth  vaine  antiquitie  so  vaunt 
Her  ancient  monuments  of  niiglitie  jieeres. 
And  old  heross,  which  their  world  did  daunt 
With  their  great  deedes,  and  fild  their childrenseares? 
Who,  rapt  \yith  wonder  of  their  famous  praise. 
Admire  their  statues,  their  colossoes  great  • 
Their  rich  triumphall  arckes  which  they  did  raise. 
Their  huge  pyramids,  which  do  heaven  threat. 
Lo  !  one,  whom  later  age  hath  brought  to  light, 
Matchable  to  the  greatest  of  those  great ; 
Great  both  by  name,  and  great  in  power  and  might, 
And  meriting  ameere  triumphant  seate. 

The  scourge  of  Tuikes,  and  plague  of  infidels. 
Thy  acts,  O  Scanderbeg,  this  volume  tels. 

Ed.  Spenser. 


Prefixed  to  "  The  Commnnueahh  and  Goiernmeui  if 
Venice,"  &;c. 
The  antique  Babel,  empresse  of  the  East, 
Upreard  her  buildinges  to  the  threatned  skie  : 
And  second  Babell,  lyrant  of  the  West, 
Her  ayry  towers  upraised  much  more  hiah. 
Hut,  with  the  weight  of  their  own  surquedry. 
•Tliey  both  are  fallen,  that  all  the  earth  did  i'eare. 
And  buried  now  in  their  own  ashes  ly  ; 
Yet  shewing,  by  their  heapes,  how  great  the}'  were. 
But  in  their  place  doth  now  a  tliird  appeare, 
Fayre  Venice,  flower  of  tlie  last  worlds  delight ; 
And  next  to  them  in  beauty  dravveth  iieare. 
But  iarre  exceedes  in  policie  of  right. 

Yet  not  so  fayre  her  buildinges  to  behold 
As  Lewkenors  style  that  hath  her  beautie  told. 

Edm.  SpENCEfl, 


i36 


DAPHNAIDA. 


To  Peacham's  Minerva  Britanmi  are  prefixed  the  fol- 
lowing, thus  addressed: 

To  Master  Henry  Peacham,  a  Vision  upon  this  bis 
JMinerva. 

IMETHOUGHT  I  saw  ill  dead  of  silent  night 
A  goodly  citie  all  to  cinders  turned, 
Upon  whose  mines  sate  a  nympbe  in  white, 
Rending  her  haire  of  wiery  gold,  who  mourned 
Or  for  the  fall  of  that  faire  citie  burned, 


Or  some  deare  love,  whose  death  so  made  her  sad: 

'I'hat  since  no  joye  in  worldly  thing  she  Isad. 

J'liis  was  that  genius  of  that  auntient  Troy, 

In  her  owne  ashes  buried  long  agoe  : 

So  griev'd  to  see  that  liritaine  should  eniov 

Her  Pallas,  whom  she  held  and  honour'd  so 

And  now  no  litle  memorie  could  show 

To  eternize  her,  since  she  did  infuse, 

H  er  Enthean  soule,  into  this  English  muse. 

E.  S 


DAPHFAIDA 

AN  ELEGIE 
UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  NOBLE  AND  VERTUOUS 

DOUGLAS  HOWARD, 

DAUGHTER     AND    HEIRE     OF     HENRY    LORD     HOWARD,     VISCOUNT     BYNDDN,     AND    WIFE     C7 
ARTHUR    GORGES,  ESQUIER 

DEDICATED   TO   THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE   THE    LADIE 

HELENA  MARQUESSE  OF  NORTHAMPTON. 
BY  ED.  SP. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE  AND  VERTUOUS  LADY 

HELENA, 
MARQUESSE  OF  NORTH  HAMPTON. 

I  HAVE  the  rather  presumed  humbly  to  offer  unto 
vour  honour  the  dedication  of  this  little  poeme,  for 
that  the  noble  and  vertuous  gen.iewoman  of  whom 
it  is  VTritten,  was  by  match  neere  alied.and  in  affec- 
tion greatly  devoted,  unto  your  ladiship.  The  occa- 
sion why  I  wrote  the  same,  was  as  well  the  great 
good  fame  which  I  heard  of  her  deceassed,  as  the 
particular  goodwill  which  I  bear  unto  her  husband 
Master  Arthur  Gorges,  a  lover  of  learning  and  ver- 
tue,  whose  house,  as  your  ladiship  by  marriage  hath 
honoured,  so  doe  I  find  the  name  of  them,  by  many 
notable  records,  to  be  of  great  anliquitie  in  this 


realme,  and  such  as  have  ever  borne  themselves  with 
honourable  reputation  to  the  world,  and  unspotted 
loyaltie  to  their  prince  and  countrey  :  besides,  so 
lineally  are  tliey  descended  from  the  Howards,  as 
that  the  Lady  Aime  Howard,  eldest  daughter  to  John 
Duke  of  Norfolke,  was  wife  to  Sir  Edmund,  mother 
to  Sir  J^dward,  and  grandmother  to  Sir  William  and 
Sir  Thomas  Gorges,  kniglites :  and  therefore  I  doe 
assure  my  selfe  that  no  due  honour  done  to  the  Wliite 
Lyon,  but  will  be  most  gratefull  to  your  ladiship. 
whose  husband  and  children  do  so  neerely  partici- 
pate with  the  bloud  of  that  noble  family.  So  in  all 
dutie  1  recommend  this  pamphlet,  and  the  good 
acceptance  thereof,  to  vour  honourable  favour  and 
protection.  London,  this  first  of  lanuarie,  1591. 
Your  honours  humbly  ever.  Ed.  Sp. 


What-ever  man  be  he  whose  heavie  mynd, 

With  griefe  of  mournefull  great  mishap  opj)rest. 

Fit  matter  for  his  cares  increase  would  fynd, 

Let  reade  the  rufull  plaint  herein  exprest, 

Of  one,  I  weene,  the  wofulst  man  alive,  5 

Even  sad  Alcyon,  whose  empierced  brest 

Sharpe  sorrovve  did  in  thousand  peeces  rive. 


But  whoso  elae  in  pleasure  findeth  sense. 
Or  in  this  wretched  life  doeth  take  delight, 
Let  him  be  banisht  farre  away  from  hence  ; 
No  let  the  sacred  sisters  here  be  hight. 
Though  they  of  sorrowe  heavilie  can  sing  ; 
For  even  their  heavie  song  would  breede  delight; 
But  here  no  tunes,  save  sobs  and  grones,  shall  riii 


10 


DAPHiV.'iiD.L 


4.?r 


15 


In  stead  of  them,  and  tlieir  sweet  liarmonie. 
Let  those  three  fatall  sisters,  whose  sad  har.iis 
Doe  weave  the  direfull  tliretds  of'destinie. 
And  in  their  wrath  brt-ak  oft'  the  vitall  bands, 
Approach  hereto  ;  and  let  the  dreadfull  Queeiie 
Of  Darknes  deepe  come  from  the  StyL;ian  strands, 
And  grisly  ghosts,  to  heare  this  doleful!  teene.      '20 

In  gloomy  evening-,  when  the  wearie  sun. 
After  his  dayes  long  labour  drew  to  rest. 
And  sweatie  steedes,  now  having  overrun 
Tiie  compast  skie,  gan  water  in  the  west,  25 

I  walkt  abroad  to  breath  ihe  freshing  avre 
In  open  fields,  whose  flowriiig  pride,  opprest 
\Vith  early  frosts,  had  lost  their  beautie  faire. 

There  came  unto  mv  mind  a  troublous  ihouglit, 
Which  dayly  doth  my  weaker  wit  posses>e,  30 

Ne  lets  it  rest  untill  it  forth  iiave  brought 
Her  long  borne  infant,  fruit  of  heavinesse, 
Wiiich  she  conceived  hatli  through  raediiation 
Of  this  worlds  vainnesse  and  life's  wretchednesse. 
That  yet  my  soule  it  deepely  doth  empassion.        3h 

So  as  I  muzed  on  the  miserie 

In  which  men  live,  and  1  of  ni;iny  most. 

Most  miserable  man  ;  I  did  esjiie 

Where  towards  me  a  sory  wiglit  did  cost, 

Clad  all  in  black,  that  mourning  did  bewray,  40 

And  Jacob  stafte  in  liand  devoutlv  crost. 

Like  to  some  pilgrim  come  from  farre  away. 

His  carelesse  locks  uncombed  and  unshorne. 
Hong  long  adowne,  and  beard  all  overgrov.-ne, 
Tiiat  well  he  seemd  to  be  some  wight  forlorne  :      45 
Downe  to  the  earth  his  heavie  eves  were  throwne. 
As  loathing  light ;  and  ever  as  he  went 
He  siglied  soft,  and  inly  deepe  did  grone, 
As  if  his  heart  in  pieces  would  have  rent. 

Approaching  nigh,  his  face  1  vewed  nere,  30 

And  by  the  semblant  of  his  countenaunce 

Me  seemd  I  had  his  person  seeiie  elsewhere. 

Most  like  Alcyon  seeming  at  a  glaunce; 

Alcyon  he,  the  lallie  shepheard  swaine 

That  wont  full  raerrilie  U>  pipe  and  dannce,  53 

And  till  with  pleasance  every  wood  and  plaine. 

Yet  balfe  in  doubt,  because  of  his  disguize, 

I  softlie  sayd,  Alcyon  !     TherL-vvithall 

He  lookt  aside  as  in  di  dainefull  wise. 

Yet  stayed  not,  till  I  againe  diO  call :  60 

Then,  turning  back,  lie  saide,  with  hollow  sound, 

"  Who  is  it  that  dooth  name  me,  wofuil  thrall. 

The  wretchedst  man  that  treads  this  day  on  ground!" 

"  One,  whom  like  wofulnesse.  impressed  deepe. 
Hath  made  tit  mate  thy  wretched  case  to  heare,     65 
And  given  like  cause  with  thee  to  waile  and  weepe  , 
Griefe  finds  some  ease  by  him  that  like  does  beare. 
Then  stay,  Alcyon,  gentle  shepheard  !   stay, 
(Quoth  1)  till  thou  have  to  my  trustie  eare 
Committed  what  thee  dooth  so  iil  apay."  70 

"Cease,  foolish  man  !"  (saide  he,  balfe  wrothfully) 
"  'J'o  seeke  to  heare  that  which  cannot  be  told, 
For  the  huge  anguish,  which  doeth  multiplv 
My  dying  paines,  no  tongue  can  well  unfold  ; 
^e  doo  1  care  that  any  shi.uld  beinone  75 

My  hard  mishap,  or  any  weepe  that  would. 
But  ??eke  alone  *'^  weepe,  ami  dye  alone. " 


"  Then  he  it  so,"  quoih  I  "  ihut  thou  are  bent 
To  die  alone,  uiipiti.-d,  unphiined; 
\et.  eip  thou  die,  ir  were  convenient  80 

To  tell  the  cause  which  thee  thereto  constrained. 
Least  that  the  world  thee  dead  accuse  of  guilt. 
And  say,  when  thou  of  none  slialt  be  maintained, 
That  thou  for  seciet  crime  thy  blood  hast  spilt." 

"  Who  life  does  loath,  and  longs  to  be  unbound     85 

From  the  strong  shackles  of  fraile  flesh,"  quoth  he, 

"  Nought  cares  at  all  what  they,  that  live  on  ground 

Deem  the  occasion  of  his  death  to  bee  ; 

Rather  desires  to  be  forgotten  quight. 

Than  question  made  ot  his  calainitie  ;  90 

Fot  harts  deep  sorrow  hates  both  life  and  light. 

"  Yet  since  so  much  thou  seenist  to  rue  my  griefe, 
And  car'st  for  one  that  lor  himselfe  cares  nought, 
(Sign  of  thy  love,  though  nought  for  my  reliefe. 
For  my  relieff  exceedeth  living  thought;)  '    95 

1  will  to  thee  this  heavie  case  relate  : 
Iheii  barken  well  till  it  to  end  be  brought, 
For  never  didst  thou  heare  more  haplesse  fate. 

"  Whilome  1  usde  (a^^  thou  right  well  doest  know) 
My  little  flocke  on  wester.ie  downes  to  keep,       100 
Aot  far  from  whence  Sabrinaes  sMeame  doth  flow. 
And  flowrie  baucks  wiih  silver  liquor  steepe  ; 
Nought  carde  1  then  for  worldly  change  or  chaunce, 
^■or  all  my  ioy  was  on  my  gentle  sheepe. 
And  to  my  pype  to  caroll  and  to  daunce.  lOS 

'■  It  there  befell,  as  1  the  fields  did  range 

Fearlesse  and  free,  a  faire  young  lionesse, 

\\  hite  as  the  native  rose  betore  the  chaunge 

\\  hich  Venus  blood  did  in  her  leaves  impresse, 

1  -]iied  playing  on  the  grassie  plaine  110 

Her  youthfull  sjiorts  and  kindlie  wantonnesse, 

1  hat  did  all  other  beasts  in  beawtie  staine. 

"  Much  was  I  moved  at  so  goodlv  sioht, 

VV  hose  like  before  mine  eye  had  seldome  seene, 

Ami  gan  to  cast  how  1  her  compasse  might,         115 

And  bring  to  hand  that  yet  had  never  beene  : 

So  well  1  wrought  with'inildnes  and  with  paine, 

I  hat  I  her  caught  disporting  on  the  "reene. 

And  brought  away  fast  bound  with  sdver  chaine. 

"  And  aftervvardes  I  handled  her  so  fayre,  V'O 

That  though  by  kind  sliee  stout  and  salvage  were. 

For  being  borne  an  auncient  lions  hayre, 

And  of  the  race  that  all  wild  beastes'do  feare, 

\  et  1  her  fram'd,  and  wan  so  to  my  bent, 

ihat  shee  became  someeke  and  mi:de  of  cheare. 

As  the  least  lamb  in  all  my  flock  that  went:         V26 

"  For  shee  in  field,  where-ever  I  did  wend. 

Would  wend  with  ine,  and  waite  by  me  all  dav  ; 

A*iid  all  the  night  that  1  in  watch  did  spend. 

If  cause  requir'd,  or  els  in  sleejie,  if  nay,  130 

Shee  would  all  night  by  me  or  watch  or  sleepe  j 

And  evermore  when  I  did  sleepe  or  play. 

She  of  my  flock  would  take  lull  wane  k'eepe. 

"  Safe  then,  and  safest  were  my  sillie  sheepe, 

i\e  fear'd  the  wolfe,  ne  fear'd  ihe  wildest  beast 

All  were  1  drown'd  in  carelesse  quiet  deepe  ;       li6 

J\ly  lovely  lionesse  without  beheast 

."Mj  c;iretiil  was  tor  them,  and  fur  niv  good, 

I  liiit  when  1  waKed,  neither  most  nor  least 

i  touiiu  miscarried  or  in  jdaine  or  wood.  140 


4^^8 


DA.PHNAIDA. 


"  Oft  did  the  slic-pheavds,  whr-ii  my  liin  did  Iieure, 

And  oft  tlieir  lasses,  wliicli  my  lui-k  cnvyile, 

Uaylie  resort  to  nie  from  farre  and  iieare, 

To  see  my  l^^onnesse,  wliose  praises  vvyde 

Were  spred  abroad  ;  and  when  her  worth inpsse  145 

ZMuch  greater  than  the  rude  report  they  tryde, 

Tbey  her  did  praise,  and  my  good  fortune  blesse. 

"  Long  thus  I  ioyed  in  my  happinesse, 

And  well  did  hope  my  ioy  would  have  no  end  ; 

But  oh  !  fond  man  !  that  in  worlds  ticklene&se      150 

Reposedst  hope,  or  weenedst  her  thy  frcnd 

That  glories  most  in  mortall  miseries. 

And  daylie  doth  her  changelull  c  iunnels  bend 

To  make  new  matter  fit  for  tragedies  ; 

"  For  whilest  I  was  thus  without  dn-'ad  or  dout,  153 

A  cruel  satyre  with  his  murdrous  dart, 

Greedieof  mischiefe,  ranging  all  ahout, 

Gave  her  the  fatall  wound  of  deadly  smart, 

And  reft  from  me  my  sweete  compani  m, 

And  reft  from  me  my  love,  my  life,  my  hart  :       160 

My  lyonesse  (ah,  woe  is  me !)  is  gon  ! 

"  Out  of  the  world  thus  was  she  reft  away. 

Out  of  the  world,  unworthy  such  a  spoyle. 

And  borne  to  heaven,  for  heaven  a  fitter  pray  ; 

JNluch  titter  then  the  lyon,  which  with  toyle  165 

Alcides  slew,  and  fixt  in  firmament  ; 

Her  now  I  seeke  throughout  this  earthly  soyle. 

And  seeking  misse,  and  missing  doe  lament." 

Therewith  he  gan  afresh  to  waile  and  weepe. 

That  I  for  pittie  of  his  heavie  j)light  170 

Could  not  abstain  mine  eyes  vvitli  teares  to  steepe  ; 

J<ut,  when  I  saw  the  anguish  of  Ins  spright 

Some  deale  alaid.  I  him  bespake  againe  ; 

"  Certes,  Ak-yoii,  painfull  is  thy  pligiit, 

'J'hat  it  in  me  breeds  almost  ecpiall  j)aine.  175 

'•  Vet  doth  not  my  dull  wit  well  understand 

The  riddle  of  thy  loved  lionesse  ; 

For  rare  it  seemes  in  reason  to  be  skand, 

Tha';  man,  who  ilotli  the  whole  worlds  rule  possesse, 

Should  to  a  beast  his  noble  hart  embase,  180 

And  be  the  vassall  of  his  vassalesse  ; 

U'herefore  more  jilaiii  areade  liiis  doubtfull  case." 

Then  sighing  sore, "  Daphne  thou  knew'st,"  quoth  he, 

"  Siie  ni»w  is  dead  ;"  ue  more  endur'd  lo  say, 

Bat  fell  to  ground  for  great  extremitie  ;  1B5 

That  I,  beholding  it,  with  deepe  dismay 

Was  much  apald,  and,  liglitlv  him  uprearing. 

Revoked  lif<s,  that  would  have  lied  away. 

All  were  my  selfe,  through  grief,  in  deadly  dreaiing. 

Then  gan  1  him  to  comfort  all  my  best,  190 

And  with  milde  counsaile  strove  to  mitigate 

'J'he  stormie  [lassion  of  his  troubled  biest. 

But  he  thereby  was  more  em])a>sionate  ; 

As  stubboriie  steed,  that  is  willi  curb  restrained. 

Becomes  more  fii  rce  uud  lervent  in  his  gate  ;      195 

And,  breaking  foonh  at  la>t,  thus  deariiely  plained  : 

I. 
"  What  man  henceforth  that  breatheth  vital!  aire 
Will  honour  heaven,  or  heavenly  powers  adore, 
Which  so  uniusily  doth  their  ludgeineMts  share 
I  iNloiigst  earthly  wighls,  as  to  afflict  so  s(jri-  WO 

The  innocent,  as  those  which  ^\o  Ha  gress  , 
And  doe  not  spare  the  best  oi'  f..irest,  mote 
Thin  worst  oi  foulest,  but  doe  both  oppress^  ' 


"  If  this  be  right,  why  did  they  then  create 

The  world  so  faire,  sith  fairnesse  is  neglected?    i^Oo 

Or  why  be  they  themselves  immaculate, 

If  purest  things  be  not  by  them  respected? 

She  faire,  she  ])ure,  most  faire,  most  ))ure  she  was. 

Yet  was  by  them  as  thing  im]>iire  reiected  ; 

Yet  she  in  purenesse  heaven  it  self  did  pas.  210 

"  In  purenesse  and  in  all  celestiall  grace, 

That  men  admire  in  goodly  womankind. 

She  did  excell,  and  seeni'd  of  angels  race. 

Living  on  earth  like  angell  new  divinde, 

Adordu'd  with  wisdoine  and  with  i  hastitie,  215 

And  all  the  dowries  of  a  noble  mind. 

Which  did  her  beautie  much  more  beautifie. 

■'  No  age  hath  bred  (since  faire  Astraa  left 

The  siiifuU  world)  more  vertue  in  a  wight  ; 

And,  when  she  parted  hence,  with  her  she  reft  U20 

Great  hope,  and  robd  her  lace  of  bounty  (|uight. 

Well  may  the  sheplieard  lasses  now  lament; 

For  doubble  losse  by  her  hath  on  them  light. 

To  loose  both  her  and  bounties  ornament. 

"  Ne  let  Elisa,  royall  shepheardesse,  225 

The  ])raises  of  my  ])arted  love  envy. 

For  she  hath  praises  in  all  plenleousuesse 

Powr'd  upon  her,  like  showers  of  Castaly, 

By  her  owne  sheplieard,  Colin,  her  own  shepheard, 

That  her  with  heavenly  hymnes  <loth  deitie,  230 

Of  rusticke  muse  full  liardly  to  be  betterd. 

"  She  is  the  rose,  the  glory  of  the  day. 
And  mine  the  primiose  in  the  lowly  shade  : 
Mine,  ah  !  not  mine;  amisse  I  mine  did  say  : 
Not  mine,  but  his,  which  mine  awhile  her  made  ;  235 
Mine  to  be  his,  wiih  him  to  live  for  ay. 

0  that  so  faire  a  ttowre  so  soon  should  fade, 
And  through  untimely  tempest  fall  away  ! 

"  She  fell  away  in  her  first  ages  spring,  2o9 

Whilst  yetherleafe  was  greene,  and  fresh  herrinde. 
And  whilst  her   biaunch  faire  blossomes  foorlh  did 
She  fell  auay  against  all  course  of  kinde.       [bring, 
Kor  age  to  dye  is  right,  but  youth  is  wrong  ; 
She  tell  away  like  fiuit  blowne  down  with  winde. 
Weepe,  shepheard  !  weei)e,  to  make  my  undersong. 

11. 
"  What  hart  so  stonie  hard  but  that  would  weepe. 
And  poure  forth  fountaines  of  incessant  teares! 
What  Timon  but  would  let  compassion  creepe 
into  his  breast,  and  ]iierce  liis  Irosen  eares? 
In  stead  of  teares,  whose  lirackisli  bitter  well      250 

1  wasted  have,  my  heart- bloud  dropipiii^  weares, 
I  o  think  to  ground  how  that  faire  blossome  fell. 

"  Yet  fell  she  not  as  one  enforst  to  dye, 

Ne  dyde  with  dread  and  grudging  discontent, 

But  as  one  toyld  with  travdl  downe  doth  lye,     255 

So  lay  slie  downe,  as  if  to  slee|ie  she  went. 

And  cl()>de  hrr  c\es  witli  carelesse  (luietnesse  ; 

iiie  whiles  solt  Death  away  her  spirit  hent, 

And  soule  assoyid  from  sinfull  flcshlinesse. 

•■  ^'et  ere  that  life  her  lodging  did  forsake,  2t>0 

She,  all  resolv'il,  and  readie  to  remove. 

Calling  to  m    (ay  inc!)  this  w-ise  bes[)ake  , 

•  AlcNon!   ah,  in,   liisi  and  lalest  love! 

Ah  !   why  docs  mv  Alcyn  weepe  and  mourne, 

And  grieve  my  -  n osi.    nar  ill  mote  hiin  hehove,  26? 

As  i     n  ■  c  i.uu-.t  some  hviU  tourne' 


DAPKNAIDA. 


■139 


'  I,  since  the  messenger  is  come  for  mee, 
1  !iut  oummons  soules  unto  the  bridale  feast 
Of  his  great  lord,  must  needs  depart  from  thee, 
And  straiglit  obay  his  soveraine  belieast ;  270 

Wliy  sli'iuld  Alcyon  then  so  sore  lament 
That  1  from  miserie  shall  be  releast, 
And  freed  from  wretched  long  imprisonment! 

'  Our  daies  are  full  of  dolour  and  disease, 
Our  life  afflicted  with  incessant  paine,  275 

That  nought  on  earth  may  lessen  or  appease  ; 
Why  then  should  I  desire  here  to  remaine  ! 
Or  why  should  he,  that  loves  me,  sorrie  bee 
For  my  deliveriince,  or  at  all  complaine 
My  good  to  heare,  and  toward  ioyes  to  see !         280 

'  I  goe,  and  long  desired  have  to  goe ; 
I  goe  with  gladnesse  to  my  wished  rest, 
\V'hereas  no  worlds  sad  care  nor  wasting  woe 
May  come,  their  happie  quiet  to  molest ; 
But  saints  ami  angels  in  celestiall  thrones  285 

Eternally  him  praise  that  hath  them  h\eM  ; 
There  shall  I  be  amongst  those  blessed  ones. 

'  Yet,  ere  I  goe,  a  ])ledge  I  leave  with  thee 
Of  the  late  love  the  which  betwixt  us  past, 
Mv  young  Ambrosia  ;  in  lieu  of  mee,  290 

Love  her ;  so  shall  our  love  for  ever  last. 
Thus,  deare  !  adieu,  whom  I  expect  ere  long.' —  j 

"  So  having  said,  away  she  softly  past:  I 

Weepe,  shepheard !  weepe,  to  make  mine  undersong 


"  So  oft  as  I  record  those  piercing  words,  295 

Which  yet  are  doepe  engraven  in  my  brest. 
And  those  last  deadly  accents,  which  like  swords 
Did  wound  my  heart,  and  rend  my  bleedmg  chest. 
With  tho^e  sweet  su^red  speeches  doe  compare. 
The  which  my  soul  first  contjuerd  and  possest,  300 
The  first  beginners  of  my  endlesse  care  : 

"  And  when  those  pallid  cheekes  and  ashe  hew, 

In  which  sad  Deatii  his  pourtraiture  had  v/rit. 

And  when  those  hollow  eves  and  deadly  view,   305 

On  which  the  cloud  of  ghastly  night  did  sit, 

I  match  with  that  sweete  smile  and  cbearful  brow, 

Which  all  the  world  subdued  unto  it, 

How  happie  was  I  then,  and  wretched  now  ! 

"  How  happie  was  I  when  I  saw  her  leade 
The  shepheards  daughters  dauncing  inarownd!  olO 
How  trimly  vi-ouhi  she  trace  and  softly  tread 
The  tender  grasse,  with  rosye  garland  crownd  ! 
And  when  she  list  advaunce  her  heavenly  voyce. 
Both  nymphes  and  muses  nigh  she  made  astownd. 
And  iocks  and  shepheards  caused  to  reioyce.      315 

"  But  now,  ye  shepheard  lasses  !  who  shall  lead 
Your  wandring  troupes,  or  sing  your  virelayes  ? 
Or  who  shall  dight  your  bowres,  sith  she  is' dead 
That  was  the  lady  of  your  holy-dayes] 
Let  now  your  blisse  be  turned  into  bale,  320 

And  into  plaints  convert  your  ioyous  playes, 
And  with  the  same  fill  every  hill  and  dale. 

"  Let  bagpipe  never  more  be  heard  to  shrill, 

That  may  allure  the  senses  to  delight, 

Ne  ever  shepheard  sound  his  oaten  quill  325 

Unto  the  many  that  provoke  tlipm  might 

To  idle  pleasance  ;  but  let  ghastlinesse 

And  drearie  horror  dim  the  cheerfuU  lioht. 

To  make  the  image  of  true  heavinesse  ; 


"  Let  birds  be  silent  on  the  naked  spray,  330 

And  shady  woods  resound  with  dreadfull  yells ; 
Let  streaming  floods  their  hastie  courses  stay. 
And  parching  drouth  drie  up  the  cristall  wells; 
Let  th' earth  be  barren,  and  bring  foorth  no  flowres. 
And  th'  ayre  be  Hid  with  noyse  of  doleful!  knells. 
And  wandnng  spirits  walke  untimely  howres.    336 

"  And  Nature,  nurse  of  every  living  thing. 

Let  rest  her  selfe  from  her  long  wearinesse. 

And  cease  henceforth  things  kindly  forth  to  bring, 

But  hideous  monsters  full  of  uglinesse  ;  340 

For  she  it  is  that  hath  me  done  this  wrong, 

No  nurse,  but  stepdame,  cruell,  mercilesse. 

Weepe,  shepheard  !  weepe,  to  make  my  undersong. 


"  J\Iy  litle  flock,  whom  earst  I  lov'd  so  well, 

And  wont  to  feed  with  finest  grasse  that  grew,  345 

Feede  ye  hencefoorth  on  bitter  astrofell, 

And  stinking  sniallage,  and  unsaverie  rew  ;  [rupted. 

And,  when  your  mawe.s   are  with    those  weeds  cor- 

Be  ye  the  pray  of  wolves;  ne  will  I  rew  349 

That  with  your  carkasses  wild  beasts  be  glutted. 

"  Ne  worse  to  vou,  my  sillie  sheepe!  I  pray, 

Ne  sorer  vengeance  wish  on  you  to  fall 

Than  to  my  selfe,  for  whose  confusde  decay 

To  carelesse  heavens  I  doo  daylie  call; 

But  heavens  refuse  to  heare  a  wretches  cry  ;        355 

And  cruell  Death  doth  scorn  to  come  at  call, 

Or  o-raunt  his  boone  that  most  desires  to  dye. 

"  The  good  and  righteous  he  away  doth  take. 

To  plague  th' unrighteous  which  alive  reraaine  ; 

But  the  ungodly  ones  he  doth  f'ors;!ke,  360 

By  living  long  to  multiplie  their  jiaine  ; 

Else  surely  death  should  be  no  ]iuiiisl)nient, 

As  the  Great  ludge  at  first  did  it  ordaine. 

But  rather  riddance  from  long  languishment. 

"  Therefore,  my  Daphne  they  have  tane  away  ;  365 

For  worthie  of  a  better  place  was  she  : 

But  me  unworthie  willed  here  to  stay. 

That  with  her  lacke  I  mi^ht  tormented  be. 

Sith  then  they  so  have  ordred,  I  will  pay 

Penance  to  her,  according  their  decree,  370 

And  to  her  ghost  doe  service  day  by  day. 

"  For  I  will  walke  this  wandring  pilgrimage, 
Throughout  the  world  from  one  to  other  end. 
And  in  affliction  waste  my  better  age  : 
My  bread  shall  be  the  anguish  of  my  mynd,        375 
My  drink  the  teares  which  fro  mine  eyes  do  raine, 
My  bed  the  ground  that  hardest  I  may  fynd ; 
So  will  I  wilfully  increase  ray  paine. 

"  And  she,  my  love  that  was,  my  saint  that  is 

When  she  beholds  from  her  celestiall  throne        380 

(In  which  shee  ioyeth  in  eternall  blis) 

Rly  bitter  penance,  will  my  case  bemone, 

And  pittie  me  that  living  thus  doo  die; 

For  heavenly  spirits  have  compassion 

On  mortall  men,  and  rue  their  miserie.  385 

"  So  when  I  have  with  sorrow  satisfyde 

Th' importune  fates,  which  vengeance  un  meseeke. 

And  th'  heavens  with  long  languor  jiacifvde. 

She,  for  pure  pitie  of  my  sutl'erance  nieeke. 

Will  send  for  me;   for  which  1  daily  long;  390 

And  will  till  then  my  jjainful  jienance  eeke. 

Weepe,  shepheard  !   vveei)e,  to  make  my  undersong. 


vuo 


UAFii.xAIL'. 


'  Hcncefoorth  I  hate  what  ever  Nntuve  mnde, 
And  in  her  workmanship  no  pleasure  finde, 
For  they  he  all  but  vaine,  and  quicklv  fade  ;         395 
So  soone  as  on  them  blowes  the  no-tliern  winde, 
They  tarrio  not,  but  flit  and  fall  away, 
Leaving  behind  them  nou>i]it  but  griefe  of  minde, 
And  mocking  such  as  thinke  they  long  will  stay. 

''  I  hate  the  heaven,  because  it  doth  withhould     400 

Me  from  my  love,  and  eke  my  love  from  me; 

I  hate  the  eartli,  because  it  is  the  mould 

Of  fleshly  slime  and  fraile  mortalitie  ; 

I  bate  the  fire,  because  to  nought  it  flyes ; 

I  hate  the  ayre,  because  sighes  of  it  he  ;  405 

I  hate  the  sea,  because  it  teares  supplyes. 

'  I  hate  the  day,  because  it  lendetli  light 

To  see  all  things,  and  not  my  love  to  see  ; 

I  hate  the  darknesse  and  the  drearv  night, 

Because  they  breed  sad  balefulnesse  in  mee ;      410 

1  hate  all  times,  because,  all  times  doo  fly 

So  fast  away,  and  may  not  stayed  bee, 

But  as  a  speedie  post  that  passeth  by. 

'  I  hate  to  speake,  my  vovce  is  spent  with  crving  ; 

I  hate  to  heare,  lowd  plaints  have  duld  mine  eares  ; 

I  hate  to  tast,  for  food  witliholds  my  dying ;        416 

I  hate  to  see,  mine  eves  are  dinid  with  teares  ; 

I  hate  to  smell,  no  sweet  on  earth  is  left ; 

I  hate  to  feele,  mv  flesh  is  nnmbd  with  feares  : 

So  all  my  senses  from  me  are  bereft.  420 

''  I  hate  all  men,  and  shun  all  womankinde  ; 

The  one,  because  as  I  thev  wretched  are  ; 

The  other,  for  because  I  doo  not  finde 

My  love  with  them,  that  wont  to  be  their  starre  ; 

And  life  1  hate,  because  it  will  not  last;  425 

And  death  1  hate,  because  it  life  doth  raarre  ; 

And  all  1  hate  that  is  to  come  or  past. 

'  So  all  the  world,  and  all  in  it  I  hate, 

Because  it  changeth  ever  to  and  fro, 

And  never  standeth  in  one  certaine  state,  430 

But,  still  unstedfast,  round  about  doth  goe 

Like  a  mill-vi'heele  in  midst  of  miserie, 

Driven  with  streames  of  wretchednesse  and  woe. 

That  dying  lives,  and  living  still  does  dye. 

"  So  doo  I  live,  so  doo  I  daylie  die,  435 

And  pine  away  in  selfe-consuming  paine! 

Sith  she  that  did  mv  vitiill  powres  supplie, 

And  feeble  spirits  in  their  force  maintaine. 

Is  fetcht  fro  me,  why  seeke  1  to  prolong 

My  vvearie  dales  in  dolour  and  disdaine  !  440 

Weepe,  shephoard  !   weepe,  to   make  my  undersong. 

VI. 

"  Why  doo  I  Inngei'  live  in  lifes  despight. 

And  doo  not  dye  then  in  despigbt  of  death  ; 

VVhv  doo  1  lonsjer  see  this  krathsume  light 

And  doo  in  darknesse  not  abridge  my  breath,      445 

Sith  all  my  sorrow  should  have  end  thereby, 

And  cares  finde  quiet !      Is  it  so  uneath 

To  leave  this  life, or  dolorous  to  dye? 


"  Yet,  whilest  I  in  this  wretched  vale  doo  Stay 

Mv  wearie  feete  shall  ever  wandring  be. 

That  still  I  may  be  readie  on  mv  wav 

When  as  her  messenger  doth  come  for  me  ; 

Ne  will  1  rest  nn*  feete  for  f'eeblenesse,  460 

Ne  will  I  rest  my  limmes  for  fra'illie, 

Ne  will  I  rest  mine  eves  for  heavinesse. 

"  But,  as  the  motlier  of  the  gods,  that  sought 

For  faire  Ihiridvce,  her  daughter  dere, 

Throughout  the  world,  with  wofuU  heavie  thought; 

So  will  I  travell  whilest  1  tarrie  heere,  466 

Ne  will  I  lodge,  ne  will  I  ever  lin, 

Ne,  when  as  drouping  Titan  draweth  nere 

To  loose  his  teeme,  will  I  take  up  ray  inne; 

"  Ne  sleepe  (the  harbenger  of  wearie  wights)     470 

Shall  ever  lodge  upon  mine  eye-lids  more  ; 

Ne  shall  with  rest  refresh  mv  fainting  sprights, 

Nor  failing  force  to  former  strength  restore  : 

But  I  will  wake  and  soirow  all  the  night 

With  Philumene,  my  fortune  to  deplore  ;  475 

With  Philumene,  the  partner  of  my  plight. 

"  And  ever  as  I  see  the  starre  to  fall, 

And  under  ground  to  goe  to  give  them  light 

Wiiich  dwell  in  daiknesse,  I  to  mind  will  call 

How  mv  fair  starre  (that  shind  on  me  so  bright)  480 

Fell  sodainlv  and  f.ided  under  ground  ; 

Since  whose  de])arture,  (hiv  is  turnd  to  night, 

And  night  without  a  Venus  starre  is  found. 

"  But  soon  as  dav  doth  shew  his  deawie  face, 

And  cals  foorth  men  unto  their  tovlsome  trade,  485 

I  will  withdraw  me  to  some  darkesome  place. 

Or  some  drere  cave,  or  solitarie  shade  ; 

There  will  I  sigh,  and  sorrow  all  dav  long, 

And  the  huge  burden  of  my  cares  unlade. 

Weepe,  shejiheard!  weepe,  to  make  my  undersong. 

VII. 

"  Henceforth  mine  eyes  shall  never  more  behold 

Faire  thing  on  earth,  ne  feed  on  false  delight       492 

Of  ought  that  framed  is  of  mortall  mould, 

Sith  that  my  fairest  flov*'er  is  faded  quight; 

For  all  I  see  is  vaine  ami  transitorie,  495 

Ne  will  be  held  in  any  stedfast  plight. 

But  in  a  Tnoinent  loose  tlieir  grace  and  gloria. 

"  And  ye,  fond  men  !  on  fortunes  wheele  that  ride. 

Or  in  ought  under  heaven  repose  assurance. 

Be  it  riciies,  beautie,  or  honours  jn-ide,  300 

Be  sure  that  they  shall  Iiave  no  long  endurance. 

But  ere  ve  be  aware  will  flit  awav  ; 

For  nought  of  tiiem  is  yours,  hut  th'  only  usance 

Of  a  small  lime,  which  none  asc6rtaine  may. 

"  And  ye,  true  lovers !  whom  desastrous  chaunce 

Hath  farre  exiled  from  vour  ladies  grace,  506 

To  inourne  in  sorrow  and  sad  suft'eraunce, 

When  ye  doe  h(>are  me  in  that  desert  i>lace 

Lamenting  loud  my  Daphnes  elegie, 

Ilelpe  me  to  wailc  my  miserable  case,  510 

And  when  life  parts  vouchsafe  to  close  mine  eye. 


"  To  live  I  finde  it  deadly  dolorous, 
For  life  drawes  care,  and  care  continuall  woe 
Therefore  to  dye  must  neenes  be  ioyeous. 
And  wislifull  tiling  this  sad  life  to  forgoe : 
But  I  must  stay  ;   I  may  it  not  amend, 
My  Daphne  hence  departing  bad  ine  so  ; 
She  bad  me  stay,  till  she  for  me  did  send. 


'  And  ye,  more  happie  lovers  !  which  enioy 
450       The  presence  of  your  dearest  loves  delight. 
When  ye  doe  heare  my  sorrowfull  annov, 
Yet  ])ittie  me  in  your  empassion<l  sjiright,  .515 

And  thinke  tiiat  such  mishap,  as  chaunst  to  me, 
May  hajipen  unto  the  most  happiest  wight; 
455    '  For  all  mens  states  alike  unstedfast  be. 


ASTdOPHEL. 


441 


"  And  ye,  my  fellow  slieplieards  !  which  do  feed 
your  c&relesse  flocks  on  hils  and  open  jilaines,  520 
With  better  fortune  than  did  me  succeed, 
Remember  yet  my  undeserved  paines  ; 
And  when  ye  heare  that  I  am  dead  or  slaine, 
Lament  my  lot,  and  tell  your  fellow-swaines 
That  sad  Alcyon  dyde  in  lifes  disdaine.  525 

"  And  ye,  faire  damsels !  shepbeards  deare  delights, 

That  with  your  loves  do  their  rude  hearts  possesse, 

When  as  my  hearse  shall  happen  to  your  sightes, 

Vouchsafe  to  deck  the  same  with  cvparesse  ; 

And  ever  sprinckle  brackish  teares  among-,  530 

In  pitie  of  my  undeserv'd  distiesse. 

The  which,  I,  wretch,  endured  have  thus  long. 


Thus  when  iie  ended  had  his  heairie  [>l&Jnt, 
The  heaviest  plaint  ih-.it  ever  I  heard  soujiH, 
His  cheekes  wext  pale,  and  sjirights  began  i-;  faint, 
As  if  againe  he  wotdd  have  fallen  to  ground, 
Which  when  I  saw,  I,  stepping  to  him  light, 
Amooved  him  out  of  his  stonie  swouiid,  54a 

And  gan  him  to  recomfort  as  I  might. 

But  he  no  waie  recomforted  would  be. 

Nor  suffer  solace  to  approach  him  nie, 

But  casting  up  a  sdeinfull  eie  at  me. 

That  in  his  traunce  I  would  not  let  him  lie,         550 

Did  rend  his  haire,  and  beat  his  blubbred  face 

As  one  disposed  wilfullie  to  die, 

That  I  sore  "riev'd  to  see  his  wretched  case. 


Tho  when  the  pang  was  somewhat  overpast. 

And  the  outrag-ious  passion  nigh  appeased,  555 

1  him  desvrde  sith  daie  was  overcast. 

And  darke  night  fast  approached,  to  be  pleased 

To  turne  aside  unt'i  inv  cabinet, 

And  staie  with  me,  till  he  were  better  eased 

Of  that  stronu-  stownd  which  him  so  sore  beset.  oGO 


"  And  }'e,  poore  pilgrims  !  that  with  restlesse  toyle 
Wearie  your  selves  in  wandring  desart  wayes, 
Till  that  you  come  where  ve  your  vowes  assoyle. 
When  passing  by  ye  reade  these  wofull  laves,     536 
On  my  grave  written,  rue  niv  Daphnes  wrong, 
And  mouine  for  me  that  languish  out  mv  daves. 
Cease,  shepheard!  cease,  and  end  thy  undersong.' — 

But  by  no  meanes  I  could  him  win  thereto, 

Ne  longer  him  intreate  with  me  to  staie. 

But  without  taking  leave  he  foorth  did  goe 

With  staggring  pace  and  dismall  looks  dismay, 

As  if  that  death  he  in  the  face  had  seene. 

Or  hellish  hags  had  met  upon  the  way  ; 

But  what  of  him  became  I  cannot  weene.  .5G7 


ASTROPHEL. 

A  PASTORALL  ELEGIE, 
UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  MOST  NOBLE  AND  VALOROUS  KNIGHT. 

SIK  PHILIP   SIDI^EY. 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  MOST  BEAUTIFULL  AND  VERTUOUS  LADIE, 
THE  COUNTESS  OF  ESSEX. 


.^HEPHEARDS,  that  wont,  on  pipes  of  oaten  reed. 
Oft  times  to  plaine  your  loves  concealed  smart ; 
And  with  your  piteous  layes  have  learnd  to  breed 
Compassion  in  a  countrey  lasses  hart : 
Hearken,  ye  gentle  shepheards,  to  my  song, 
And  place  my  dolefull  plaint  your  plaints  emong. 

To  you  alone  I  sing  this  mournfull  verse. 
The  mournfulst  verse  that  ever  man  heard  tell : 
I'o  you  whose  softened  hearts  it  may  empierse 
With  dolours  dart  for  death  of  Astrophel. 


To  you  I  sing  and  to  none  other  wight. 
For  well  I  wot  my  rymes  bene  rudely  dight 


Yet  as  they  been,  if  any  nycer  wit 

Shall  hap  to  heare,  or  covet  them  to  read : 

Tliinke  he,  that  such  are  for  such  ones  most  fit. 

Made  not  to  please  the  living  but  the  dead. 

And  if  in  him  found  pity  ever  place. 

Let  him  be  moov'd  to  pity  such  a  case. 


A  GENTLE  shepheard  burne  in  .-^rcadv, 

Of  geTitlest  race  that  ever  shepheard  bore, 

About  the  grassie  bancks  of  Hamony 

Did  keepe  his  sheep,  his  litle  stock  and  store. 

Full  carefully  he  kept  llieni  day  and  nisiht, 

In  fiuiest  fields  ;  and  Astrophel  he  hight. 


Young  Astrophel,  the  pride  of  shepheards  prais*» 

Young  Astrophel,  the  rusticke  lasses  love  : 

E'ar  passing  all  the  pastors  of  his  daies. 

In  all  that  seemly  sheplieard  might  behove.  l(J 

In  one  thing  onely  fa\  ling  of  the  best, 

That  he  was  not  so  happie  as  the  rest. 


442 


ASTROPHEL. 


For  from  iLe  rime  ihat  first  the  nynif)!!  liis  mother 
Ilim  fonh  did  bring,  and  taught  her  lambs  to  feed  ; 
A  sclender  swaine,  excelling;  far  each  otlier,  15 

In  comely  shape,  like  her  that  did  him  breed, 
!Ie  grew  up  fast  in  goodnesse  and  in  grace, 
And  doubly  faire  woxe  both  in  mynd  and  face. 

Which  daily  more  and  more  he  did  augment, 

With  gentle  usuage  and  demeanure  myld  :  20 

That  all  mens  hearts  with  secret  ravishment 

He  stole  away,  and  weetingly  beguyld. 

Ne  sjiight  it  selfe,  that  all  good  things  doth  spill, 

Found  ought  in  him,  that  she  could  say  was  ill. 


His  sports  were  faire,  liis  ioyance  innocent. 
Sweet  without  sowre,  and  honny  without  gall ; 
And  be  himselfe  seemed  made  for  meriment, 
jN'i'rily  masking  both  in  bowre  and  hall. 
There  was  no  pleasure  nor  delightfull  play, 
Wiien  Astrophel  so  ever  was  away. 


25 


30 


For  he  could  pipe,  and  daunce,  and  caroll  sweet, 
Eraongst  the  shepheards  in  their  shearing  feast  ; 
As  somevs  larke  that  with  her  song  doth  greet 
'Ihe  dawning  day  forth  commiiig  from  the  east. 
And  laves  of  love  he  also  could  compose  :  35 

Tbrise  happie  she,  whom  he  to  praise  did  chose. 

Full  many  maydens  often  did  him  woo, 

Them  to  vouchsafe  emongst  his  rimes  to  name. 

Or  make  for  them  as  he  was  wont  to  doo 

For  her  that  did  his  heart  with  love  inflame.  40 

For  which  they  promised  to  dii;ht  for  him 

Gay  cha])lets  of  flowers  and  gyrlonds  trim. 

And  many  a  nymph  both  of  the  wood  and  brooke, 

Soone  as  his  oaten  pipe  began  to  shrill. 

Both  christall  wells  and  shadie  groves  forsooke,    45 

'J'o  heare  the  charmes  of  his  enchanting  skill  ; 

And  brought  him  presents,  flowers  if  it  were  prime, 

Or  mellow  fruit  if  it  were  harvest  time. 


But  he  for  none  of  them  did  care  a  whit, 
Yet  woodgods  for  ihem  often  sighed  sore  : 
Ne  for  their  gifts  unworthie  of  his  wit. 
Yet  not  unworthie  of  the  countries  store. 
For  one  alone  he  cared,  for  one  he  sigh't. 
His  lifes  desire,  and  his  deare  loves  delight. 


50 


55 


Stella  the  faire,  the  fairest  star  in  skie. 

As  faire  as  Venus  or  the  fairest  faire, 

(A  fairer  star  saw  never  living  eie,) 

.Shot  her  sharp  pointed  beames  through  purest  aire. 

Her  he  did  love,  her  he  alone  did  honor. 

His  thoughts,  his  rimes,  his  songs  were  all  upon  her. 


'I'o  her  he  vowd  the  service  of  his  daies. 
On  her  he  spent  the  riches  of  his  wit: 
For  her  he  made  hymnes  of  iininortall  praise. 
Of  oiielv  her  be  sung,  he  thought,  he  writ. 
Her,  and  hut  her,  of  love  be  worthie  deemed  ; 
For  all  the  rest  but  litle  be  esteemed. 


61 


65 


Ne  her  with  ydle  words  alone  be  wowed, 
And  verses  vaine,  (yet  verses  are  not  vaine,) 
liut  with  brave  deeds  to  her  sole  service  vowed, 
And  bold  atchievements  her  did  entertaine.  70 

lor  both  in  deeds  and  words  he  nourtred  was. 
Both  wise  and  hardie,  (too  bardie,  alas  !) 


In  wrestling  nimble,  and  in  renning  swift, 

In  shooting  steddie,  and  in  swimming  strong : 

Well  made  to  strike,  to  throw,  to  leape,  to  lift,       75 

And  all  the  sports  that  shepheards  are  emong. 

In  every  one  he  vanquisht  every  ona. 

He  vanquisht  all,  and  vanquisht  wa  sof  none. 

Besides,  in  hunting  such  felicitie 

Or  rather  infelicitie  he  found,  80 

'J'bat  every  field  and  forest  far  awny 

He  sought,  where  salvage  beasts  dc  most  abound. 

No  beast  so  salvage  but  he  could  it  kill  ; 

No  chace  so  hard,  but  he  therein  had  skill. 

Such  skill,  matcht  with  such  courage  as  he  had,    8;i 

Did  prick  him  foorth  with  jiroud  desire  of  praise 

To  seek  abroad,  of  daunger  nought  ydrad. 

His  mistresse  name,  and  his  owne  fame  to  raise. 

What  needeth  perill  to  be  sought  abroad. 

Since,  round  about  us,  it  doth  make  aboad  !  DO 

It  fortuned  as  he  that  perilous  game 

In  forreine  soyle  pursued  far  away  ; 

Into  a  forest  wide  and  waste  he  came, 

Where  store  he  heard  to  be  of  salvage  pray. 

So  wide  a  forest  and  so  waste  as  this,  95 

Nor  famous  Ardeyn,  nor  fowle  Arlo,  is. 

There  his  welwoven  toyles,  and  subtil  traines. 
He  laid  the  brutish  nation  to  enwrap  : 
So  well  he  wrought  with  practise  and  with  paines, 
That  he  of  them  great  troups  did  soone  entrap.    100 
Full  happie  man  (misweeniHg  much)  was  bee, 
So  rich  a  spoile  within  his  power  to  see. 

Eftsoones,  all  heedlesse  of  bis  dearest  hale, 

F'ull  greedily  into  the  heard  be  thrust, 

To  slaughter  them,  and  worke  their  finall  bale,    10.'> 

Least  that  his  toyle  should  of  their  troups  be  brust. 

Wide  wounds  emongst  them  many  one  he  made, 

Now  with  his  sharp  horesjiear,  now  with  bis  blade. 

His  care  was  all  bow  he  them  all  might  kill, 

Ihat  none  might  scape,  (so  partiall  unto  none  :) 

111  mynd  so  much  to  mynd  anothers  ill.  111 

As  to  become  unmyndtull  of  his  owne. 

But  pardon  that  unto  the  cruell  skies, 

'I'hat  from  himselfe  to  them  withdrew  bis  eies. 

So  as  he  rag'd  emongst  that  beastly  rout,  115 

A  cruell  beast  of  most  accursed  brood 
Upon  him  turnd,  (despeyre  makes  cowards  stout,) 
And,  with  fell  tooth  accustomed  to  blood, 
Launched  his  thigh  with  so  mischievous  might, 
That  it  both  bone  and  muscles  ryved  (juight.         120 

So  deadly  was  the  dint  and  deep  the  wound, 
And  so  huge  streames  of  blood  thereout  did  flow, 
That  he  endured  not  the  direfull  stound, 
But  on  the  cold  deare  earth  himselfe  did  throw  j 
'I'be  whiles  the  cajjtive  heard  bis  nets  did  rend,  12.'' 
And,  having  none  to  let,  to  wood  did  wend. 

Ah  !  where  were  ye- this  while  his  shejdieard  peares 
To  whom  alive  was  nought  so  deare  as  bee  : 
And  ye  fayre  mayds,  the  matches  of  his  yeares. 
Which  in  bis  grace  diil  boast  you  most  to  bee  !    ISf 
Ah  !   where  wt  re  ye,  when  be  of  you  had  need. 
To  stop  his  wound  that  wondrously  did  bleed  I 


THE  DOLEFiJLL  l.AV  OF  CLORhXDA. 


41S 


All  !   wretched  boy,  the  shape  <jf  dreryhead, 

And  sad  ensainple  of  mans  suddein  end  : 

Full  litle  failetii  but  thou  sbalt  be  dead,  135 

Unpitied,  unplaynd,  of  foe  or  triend  ! 

W'hilest  none  is  nigh,  thine  eylids  up  to  close, 

And  kisse  thy  lij)s  like  faded  leaves  of  rose. 

A  sort  of  shepheards  sewing-  of  the  chace, 

As  tliey  the  forest  raunged  on  a  day,  140 

J5v  fate  or  f  rtune  came  unto  the  place, 

iVhere  as  the  lucklesse  boy  yet  bleeding  lay  ; 

^'et  bleeding  lay,  and  yet  would  still  have  blel. 

Had  not  good  hap  those  shepheards  ihether  led. 

'I'Lev  stopt  Lis  wound,  (too  late  to  stop  it  was  !) 

And  in  their  armes  then  softly  did  him  reare  :       146 

Tho  (as  he  wild)  unto  his  loved  lasse, 

His  dearest  love,  him  dolefully  did  beare. 

'I'lie  dolefulst  biere  that  ever  man  did  see, 

Was  Astrophel,  but  dearest  unto  niee !  150 

She,  when  she  saw  her  love  in  such  a  plight, 
With  crudled  blood  and  filthie  gore  deformed. 
That  wont  to  be  with  flowers  and  gyrlonds  dight, 
And  her  deare  favours  dearly  well  adorned  ; 
Her  face,  the  fairest  face  that  eve  mote  see,  155 

She  likewise  did  deforme  like  him  to  bee. 

Her  yellow  locks  that  shone  so  bright  and  long. 
As  sunny  bearaes  in  fairest  somers  day. 
She  tiersly  tore,  and  with  outragious  wrong 
From  her  red  cheeks  the  roses  rent  away  ; 
And  her  faire  brest,  the  threasurv  of  ioy, 
She  spoyld  thereof,  and  filled  with  annoy. 

His  palled  face,  impictured  with  death, 

She  bathed  oft  with  teares,  and  dried  oft : 

And  with  sweet  kisses  suckt  the  wasting  breath   165 

Out  of  his  lips  like  lillies  pale  and  soft. 

And  oft  she  cald  to  him,  who  answerd  nought. 

But  onely  by  his  lookes  did  tell  his  thought. 

The  rest  of  her  impatient  regret, 

And  piteous  raone  the  which  she  for  him  made,  170 

No  tcong  can  tell,  nor  any  forth  can  set, 

But  he  whose  heart  like  sorrow  did  invade. 

At  last,  when  paine  bis  vitall  powres  had  spent. 

His  wasted  life  her  wearie  lodge  forwent. 


160 


Which  wlien  she  saw,  .she  staiod  not  a  whit,        1T5 
Hut  iifter  him  did  make  untimely  haste: 
Forth-with  her  gho*t  out  of  lier  corps  did  fiit_, 
And  followed  her  make  like  turtle  chaste  ; 
To  prove  that  deatli  their  hearts  cannot  divide. 
Wliich  living  were  in  love  so  firmly  tide.  180 

The  gods,  which  all  thin^js  see,  this  same  beheld, 

And,  pittying-  this  jiaire  of  lovers  trew, 

'i'ransformed  them  there  King  on  the  HM 

Into  one  flowre  that  is  both  red  and  blew  ; 

It  first  growes  red,  and  then  to  blew  doth  fade,    IHj 

Like  Astrophel,  which  thereinto  was  made. 

And  in  the  midst  thereof  a  star  appeares, 

As  fairly  formd  as  any  star  in  skyes  ; 

Resembling  Stella  in  her  freshest  yeares. 

Forth  darting  beames  of  beautie  from  her  eyes  :    190 

And  all  the  day  it  standeth  full  of  deow. 

Which  is  the  teares,  that  from  her  eyes  did  flow. 

That  liearbe  of  some  starlight  is  cald  by  name, 

Of  others  Penthia,  though  not  so  well: 

But  thou,  where  ever  thou  doest  finde  the  same,  195 

From  this  day  forth  do  call  it  Astrophel : 

And,  when  so  ever  thou  it  up  doest  take, 

l)o  pluck  it  softly  for  that  sliepheards  sake. 

Hereof  when  tydings  far  abroad  did  passe. 

The  shepheards  all  which  loved  him  full  deare,  200 

And  sure  full  deare  of  all  he  loved  was. 

Did  theiher  Hock  to  see  what  they  did  beare. 

And  wliea  that  pitteous  spectacle  they  vewed. 

The  same  with  bitter  teares  they  all  bedewed. 

And  every  one  did  make  exceeding  mone,  205 

With  inward  anguisli  and  great  griefe  opprest : 
And  every  one  did  weep  and  waile,  and  mone, 
And  meanes  deviz'd  to  shew  his  sorrow  best. 
That  from  that  houre,  since  first  on  grassie  greene 
Shepheards  kept  sheep,  was  not  like  mourning  seen. 

But  first  his  sister  that  Clorinda  bight,  211 

1  he  gentlest  shepheardesse  that  lives  this  day, 
And  most  resembling  both  in  shape  and  spright 
Her  biother  deare,  began  this  doleful!  lay. 
Which,  least  I  marre  the  sweetnesse  of  the  verse, 
In  sort  as  she  it  sung  I  will  rehearse.  216 


THE  DOLEFULL  LAY  OF  CLOEINDA, 

These  verses  are  supposed  to  hare  been  uritten  by  Mary  Countess  of  Pembroke,  sister  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


Ay  me,  to  whom  shall  I  my  case  complaine, 
That  may  compassion  my  impatient  griefe  ! 
Or  where  shall  I  unfold  my  inward  paine. 
That  my  enriven  heart  may  find  reliete  ! 

Shall  I  unto  the  heavenly  powres  it  show  ?  5 

Or  unto  eaithly  men  that  dwell  below? 

To  heavens?  ah  !  they  alas  !  the  authors  were, 

And  workers  of  my  unremedied  wo  : 

For  thev  foresee  "hat  to  u^  happens  here, 

And  tliey  foresaw,  yet  suffn  d  this  be  so.  10 

From  tlieni  comes  good,  from  them  comes  also  il ; 

1  uat  which  'hey  made,  who  can  them  warneto  spill? 


To  men  ?  ah  !  they  alas  !  like  wretched  bee. 

And  subiect  to  the  heavens  ordinance  : 

Bound  to  abide  whatever  they  decree,  15 

Their  best  redresse  is  their  best  suflPerance. 

How  then  can  they,  like  wretched,  comfortmee, 
The  which  no  lesse  need  comforted  to  bee  ? 


Then  to  my  selfe  will  I  my  sorrow  mourne, 
Sith  none  alive  like  sorrowfull  remaines: 
And  to  my  selfe  my  plaints  shall  back  retourne, 
To  pay  their  usury  with  doubled  paines. 

The  woods,  the  hills,  the  rivers,  shall  resound 
Thu  mournfull  accent  of  my  sorrowes  ground. 


20 


THE  MOURNING  MUSE  OF  THESiyLlS. 


Woods,  bills,  and  ri7ers,  now  are  desolate, 
Sitii  lie  is  gone  ilie  whicli  them  all  did  grace  : 
And  ai;  llii;  fields  do  waile  their  widow  state, 
Sith  dea^h  Uieir  fairest  flowre  did  late  deface. 
Th-j  fatrest  flowre  in  field  that  ever  grew. 
Was  Astrophel ;  that  was,  we  all  may  rew. 


30 


What  cruell  hand  of  cursed  foe  unknowne, 
Hiith  cropl  the  stallce  which  bore  so  f\iire  a  flowre? 
Untimely  crept,  before  it  well  were  growne, 
Am!  cleane  defaced  in  untimely  howre. 

Great  losse  to  all  that  ever  him  did  see,  35 

Great  losse  to  all,  but  greatest  losse  to  mee! 

Breakr  now  vour  gyrlonds,  0  ye  sliepheards  lasses, 
Sith  the  faire  flowre,  which  them  adornd,  is  gon  : 
The  flowre,  wliich  them  adornd,  is  gone  to  ashes. 
Never  againe  let  lasse  put  gyrlond  on.  40 

In  stead  of  gyrloiia,  weare  sad  cypres  nowe, 
And  bitter  elder,  broken  from  the  bowe. 

TVe  ever  sing  the  love-layes  whicii  he  made; 

Who  ever  made  such  layes  of  love  as  bee? 

Ne  ever  read  the  riddles,  which  he  !>ayd  45 

Unto  your  selves,  to  make  you  mery  glee. 
A'our  mery  glee  is  now  laid  all  abed, 
Your  mery  maker  now  alasse!  is  dead. 

Death,  the  devourer  of  all  worlds  delight, 
Hath  robbed  you,  and  reft  me  fro  my  ioy  :  50 

Both  you  and  me.  and  all  the  world  he  ijuight 
Hath  robd  of  iovance,  and  left  sad  annoy. 

lov  of  the  world,  and  shepbeards  pride  was  bee  ! 

Shej)heards,  hope  nerpr  like  againe  to  see  ! 


Oh  Death!  that  hast  us  of  such  riches  reft, 
Tell  us  at  least,  what  hast  thou  with  it  done] 
Wliat  i.>  become  of  him  whose  flowre  here  left 
Is  but  the  shadow  of  his  likenesse  gone? 

Scarse  like  the  shadow  of  that  whicli  he  was. 
Nought  like,  but  that  he  like  a  shade  did  pas. 


55 


60 


But  that  immortall  spirit,  which  was  deckt 

With  all  the  dowries  of  celestiall  grace. 

By  soveraine  choyce  from  th'  hevenly  quires  select, 

And  lineall)'  deriv'd  from  angels  race, 

O  !  what  is  now  of  it  become  aread.  65 

Ay  me,  can  so  divine  a  thing  be  dead  1 


Ah  !  no  :  it  is  not  dead,  ne  can  it  die, 
l>ut  lives  for  aie,  in  blisfull  Paradise  : 
Where  like  a  new-borne  babe  it  soft  doth  lie. 
In  bed  of  lillies  wrajit  in  tender  wise  ;  "0 

And  compast  all  about  wiib  roses  sweet, 
And  daintie  violets  from  head  to  feet. 

There  thousand  birds,  all  of  celestiall  brood, 
To  him  do  sweetly  caroll  day  and  night  ; 
And  with  straunge  notes,  of  him  well  understood, 
Lull  him  asleep  in  angelick  delight  ;  76 

Whilest  in  sweet  dreame  to  him  presented  bee 
Immortall  beauties,  which  no  eye  may  see. 

But  he  them  sees,  and  takes  exceeding  pleasure 
Of  their  divine  aspects,  appearmg  phiine,  8C 

And  kindling  love  in  him  above  all  measure; 
Sweet  love,  still  ioyous,  never  feeling  paine. 
For  what  so  goodly  forme  he  there  doth  see. 
He  may  enioy  from  iealous  rancor  free 

There  livetli  he  in  everlasting  blis,  85 

Sweet  spirit  never  fearing  more  to  die  : 
Ne  dreading  harme  from  any  foes  of  bis, 
Ne  fearing  salvage  beasts  more  crueltie. 

Whilest  we  here,  wretches,  waile  bis  private  lack. 
And  with  vaine  vowes  do  often  call  him  back.    90 

But  live  thou  there,  still  bappie,  bappie  spirit, 
And  give  us  leave  thee  here  thus  to  lament! 
Not  thee  that  doest  thy  heavens  iov  inherit. 
But  our  owne  selves  that  here  in  dole  are  drent. 
Thus  do  we  weep  and  waile,  and  wear  our  eies, 
jMourning,  in  others,  our  own  miseries  5 


Wiiicn  when  she  ended  had,  another  swaine 
Of  gentle  wit  and  daintie  sweet  device. 
Whom  Astrophel  ful  deare  did  entertaine, 
Whilest  here  he  liv'd,  and  held  in  passing  price, 
Hight  Thestylis,  began  his  mournfuU  tourne  :  6 

And  made  the  muses  in  his  song  to  mourne. 

And  after  him  full  many  other  moe, 

As  everie  one  in  order  lov'd  him  best, 

Gan  dight  themselves  t'  expresse  their  inward  woe, 

With  dolefull  layes  unto  the  time  addrest.  10 

'i  he  which  I  here  in  order  will  rehearse, 

As  fittest  flowres  to  deck  his  mournful!  hearse.     12 


THE    MOURNING     MUSE    OF    THESTYLIS. 

This  and   the   succeeding    Poem    are   svpposed    to   have   been  written    by    Lodowick  Bryskett. 


Come  forth,  ye  nymphes,  come  forth,  forsake  your 

watry  bowres, 
Forsake  your  mossy  caves,  and  help  me  to  lament: 
Ilel|)  me   to  tune   my  dolefull   notes    to    gurgling 

sound  [of  ours 

Of  Liffies  tumbling  strearaes  :  Come,  let  salt  feares 
Mix  \Mth  his  waters  fre^li.  O  come,  let  one  consent 
loyne  us  to   mourne  with  wailfull  |ihunt'  iln'  dtadly 

wound  '" 


Which  fatall    clap  hath  made,    decreed  by  higl  er 

powres  ; 
The  dreerv  day  in  whith  they  have  from  usyrent 
The  noblest  [ilant  that  mi^ht  from  east  to   west  be 

found. 
Mourne,  mourn,  great   Phillips  fall,  mourn  we  Ins 

wofull  end,    "  10 

Whom  si-itelull  Death  hath  pluct  untimely  from  the 

tree. 


THE  IMOURNING  MUSE  OF  THES'IYLTS. 


445 


Whiles  yec  his  yeares  in  flowie  did  promise  wortliie 
frute. 
Ah  dreadful  Mars,  why  didst  thou  not  thy  knight 
defend  ? 
What    wrathful!   mood,    what    fault  of  ours,   hath 

moved  thee 
Of  such  a  shinincT  light  to  leave  us  destitute?        15 
Thou  with  benigne  aspect  sometime  didst  us  behold. 
Thou  hast  in  Britons  valour  tane  delight  of  old, 
And  with  thy  presence  oft  vouchsaft  to  attribute 
Fame  and  renowme  to  us  for  glorious  martiall  deeds. 
But  now  their  [thy]  ireful  hemes  have  chill'd  our 
harts  with  cold  ;  20 

Thou  hast  estrang'd  thy  self,  and  deignest  not  our 

land  : 
Farre  off  to  others  now  thy  favour  honour  breeds, 
And  high  disdaine  doth  cause  thee  shun  our  clime, 

(I  feare;) 
For  hadst  thou  not  bene  wroth,  or  that  time  neare  at 

band, 
Thou  wouldst  have  heard  the  cry  that  wofull  Eng- 
land made ;  '■2b 
Eke   Zealands   piteous  plaints,   and  Hollands  toren 

heare. 
Would  haply  have  appeas'd  thy  divine  angry  mynd  : 
Thou  shouldst  have  seen  the  trees  refuse  to  yeeld 

their  shade, 
And  wailing  to  let  fall  the  honor  of  their  head  ; 
And  birds    in  mournfull   tunes  lamenting   in  their 
kinde.  30 

Up  from  his  tombe  the  mightie  Corineus  rose, 
\Mio  cursing  oft  tlie  fates  that  this  mishap  had  bred, 
His  hoary   locks  he  tare,   calling  the    heavens  un- 

kinde. 
The  Thames  was  heard  to  roare,  the  Reyne  and  eke 

the  IMose, 
The  Schald,  the  Danow  selfe,  this  great  mischance 
did  rue,  33 

With  torment  and  with  grief:  their  fountains  pure 

and  cleere 
Were  troubled,  and  with  swelling  flouds  declar'd 

their  woes. 
The  muses  comfortles,  thenympbes  with  paled  hue, 
The  silvan  gods  likewise,  came  running  farre  and 

neere. 
And  all  with  teares  bedeawd,  and  eyes  cast  up  on 
hie ;  40 

0  help,  O  help,  ye  gods,  they  ghastly  gan  to  crie. 
O  chaunge  the  cruell  fate  of  this  so  rare  a  wight. 
And  graunt  that  natures  course  may  measure  out  his 

ago. 
The  beasts    their  foode  forsooke,  and,  trembling 

fearfully. 
Each  sought  his  cave  or  den,  this  cry  did  them  so 
fright.  ^5 

Out  from  amid  the  waves,  by  storme  then  stirr'd  to 

rage, 
'i'liis  crie  did  cause  to  rise  th'  old  father  Ocean  hoare, 
\Vho  grave  with  held,  and  full  of  maiestie  in  sight, 
Spake  in  this  wise.   "  Refrain  (quoth  he)  your  teares 

and  plaints. 
Cease  these,  your  idle  words,  make  vaine  requests 
no  more.  50 

No  bumble  speech,  nor  mone,  may  move  the  fixed 

stint 
Of  destinie  or  death  :  Such  is  His  will  that  paints 
'i  he  earth  with  colours  fresh  ;  the  darkest  skies  with 

store 
Of  starry  lights  •  And  though  your  teares  a  hart  of 
flint 


,  iNlight  tender  make,  yer  nought  herein  they  willpro- 
vnile.'  '  £5 

^\'lliles  thus  he  said  the  nnble  knight,  wtjo  gan  to 
feelp 
His  vitall  foice  to  f\iint,  and  death  with  cruell  diut 
Of  direfull  dart  his  niortnll  bodie  to  as^aile. 
With  eyes  lift  up  to  heav'n,  and  courage  franke  as 

Steele, 

With  cheerful!  face,  where  valour  lively  was;  expiest. 

But  humble  mynd,  he  said:   "  O  Lord,  if  ought  this 

fraile  "        til 

And  eartlily  carcasse  have  thy  service  sought  t'  ad- 

vaunce; 
If  my  desire  have  bene  still  to  relieve  th'  opprest  ; 
If  iustice  to  maintaine  that  valour  I  have  s|  ent 
Which  thou  me  gav'st ;  or  if  henceforth  I  might  ad- 
vaunce  65 

Thy  name,  thy  truth,  then  spare  me  (Lord)  if  thou 

think  best; 
Forheare  tliese  unripe  yeares.  But  if  thy  will  be  bent. 
If  that  ])refixed  time  he  come  which  thou  liast  set  ;_ 
Through  pure  and  fervent  faith,  I  hope  now  to  be 

plast 
In  th'  everlasting  b!is,  which  with  thy  precious  blood 
Thou  purchase  didst  for  us."  With  tl'iat  a  sigh  he  set, 
A  nd  straight  a  cloudie  mist  his  sences  overcast ;  72 
His  lips  waxt  pale  and  wan,  like  damaske  roses  bud 
Cast  from  the  stalke,  or  like  in  field  to  purple  flowre 
Wliich  languisheth  being  shred  by  culter  as  it  past.  75 
A    trembling  chilly  cold    ran   throgh  their  veines, 

which  were 
With  eies  brimful!  of  teares  to  see  his  fatal!  liowre. 
Whose  blustring  sighes  at;  first  tlieir  sorrow  did  de- 
clare. 
Next,  murmuring  ensude  ;  at  last  they  not  forbeare 
Plaine  outcries,  all  against  the  heav'ns  that  enviously 
Depriv'd  us  of  a  spright  so  perfect  and  so  rare.  8l 
The  sun  his  lightsom  beames  did  shrovvd,  and  hide 

liis  face 
For  griefe,  whereby  the  earth  feard  night  eternallv : 
The  mountaines  eachwhere  shooke,  the  rivers  turn'd 

their  streames. 
And  th'  aire  gan  winterlike  to  rage  and  fret  apace  :  85 
And  grisly  ghosts  by  night  were  seene,  and  fierie 

gleames. 
Amid  the  clouds  with  claps  of  thunder,  that   did 

seeme 
To  rent  the  skies,  and  made  both  man  and  beast 

afeard  : 
The  birds  of  ill  presage  this  luclclesse  chance  foretold. 
By  dernful!  noise;  and  dogs   with  howling  made 
man  deeme  »  90 

Some  mischief  was  at  hand  :  for  such  they  do  esteeme 
As  tokens  of  mishap,  and  so  have  done  of  old. 
Ah!  that  thou  hadst  but  heard  his  lovely  Stella 
jjlaine 
Her  greevous  losse,  or  seene  her  heavie  mourning 

cheere. 

While  she,  with  woe  opprest,  her  sorrowes  did  unfold. 

Her  haire  hung  lose,  neglect,  about  her  shoulders 

twaine ;  96 

And  from  those  two  bright  starres  to  him  sometime 

so  deere. 
Her  heart  sent  drops  of  pearle,  which  fell  in  foyson 

downe 
Twixt  lilly  and  the  rose.     She  wroong  her  hands 

with  paine. 
And  piteously   gan  say :    "  My  true  and   faithful! 
pheere,  100 

Alas,  and  woe  is  me,  why  should  my  fortune  frowne 


4An 


THE  MOURNING  MUSE  OF  THRSTYLIS. 


On  m?*  thus  frowavdly  to  rob  me  of  nij'  icy  ! 
Wb;it.  C'liell  envious  liand  hath  taken  thee  away, 
And  with  thee  my  content,  my  comfort,  and  my  stay  ? 
Thou  onelie  wast  ihe  ease  of  trouble  and  annov,  105 
When  ihev  did  me  assaile  ;  in  thee  my  hopes  did  rest. 
Al.is,  wliat  now  is  left  but  grief,  that'night  and  day 
Afflicts  this  wofull  life,  and  with  continuall  rage 
Torments  ten  thousand  waies  my  miserable  brest  ! 
()  s^it'edie  envious  heav'n,  what  needed  thee  to  have 
Eiiricht  with  such  a  iewell  this  unhappie  age  ;     111 
To  take  it  back  againe  so  soone  !    Alas,  when  shall 
Mine  eies  see  ought  that  may  coutent  them,  since 

thv  grave. 
My  onelv  treasure,  Iiides  the  ioyes  of  my  poore  hart! 
As  >.i're  with  thee  on  earth  I  liv'd,  even  so  etjuall  115 
Me  thinkes  it  were  with  thee  in  heav'n  I  did  abide  : 
And  as  our  troubles  all  we  here  on  earth  did  part, 
So  reason  would  that  there  of  thy  most  happie  state 
I  had  my  share.     Alas,  if  thou  my  trustie  guide 
Were  wont  to  be,  how  canst  thou  leave  me  thus 

alone  I'^O 

[n  darknesse  and  astray  ;  weake,  wearie,   desolate, 
Plung'd  in  a  world  of  woe,  refusing  for  to  take 
Me  with  thee  to  the  place  of  rest  where  thou  art 

gone !" 
This  said,  she  held  her  peace,  for  sorrow  tide  her 

toong  ; 
And  insteed  of  more  words,  seerad  that  her  eies  a 

lake  125 

Of  teares  had  bene,  they  flow'd  so  plenteously  there- 

fro: 
And,  with  her  sobs  and  sighs,  th'  aire  round  about 

her  roong. 
If  Venus,  when  she  waild  herdcare  Adonis  slaine, 
Ought  moov'd  in  thy  tiers  hart  compassion  of  her 

woe, 
His   noble    sisters   plaints,   her   sighes   and  teares 

emong,  130 

Would  sure  have  made  thee  milde,  and  inly  rue  her 

paine : 
Aurora  halfe  so  faire  her  selfe  did  never  show. 
When,  from  old  Tithons  bed,  shee  weeping  did  arise. 
The   blinded  Archer-boy,  like  larke   in   showre   of 

raine. 
Sat  bathing  of  his  wings,  and  glad  the  time  did 

s]iend  135 

Under  those  cristall  drops,  which  fell  from  her  faire 

eies  ; 
And  at  their  brightest  beames  him  proynd  in  lovely 

wise. 
Yet,  sorio  for  her  grief,  which  he  could  not  amend, 
The  gentle  boy  gan  wipe  her  eies,  and  clear  those 

lights, 
Those  lights  through  which  his  glory  and  his  con- 
quests shine.  140 
The  graces  tuckt  her  hair,  wTiich  hung  like  threds  of 

gold, 
Along  her  yvorie  brest,  the  treasure  of  delights. 
All  things  with  her  to  weep,  it  seemed,  did  encline, 
The  trees,  the  hills,  the  dales,  the  caves,  the  stones 

so  cold. 
The  aire  did  help  them  mourne,  with  dark  clouds, 

raine,  and  mist,  145 

Forbearing  many  a  day  to  cicare  it  selfe  againe; 
Which  made  them  eftsoones  feare  the  dales  of  Pirrha 

shoid 
Of  creatures    spoie    the  earth,  their  fatall    threds 

untwist. 
For  Phcubus  gladsome  raies  were  wished  for  m  vaine, 


And  with  her  quivering  light  Lutonas  daughter  faire, 
And  Charles-vvaine  eke  refus'd  to  be  the  shipmans 

guide.  151 

On  Nejitune  warre  was  made  by  Aeolus  and  his 

traine, 
Who,  letting  loose  the  winds,  tost  and  tormented  th' 

aire. 
So  that  on  ev'ry  coast  men  shipwrack  did  abide, 
Or  else  were  swallowed  up  in  open  sea  with  waves, 
And    such   as   came  to    shoare   were   beaten   with 

despaire.  156 

The  Med  waies  silver  streames,  that  wont  so  still  to 

slide, 
Were  troubled  now   and   wrolhe ;    whose  hidden 

hollow  caves 
Along  his  banks  with  fog  then  shrowdeorfrom  man'a 

eye. 
Ay  Phillip  did  resownd,  aie  Phillip  they  did  crie.  160 
His  nim])hs  were  seen  no  more  (ihogh  custom  stil 

it  craves) 
With  haire  spred  to  the  wynd  themselves  to  bath  or 

sport, 
Or  with  the  hooke  or  net,  barefooted  wantonly. 
The  pleasant  daintie  iish  to  entangle  or  deceive. 
The  shepheards  left  their  wonted  places  of  resort, lf>5 
Their  bagpipes  now  were  still  j  their  loving  merry 

layes 
Were    quite   forgot ;    and  now  their  flocks  men 

might  perceive 
To  wander  and  to  straie,  all  carelesly  neglect. 
And  in  the  stead  of  mirth  and  pleasure,  nights  and 

dayes 
Nought  els  was  to  be  heard,  but  woes,  complaints, 

and  mone.  170 

But  thou  (0  blessed  soule !)  doest  haply  not  re- 
spect 
These  teares  we  shead,  though  full  of  loving  pure 

affect, 
Having  affixt  thine  eyes  on  that  most  glorious  throne. 
Where  full  of  maiestie  the  High  Creator  reignes  ; 
In  whose  bright  shining  face  thy  ioyes  are  all  co;n- 

plete,  175 

Whose  love    kindles    thy   spright  ;    where    hapjue 

alwaies  one, 
Thou  liv'st  in  blis  that  earthly  passion  never  staincs  ; 
Where  from  the   purest  spring  the   sacred   ntci:ir 

sweete 
Is  thy  continuall  drinke  ;   where  thou  doest  gather 

now 
Of  Well  emploied  life  th'  inestimable  gaines.        UiO 
There  Venus  on  thee  smiles,  Apollo  gives  thee  place. 
And  Mars  in  reverent  wise  doth  to  thy  vertue  bow. 
And  decks  his  fiery  sphere,  to  do  thee  honour  most. 
In  highest  jiart  whereof,  thy  valour  for  to  grace, 
A  chaire  of  gold  he  sets  to  thee,  and  there  doth  tell 
Thy  noble  acts  anew,  whereby  even  they  that  boast 
Themselves  of  auncient  fame,  as  J'irrhus,  Hanniball, 
Scipio,  and  Cajsar,  with  the  rest  that  did  excell   IBS 
In  martiall  prowesse,  high  thy  glorie  do  admire. 
All  haile,  therefore,  O  vvorthie  Phillip  iinmortall. 
The  flowreot  Sydneves  race,  the  honour  of  thy  name' 
Whose  worthie  praise  to  sing,   my  muses  not  as- 
pire, 192 
But  sorrowfuU  and  sad  these  teares  to  thee  let  fall ; 
Yet  wish  their  verses  might  so  farre  and  wide  thy 

faiiK! 
Extend,   til  at  envies  rage,  nor  time,  might  end  the 

same.  19i 


PASTOEALL    AEGLOGUE 

UPON  THE 

DEATH  OF  SIE  PHILLIP  SID:J»[EY,  KNIGHT,  &c. 


LYCOX.    COLIN. 


Colin,  well  fits  thy  sad  clieare  this  sad  stownd, 
This  ■wofuU  stownd,  wherein  all  things  complains 
This  great  mishap,  this  greevous  losse  of  owres. 
Hear'st  thou  the  Orown  ?     How  with  liollow  sownd 
He  slides  away,  and  murmuring  doth  plaine,  5 

And  seemes  to  say  unto  the  fading  flowres. 
Along  his  bankes.  unto  the  bared  trees  ; 
Phillisides  is  dead.'    Up  iolly  swaine, 
Thou  that  with  skill  canst  tune  a  dolefull  lay. 
Help  him  to  mourn.    Rly  hart  with  grief  doth  freese, 
Hoarse  is  my  voice  with  crying,  else  a  part  1 1 

Sure  would  I  beare,  though  rude  :  but,  as  I  may, 
With  sobs  and  sighes  I  second  will  tliy  song, 
And  so  expresse  the  sorrowes  of  my  hart. 

CoLix.  Ah  Lycon,  Lycon,  what  need  skill,  to  teach 
A  grieved  mynd  powre  forth  his  plaints  !  how  long  16 
Hath  the  pore  turtle  gon  to  school  (weenest  thou) 
To  learne  to  raourne  her  lost  make  !     No,  no,  each 
Creature  by  nature  can  tell  how  to  waile. 
Seest  not  tiiese  flocks,  how  sad  they  wander  now  ?  20 
Seemeth  their  leaders  bell  their  bleating  tunes 
In  dolefull  sound.     Like  him,  not  one  doth  faile 
With  hanging  head  to  shew  a  heavie  clieare. 
What  bird  (1  pray  thee)  hast  thou  seen,  that  prunes 
Himselfe  of  late  I  did  any  cheerfull  note  2  J 

Come  to  thine  eares,  (ir  gladsome  sight  appeare 
Unto  tlijne  eies,  since  that  same  fatal!  howre  ? 
Ilath  not  the  aire  put  on  his  mourning  coat. 
And  testified  his  grief  with  flowing  teares  ? 
Sith  ihen,  it  seemeth  each  thing  to  his  powre         30 
Doth  us  invite  to  make  a  sad  consort  ; 
Come,  Ift  us  ioyne  our  mournfull  song  with  theirs. 
Griefe  will  endue,  and  sorrow  will  enforce, 
1  hy  %x'ice  ;  and  eccho  will  our  words  report,  [frame, 

l^vcoN.  Though  my  rude  rymes  ill  with  thy  verses 
That  others  farre  excell ;  yet  will  1  force  36 

i\Iy  selfe  to  answere  thee  the  best  I  can. 
And  honor  my  base  words  with  his  high  name. 
Jlut  if  my  plaints  annoy  thee  where  thou  sit 
hi  secret  shade  or  cave  ;  vouchsafe  (O  Pan)         40 
'i'o  pardon  me,  and  hear  this  hard  constraint 
Witli  patience  while  I  sing,  and  pittie  it. 
And  eke  ye  rurall  muses,  that  do  dwell 
in  these  wilde  woods  :  if  ever  piteous  plaint 
VW  did  endite,  or  taught  a  wofull  minde  45 

With  words  of  pure  affect  his  griefe  to  tell, 
Instuct  me  now.  Now,  Colin,  then  goe  on. 
And  1  will  follow  thee,  liiougti  farre  behinde. 


ConN.  Phillisides  is  dead.    O  harmfull  death, 
0  deadly  harme !     Unhappie  Albion,  50 

When  shalt  thou  see,  emong  thy  shepheards  all, 
Any  so  sage,  so  perfect  ?     VVhom  unneath 
Envie  could  touch  for  vertuous  life  and  skill  ; 
Courteous,  valiant,  and  liberall. 

Behold  the  sacred  Pales,  where  with  haire  35 

entrust  slie  sitts,  in  shade  of  yonder  hill. 
And  her  faire  face,  bent  sadly  downe,  doth  send 
A  floud  of  te;ires  to  batlie  the  earth  ;  and  there 
Doth  call  the  heav'ns  des])ightfull,  entlous, 
Cruell  his  fate,  that  made  so  short  an  end  60 

Of  that  same  life,  well  worthie  to  have  bene 
Prolonged  with  many  yeares,  happie  and  famous. 
The  nymphs  and  Oreades  her  round  nboiit 
Do  sit  lamenting  on  the  grassie  grene  ; 
And  with  shrill  cries,  beating  their  whitest  brests. 
Accuse  the  direfuU  dart  that  death  sent  out  (36 

To  give  the  fatall  stroke.     The  starre.s  they  blame. 
That  deafe  or  carelesse  seeme  at  their  request. 
The  pleasant  shade  of  stately  groves  they  shuu  ; 
They  leave  their  cristall   springs,  where  they  wont 
frame  ''0 

Sweet  bowres  of  myrtel  twigs  and  lawrel  faire, 
To  sport  themselves  free  from  the  scorching  sun. 
And  now  the  hollow  caves  where  horror  darke 
Doth  dwell,  whence  banisht  is  the  gladsone  aire, 
Tliey  seeke  ;    and   there    in  mourning  spend  their 
tune  73 

With  wailfull  tunes,  whiles   wolves  do  howle  and 

barke. 
And  seem  to  beare  a  bourdon  to  their  plaint. 

L\(ON.  Phillisides  is  dead.     O  dolefull  ryme  ! 
Why  should  my  toong  expresse  thee  ?  who  is  left 
Now  to  uphold  thy  hopes,  wjien  they  do  faint,      80 
Lycon,  unfortunate  !     \Vhat  spitefull  fate, 
V\'liat  lucklesse  destinie,  hath  thee  bereft 
Of  thy  chief  comfort!  of  thy  onely  stav  ! 
Where  is  become  thy  wonted  happie  state, 
(Ala;  '">  wherein  through  many  a  hill  and  dale,      85 
Througd  pleasant  woods,  and  many  an  unknowne  way 
Along  the  bankes  of  many  silver  streames. 
Thou  with  him  yodest  ;  and  with  him  didst  scale 
The  craggie  rocks  of  th'  Aljies  and  Appenine  ! 
Still  with  the  muses  spoiling,  while  those  beames 
Of  veitue  kindled  in  his  noble  brest,  ^'1 

Which  after  did  so  gloriously  forth  shine  ! 
But  (woe  is  me  I)  they  now  yciuenclied  are 
All  sudd-'ulv,  and  death  hath  them  oppj-est. 
Loe,  father  Neptune,  with  sad  couiiienance. 
How  he  sits  mourning  on  the  stroiul  now  bare. 


448 


AN    KLKUiK. 


Yonder,  where  th'  Ocean  with  his  rolling-  waves 
The  white  feete  waslieth  (wailinj^  tliis  mischance) 
Of  Dover  cliffes.      His  sacred  skirt  ahout 
I'he  sea-ijods  all  are  set  ;  from  their  moist  caves 
All  for  his  comfo;!  gathered  there  they  he.  101 

The  Thamis  ricb,  d  e  Humber  rough  and  stout, 
'J'he  fruitfull  Sevt  riie,  with  the  rest  are  come 
To  helpe  their  lord  to  mourne,  and  eke  to  see 
The  dolefull  sight,  and  sad  pomp  funerall,  105 

Of  the  de-.id  corps  passing  through  his  kingdome. 
And  all  thai.-  lieads,  with  cypies  gyrlonds  crou-n'd. 
With  wofull  shrikes  salute  him  great  and  small. 
Eke  wailfull  Eccho,  forgetting  her  dears 
Narcissus,  their  last  accents  doth  resownd,  110 

Colin.  Phillisides  is  dead.      O  lucklesse  age  ; 
O  widow  world  ;  O  hrookes  and  fountains  cleere  ; 
O  hills,  O  dales,0  woods,  tliat  oft  have  rong 
With  his  sweet  caroling,  which  could  asswage 
The  fiercest  wrath  of  tygre  or  of  beare  : 
Ye  silvans,  fawnes,  and  satyres,  that  emong 
These  thickets  oft  have  daunst  after  his  pipe  , 
Ye  nymphs  and  nayades  with  golden  heare 
That  ofi  have  left  your  purest  cristall  springs 
To  hearken  to  his  layes,  that  coalden  wipe 
Away  all  griefe  and  sorrow  from  your  harts  : 
Alas  !   who  now  is  left  that  like  him  sings  ? 
When  shall  you  heare  againelike  harmonie? 
So  sweet  a  sownd  who  to  you  now  imparts? 
Loe  where  engraved  by  his  hand  yet  lives 
The  name  of  Stella  in  yonder  bay  tree, 
Happie  name  !  happie  tree  !   faire  may  you  grow, 
And  spred  your  sacred  branch,  which  honor  gives 
To  famous  emperors  and  poets  crowne, 
Unhappie  flock  that  wander  scattred  now,  130 


115 


120 


125 


What  marvell  if  through  grief  ye  woxen  leane, 
Forsake  your  food,  and  hang  your  heads  adowne  ! 
For  such  a  shephaerd  never  shall  you  guide, 
V\  hose  parting  hath  of  weale  bereft  you  cleane. 

LvcoN.   Phillisides  is  dead.  O  Lappie  sprite,  135 
That  now  in  heav'n  with  blessed  soules  doest  bde  . 
Looke  down  a  while  from  wliere  ;  hou  sitst  above, 
And  see  how  busie  shepheards  be  to  endite 
Sad  songs  of  grief,  their  sorrowes  to  declare. 
And  gratefull  memory  of  their  kynd  love.  140 

Behold  my  selie  with  Colin,  gentle  swaine, 
(Whose  lerned  muse  thou  cherisht  most  whyleare,) 
Where  we,  thy  name  recording,  seeke  to  ease 
The  inw-.ird  torment  and  tormenting  paine. 
That  thy  departure  to  us  both  hath  bred  ;  145 

Ne  can  each  others  sorrow  yet  appease. 
Behold  the  fountains  now  left  desolate. 
And  witlired  grasse  with  cypres  boughes  be  spred; 
Behold  these  floures  which  on  thy  grave  we  strew  ; 
■Which  t;ided,shew  the  givers  faded  state,  150 

(Though  eke  they  shew  their  fervent  zeale  aad  purey 
Whose  onely  comfort  on  thy  welfare  grew. 
Whose  praiers  importune  shall  the  heav'ns  for  ay, 
That,  to  thv  ashes,  rest  they  may  assure  : 
That  learnedst  sh--pheards  honor  may  thy  name  155 
With  yeerly  praises,  and  the  nymjjhs  alway 
Thy  tomb  may  deck  with  fresh  and  sweetest  flowres, 
And  that  for  ever  may  endure  thy  fame. 

Colin.    The  sun  (lo!)    hastned  hath  his  face  to 
steep 
In  western  waves  ;  and  th'  aire  with  stormy  showies 
Warnes  us  to  drive  homewards  our  silly  sheep 
Lycon,  lett's  rise,  and  take  of  them  good  keep.   162 
Virtute  summa :  ciztera  fortuna. 


AN  ELEGIE, 

OR 

FRIENDS  PASSION,  FOR  HIS  ASTROPHEL. 

WRITTEN    UPON    THE    DEATH    OF    THE    RIGHT    HONOURABLE 

SIR  PHILLIP  SIDNEY,  KNIGHT, 

LORD    COVERNOUR    OF    FLUSHING. 


As  then,  no  winde  at  all  there  blew. 

No  swelling  cloude  accloid  the  aire  ; 

The  skie,  like  grasse  [glasse]  of  watchet  hew, 

Reflected  Pbcebus  golden  haire  ; 
The  garnisht  tree  no  pendant  stird, 
No  voice  was  heard  of  anie  bird. 

There  might  you  see  the  burly  beare. 

The  lion  king,  the  elephant; 

The  maiden  unicorne  was  there, 

So  was  Acteons  horned  plant. 

And  what  of  wilde  or  tame  are  found. 
Were  coucht  in  order  on  the  ground. 

Akides  speckled  poplar  tree, 
1  he  palme  that  monarchs  do  obtaine, 
Witi)  love-iuice  staind  the  mulberie. 
The  fruit  that  dewes  the  poets  Itraine  ; 
And  Phillis  philbert  there  away, 
Comparde  with  iniille  and  the  bay. 


10 


15 


The  tree  that  coffins  doth  adorne. 

With  stately  height  threatening  the  skie;  ?0 

And,  for  the  bed  of  love  forlorne. 

The  blac-ke  and  dolefull  ebonie  ; 

All  in  a  circle  compast  were. 

Like  to  an  ainpitheater. 

Upon  the  branches  of  those  trees,  25 

The  airie-winged  people  sat. 

Distinguished  in  od  degrees  ; 

One  sort  is  this,  another  that : 

Here  Philoniell,  that  knowes  full  well, 

What  force  and  wit  in  love  doth  dwell.  30 

The  skiebred  eagle,  roiall  bird, 
Percht there  upon  an  oke  above} 
The  turtle  by  him  never  stird, 
Exam])le  of  immortall  love. 

The  swan  that  sings  about  to  dy,  8* 

Leaving  JVIeander  stood  thereby. 


And,  that  which  was  of  woonder  most, 

The  phoenix  left  sweet  Arable  ; 

And,  on  a  csedar  in  this  coast. 

Built  up  her  tombe  of  spiceiie, 
As  I  cnni^cture,  by  the  same 
Preparde  to  take  her  dying  flame. 

In  midst  and  center  of  this  plot, 
1  saw  one  groveling  on  the  grasse  ; 
A  man  or  stone,  I  knew  not  that: 
No  stone;  of  man  the  figure  was. 
And  yet  1  could  not  count  liim  one, 
More  thiin  the  image  made  of  stone. 

At  length  I  might  perceive  him  reare 
His  bodie  on  his  elbow  end  : 
Earthly  and  pale  with  ghastly  cheare. 
Upon  his  knees  he  upward  tend, 

Seeming  like  one  in  uncouth  stound. 
To  be  ascending  out  the  ground. 

A  grievous  sigh  fortlnvith  he  throwes. 
As  miglit  have  tome  the  vitall  strings  ; 
Then  down  his  cheeks  the  teares  so  flows, 
As  doth  the  streame  of  many  springs. 
So  thunder  rends  the  cloud  in  twaine, 
And  makes  a  passage  for  the  raine. 

Incontinent,  with  trembling  sound  ; 
Pie  wofully  gan  to  complaine  ; 
Sucli  were  the  accents  as  might  wound, 
And  teare  a  diamond  rocke  in  twaine  : 

After  his  throbs  did  somewhat  stay. 

Thus  heavily  he  gan  to  say  : 

O  sunne!  (said  he)  seeing  the  sunne. 

On  wretched  me  whj'  dost  thou  shine? 

M}'  star  is  falne,  my  comfort  done. 

Out  IS  the  apple  of  my  eine  : 

Shine  upon  those  possesse  delight, 
And  let  me  live  in  endlesse  night. 

0  griefe  that  liest  upon  my  soule, 
As  heavie  as  a  mount  of  lead. 
The  remnant  of  my  life  controll. 
Consort  me  quickly  with  the  dead  ; 

Halfe  of  this  hart,  this  sprite,  and  will, 
Di'de  in  the  brest  of  Astrophill. 

And  you,  compassionate  of  my  wo. 
Gentle  birds,  beasts,  and  shadie  trees, 

1  am  assurde  ye  long  to  kno 
What  be  the  sorrowes  me  agreev's ; 

Listen  ye  then  to  that  insu'lh, 
And  heare  a  tale  of  teares  and  ruthe. 

You  knew,  who  knew  not  Astrophill? 
(That  I  should  live  to  say  I  knew. 
And  have  not  in  possession  still !) 
Things  knowne  permit  me  to  renew  ; 
Of  him  you  know  his  merit  such 
I  cannot  say,  you  heare,  too  mucn. 

within  these  woods  of  Arcadie 
He  chiefs  delight  and  pleasure  tooke. 
And  on  the  mountaine  Parthenie, 
Upon  the  chrystall  liquid  lirooke, 
The  muses  met  him  ev'ry  day 
That  taugiit  him  sing   to  write,  and  say. 


AN  I.LlsCiiK.  449 

When  he  descended  downe  to  the  mount, 

His  ])ersonage  seemed  most  divine, 

A  tliousand  graces  one  might  count 

Upon  his  lovely  cheerfull  eine  ;  IOC 

To  heare  him  speake  and  sweetly  smile, 

You  were  in  Paradise  the  while. 

A  sweet  attractive  kinde  of  grace, 

A  full  assurance  given  bv  lookes, 

Continuall  comfort  in  a  face,  Ifft 

The  lineaments  of  Gospel!  bookes  ; 
1  trowe  that  countenance  cimnot  lie. 
Whose  thoughts  are  legible  in  the  eie. 


40 


45 


50 


55 


60 


65 


70 


75 


80 


85 


90 


95 


Was  never  eie  did  see  that  face. 

Was  never  eare  did  heare  that  tong,  110 

Was  never  minde  did  minde  liis  grace. 

That  eter  thought  the  travell  long: 
But  eies,  and  eares,  and  ev'ry  thought, 
Mere  with  his  sweete  perfections  caughj 

0  God,  that  such  a  worthy  man,  115 
In  whom  so  rare  desarts  did  raigne, 

Desired  thus,  must  leave  us  than. 
And  we  to  wish  for  him  in  vaine  ! 

O  could  the  stars  tliat  bred  that  wit. 

In  force  no  longer  fixed  sit!  120 

Then  being  fild  with  learned  dew, 

1  he  muses  willed  liim  to  love  ; 
Tliat  instrument  can  aptly  ahew. 
How  finely  our  conceits  will  move: 

As  Bacclius  opes  dissembled  harts,  12 

So  Love  sets  out  our  better  parts. 

Stella,  a  nymph  within  this  wood, 

]\Iost  rare  and  rich  of  heavenly  blis. 

The  highest  in  his  fancie  stood, 

And  she  could  well  demerit  this  :  JS 

Tis  likely  they  acquainted  soone  j 

He  was  a  sun,  and  she  a  moone. 

Our  Astrophill  did  Stella  love; 

O  Stella,  vaunt  of  Astrophill, 

Albeit  thy  graces  gods  may  move,  135 

Where  wilt  thou  finde  an  Astrophill! 

The  rose  and  lillie  have  their  prime. 

And  so  hath  beaulie  but  a  time. 

Although  thy  beautie  do  exceed. 

In  common  sight  of  ev'ry  eie,  J4 

Yet  in  his  poesies  when  we  reede. 

It  is  apparent  more  thereby, 

He  that  hath  love  and  iudgement  too, 

Sees  more  than  any  other  doo 

Then  Astrophill  hath  honord  thee;  145 

For  when  thy  bodie  is  extinct, 
Thy  graces  shall  eternall  be 
And  live  by  virtue  of  his  inke  ; 

For  by  his  verses  he  doth  give 

The  short-livde  beautie  aye  to  live.  150 

Above  all  others  this  is  hee, 
^Vhich  erst  approoved  in  his  song, 
I  hat  love  and  honor  might  agree, 
And  that  pure  love  will  do  no  wrong. 

Sweet  saints !  it  is  no  sinnne  or  blame,  155 

To  love  a  man  of  vertuous  name. 

a  a 


450 


AN  EPITAPH. 


Did  never  love  so  sweetly  breath 

In  any  mortall  brest  before, 

Did  never  muse  inspire  beneath 

A  poets  braine  with  finer  store  :  160 

He  wrote  of  love  with  high  conceit, 

And  beautie  reard  above  her  height. 

Then  PaHas  afterward  attyrde 

Our  Astrophill  with  her  device, 

\\  bom  in  his  armor  heaven  admyrde,  »65 

As  of  the  nation  of  the  skies  ; 

He  S[)arkled  in  liis  amies  afarrs, 

As  he  were  dight  with  lierie  Starrs. 

'J"he  blaze  whereof  when  Mars  beheld, 

(An  envious  eie  doth  see  afar,)  170 

Such  maiestie  Cquoth  he)  is  seeld, 

Such  maiestie  my  mart  may  mar ; 

Perhaps  this  may  a  suter  be, 

To  set  JMars  by  his  deitie. 

In  this  surmize  he  made  with  speede  175 

An  iron  cane,  wherein  be  put 
The  thunder  that  in  cloudes  do  breede ; 
The  flame  and  bolt  togither  shut 
Willi  privie  force  burst  out  againe. 
And  so  our  Astrophill  was  slaiiie.  180 

His  word  (was  slaine  !)  straightwa}'^  did  move, 
And  natures  inward  life  strings  twitch  ; 
The  skie  immediately  above 
Was  dimd  with  hideous  clouds  of  pitch. 

The  wrasiling  winds  from  out  the  ground         185 

Fild  all  the  aire  with  ratling  sound. 

The  bending  trees  exprest  a  grone, 

And  sigh  d  the  sorrow  of  his  fall; 

Theforrest  beasts  made  ruthfuU  mone, 

The  birds  did  tune  tlieir  mourning  call,  190 

And  Philomell  for  Astrophill 

Unto  her  notes  annext  a  phill. 


The  turtle  dove  with  tunes  of  ruthe 

Shewd  feeling  passion  of  his  death  ; 

Me  thought  she  said,  1  tell  thee  truthe,  195 

Was  never  he  that  drew  in  breath 
Unto  his  love  more  trustie  found, 
Than  he  for  whom  our  griefs  abound. 

The  swan,  that  was  in  presence  heere. 

Began  his  funerall  dirge  to  sing  :  £'K) 

Good  things  (quoth  he)  may  scarce  appeere, 

But  passe  away  with  speedie  wing. 
This  mortall  life  as  death  is  tride. 
And  death  gives  life,  and  so  he  di'de. 

The  generall  sorrow  that  was  made,  205 

Among  the  creatures  of  [each]  kinde. 
Fired  the  phenix  where  she  laide. 
Her  ashes  flying  with  the  winde. 

So  as  1  might  with  reason  see. 

That  such  a  phenix  nere  should  bee  210 

Haply  the  cinders,  driven  about, 
May  breede  an  offspring  neare  that  kinde 
But  hardly  a  peere  to  that  I  doubt; 
It  cannot  sinke  into  my  minde. 

That  under  branches  ere  can  bee  215 

Of  worth  and  vallue  as  the  tree. 

The  egle  markt  with  pearcing  sight 

The  mournfull  habite  of  the  place, 

And  parted  thence  with  mounting  flight 

To  signifie  to  love  the  case,  22C 

What  sorrow  nature  doth  sustaine 

For  Astrophill  by  envie  slaine. 

And  while  I  followed  with  mine  eie 

The  flight  the  egle  upward  tooke. 

All  things  did  vanish  by  and  by,  225 

And  disappeared  from  my  looke  : 

The  trees,  beasts,  birds,  and  grove  was  gone;. 

So  was  the  friend  that  made  this  mone. 


This  spectacle  had  firmly  wrought 
A  deepe  compassion  in  my  spright; 
My  molting  hart  issude,  me  tliouglit. 
In  streames  foorth  at  mine  eits  aright  : 
And  here  my  pen  is  forst  to  shrinke, 
My  teares  discollor  so  mine  inke. 


229 


234 


A¥   EPITAPH 


UPON  THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

SIE   PHILLIP    SIDNEY,    KNIGHT 

LORD  GOVERNOR  OF  FLUSHING. 


To  praise  thy  life,  or  waile  thy  worthie  death. 
And  want  thy  wit,  thy  wit  high,  pure,  divine 
Is  far  beyond  the  powre  of  mortall  line, 
Nor  any  one  hath  worth  that  draweth  breath. 


Yet  rich  in  zeale,  (hough  poore  in  learnings  lore,   fi 

And  friendly  care  obscurde  in  secret  brest, 

And  love  tliat  (  nvie  in  thy  l.fe  supprest, 

'I'hv  dcpre  life  done,  and  diath,  hath  doubled  more. 


AN   KiTlAVU 


451 


And  I,  that  in  thy  time,  and  living  state, 
Did  onely  praise  thy  vertues  in  my  thought^  10 

As  one  that  seeld  the  rising  sun  hath  sought, 
W'jih  words  and  teares  now  waile  thy  timelesse  fate. 

Drawne  was  thy  race  aright  from  princely  line  ; 
Nor  lesse  than  such,  (hy  gifts  that  nature  gave. 
The  common  mother  that  all  creatures  have, )        15 
Doth  vertue  show,  and  princely  linage  shine. 

A  king  gave  thee  thy  name  ;  a  kingly  minde, 
That  tiod  thee  gave,  who  found  it  now  too  deere 
For  this  base  world,  and  hath  resumde  it  neere. 
To  sit  in  skies,  and  sort  with  povvres  divine.         20 

Kent  thy  birth  daies,  and  Oxford  held  thy  youth  ; 
The  heavens  made  hast,  and  staid  nor  yeers,  nor  time ; 
The  fruits  of  age  grew  ripe  in  thy  first  prime, 
Thy  will,  thy  words  ;  thy  words  the  scales  of  truth. 

Croat  gifts  and  wisedom  rareimployd  thee  thence, 25 
To  treat  from  kings  with  those  more  great  than  kings; 
Such  hope  men  had  to  lay  the  highest  things 
On  thy  wise  youth,  to  be  transported  hence ! 

Whence  to  shape  wars  sweet  honor  did  thee  call, 
Thy  countries  love,  religion,  and  thy  friends  :       30 
Of  worthy  men  the  marks,  the  lives,  and  ends. 
And  her  defence,  for  whom  we  labor  all. 


There  diilst  thou  vanquish  shame  and  tedious  age, 
Griefe,  sorrow,  sicknes,  and  base  fortunes  might: 
Thv  rismg  day  saw  never  wofull  night,  35 

But  past  with  praise  fiom  off  this  worldly  stage. 

Back  to  the  campe,  by  thee  that  day  was  brought, 
First  thine  owne  death,  and  after  thy  long  fame  ; 
Tears  to  the  soldiers,  the  proud  Casfilians  shame, 
Vertue  exprest,  and  honor  truly  taught.  40 

What  hath  he  lost,  that  such  great  grace  hath  woon  ? 
Yoong  yeeres  for  endles  yeeres,  and  ho])e  unsure 
Of  fortunes  gifts  for  wealth  that  still  shall  dure  ; 
Oh  !   happie  race  with  so  great  praises  run. 

Englnnd  doth  hold  thy  lims  that  bred  the  same,     45" 
Flaunders  thy  valure  where  it  last  was  tried, 
The  campe  thv  sorrow  where  thy  bodie  died  ; 
Thy  friends,  thy  want ;  the  world,  thy  vertues  fame. 

Nations  thy  wit,  our  niindes  lay  up  thy  love  ; 
Letters  thy  learning,  thy  losse,  yeeres  long  to  come  ; 
In  worthy  harts  sorrow  hath  made  thy  tombe  ;       51 
Thy  soule  and  spright  enrich  the  heavens  above. 

Thy  liberall  hart  imbalmed  in  gratefuU  teares, 
Yoong  sighes,  sweet  sighes,  sage  sighes,  bewaile  thy 

fall  : 
Envie  her  sting,  and  spite  hath  left  her  gall  ;  55 

Alalice  her  selfe  a  mourning  garment  weares 


That  day  their  Hanniball  died,  our  Scipio  fell ; 
Scipio,  Cicero,  and  Petrarch  of  our  time  I 
Whose  vertues,  wounded  by  my  worthelesse  rime. 
Let  angels  speake,  and  heaven  thy  praises  telh      60 


ANOTHER  OF  THE  SAME. 


Silence  augmenteth  grief,  writing  encreaseth  rage, 
Staid  are  my  thoughts,  which  lov'd.  and  lost,  the 

wonder  of  our  age  ; 
Yet  quickned  now  with  fire,  though  dead  with  frost 

ere  now, 
Enrag'de  I  write,  I  know  not  what :  dead,  quick,  I 

know  not  how. 

Hard  Uarted  mindes  relent,  and  Rigoi's  teares  abound, 
And  envie  strangely  rues  Lis#nd,  in  whom  no  fault 

she  found ;  6 

Knowledge  her  light  hath  lost.  Valor  hath  slaine  her 

knight ; 
Sidnev  is  dead,  dead  is  my  friend,  dead  is  the  worlds 

delight. 

Place  pensive  wailes  his  fall,  whose  presence  was 

her  pride; 
Time  crieth  out,  Rly  ebbe  is  come  ;  his  life  was  my 

spring  tide  :  10 

Fame  mournes  in  that  she  lost  the  ground  of  her 

reports ; 
Lch  hving  wight  laments  his  lacke,  and  ill  in  sundry 

Aorts. 


He  was  (wo  worth  that  word  !)  to  ech  well  thinking 

minde 
A  spotlesse  friend,  a  matchless  man,  whose  vertue 

ever  shinde. 
Declaring  in  his  thoughts,  his  life,  and  that  he  writ. 
Highest   conceits    longest  foresights,  and  deepest 

works  of  wit.  16 

He,  onely  like  himselfe,  was  second  unto  none. 
Whose  deth  (though  life)  we  rue,  and  wrong,  and 

al  in  vaine  do  mone  : 
Their  losse,  not  him,  waile  they,  that  fill  the  world 

with  cries  ; 
Death  slue  not  him,  but  he  made  death  his  ladder  to 

the  skies. 

Now  sinke  of  sorrow    I,   who  live;  the  more  the 

wrong ; 
Who  wishing  death,  whom  deth  denies,  whose  thred 

is  al-to  long, 
Who  tied  to  wrexhed  life,  who  lookes  for  no  reliefe, 
Rlust  spend  my  ever  dying  daies  in  never  ending 

griefe. 


-iSS 


THE  TEARF.S  OF  THE  MUSES. 


Harts  ease  and  onely  I,  like  parables  run  on,  'i!3 
Whose  equall  length  keep  equall  bredth,  and  never 

meet  in  one  ;  [cell, 

Vet  for  not  wronging  him,  my  thoughts,  my  sor-ovves 
Shall  not  run  out,  though  leake  they  will,  for  liking 

him  so  well. 

Farewell  to  you,  my  hopes,  my  wonted  waking 
dreames  ;  [beames ! 

Farewell,  sometimes  enioyed  ioy  ;  eclipsed  are    thy 

Farewell  selfe  pleasing  thoughts,  which  quietnes 
brings  foorth  ; 

And  farewell  friendships  sacred  league,  uniting 
minds  of  woorth. 


And    farewell    mery    hart,    the    gift    of   guiltlesse 
mindes,  [signes ; 

And  all  sports,  which,  for  lives  restore,  varietie  as- 
Let  all,  that  sweete  is,  voyd  ;  in  me  no  mirth  may 
dwell  :  35 

Phillip,  the  cause  of  all  this  woe,  my  lives  content,, 
farewell ' 

Now  rime,  the  sonne  ofrage,  which  art  no  kin  to  skill. 
And  endlese  griefe,  which  deads  my  life,  yet  knowes 

not  how  to  kill. 
Go,  seeke  that  haples  tombe  ;  which  if  ye  hap  to  finde 
Salute  the   stones,   that  keep  the  lims  that  held  so 

good  a  minde.  40 


THE 

TEARES  OF  THE  MUSES. 

BY  ED.  SP. 

DEDICATED    TO    THE    RIGHT    HONORABLE 

THE  LADIE  STEAl^GE. 

1591. 


TO  THE  niGHT  HONORABLE 

THE   LADIE    STRANGE. 

Most  brave  and  noble  ladie ;  the  things,  that  make 
ye  so  much  honored  of  the  world  as  ye  bee,  are  such ,  as 
(without  my  simple  lines  testimonie)  are  tliroughlie 
knowen  to  all  men  ;  namely,  your  excellent  beautie, 
your  vertuous  behavior,  and  your  noble  match  with 
that  most  honourable  lord,  the  very  paterne  of  right 
nobilitie :  But  the  causes,  for  which  ye  have  thus 
deserved  of  me  to  be  honoured,  (if  honour  it  be  at 
all,)  are,  both  your  particular  bounties,  and  also  some 
private  bands  of  affinitie,  which  it  hath  pleased  your 
ladiship    to    acknowledge.      Of  which  whenas,    I 


Rehearse  tome,  ye  sacred  sisters  nine. 
The  golden  brood  of  great  ApoUoes  wit. 
Those  piteous  plaints,  and  sorowfull  sad  tine. 
Which  late  ye  powred  forth  as  ye  did  sit 
Beside  the  silver  springs  of  Helicone, 
Making  your  musick  of  hart-breaking  mone  ! 

For  since  the  time  that  Phoebus  foolish  sonne, 
Ythuiidered,  through  loves  avengefull  wrath. 
For  traversing  the  charret  of  the  sunne 
Beyond  the  coinpasse  of  his  pointed  j)ath. 
Of  you  his  mournfuU  sisters  was  lamented, 
Such  mournfuU  tunes  were  never  since  invented, 

Nor  since  that  faire  Calliope  did  lose 
Her  loved  twinnes,  the  dearlinys  of  her  ioy, 
Htr  J'alici,  whom  her  unkindly  foes. 
The  faiall  sisters,  did  for  spight  destroy. 
Whom  all  the  muses  did  bewaile  long  space, 
Was  ever  heard  such  wayling  in  this  place. 


found  my  selfe  in  no  part  woorthie,  I  devised  this 
last  slender  meanes,  both  to  intimate  my  humble 
affection  to  your  ladiship,  and  also  to  make  the  same 
universallie  knowen  to  the  world ;  that  by  honouring 
you  they  might  know  me,  and  by  knowing  me  they 
migiit  honor  you.  Vouchsafe,  noble  lady,  to  accept 
this  simple  remembrance,  though  not  worthy  of  your 
self,  yet  such,  as  perhaps  by  good  acceptance  thereof, 
ye  may  hereafter  cull  out  a  more  meet  and  memor- 
able evidence  of  your  owne  excellent  deserts.  So 
recommending  the  same  to  your  ladiships  good 
liking,  I  humbly  take  leave. 

Your  La  :  humblv  ever. 

'  Ed.  Sp, 


For  all  their  groves,  which  with  the  heavenly  noyses 
Of  their  sweete  instruments  were  worn  to  sound,  20 
And  th'  hollow  hills  from  which  their  silver  voyces 
Were  wont  redoubled  echoes  to  rebound. 
Did  now  rebound  with  nought  but  rufull  cries. 
And  yelling  shrieks  thjowne  up  into  the  skies. 
I  [cleare 

.   The   trembling    stream es  which  wont   in  channels 
'J"o  romble  gently  downe  with  murmur  soft,  26 

And  were  by  iheni  right  tunefull  taught  to  beare 
10   I   A  bases  j)art  amongst  their  consorts  oft ; 

Now,  forst  to  overllowe  with  brackish  teares, 
With  troublous  noyse  did  dull  their  daintie  eeres.  30 


15 


The  ioyous  nymphes  and  lightfoote  faiJries 

\\  hich  thether  came  to  heare  their  musick  sweet. 

And  to  the  measure  of  their  melodies 

Did  learne  to  move  their  nimble-shifting  feete  ; 

Now,  hearing  them  so  heavily  lament,  35 

Like  heavily  lamenting  from  them  went. 


THE  TEARES  OF  TflK  ML'SES. 


453 


And  all  that  els  was  wont  to  worke  delight 

Throii£;h  the  divine  infusion  of  their  skill. 

And  all  that  els  seenid  (aire  ar.d  fresh  in  sight. 

So  made  by  nature  for  to  serve  their  will,  40 

Was  turned  now  to  disniall  heavinesse, 

Was  turned  now  to  dreadfall  u^linesse. 

Ay  nie  !  what  thing-  on  earth  that  all  thing  breeds, 

Might  be  the  cause  of  so  impatient  i)light  ? 

What  furie.or  what  leend,  with  felon  deeds  -15 

Hath  stirred  up  somisclnevous  despight? 

Can  griefe  then  enter  into  heavenly  harts, 

And  pierce  immortall  breasts  with  mortall  smarts  ? 

Vouchsafe  ye  then,  whom  onely  it  concernes, 

To  me  those  secret  causes  to  display  ;  30 

For  none  but  you,  or  who  of  you  it  learnes. 

Can  lightfuUy  aread  so  doiefull  lay. 

Begin,  thou  eldest  sister  of  the  crew, 

And  let  the  rest  in  order  thee  ensew. 


Heare  thou  great  father  of  the  gods  on  hie,  55 

That  most  art  dreaded  for  thy  thunder  darts; 

And  thou  our  sire,  that  raignst  in  Custalie 

And  JMount  Parnasse,  tiie  god  of  goodly  arts: 

Ueare,  and  behold    lie  miserable  state 

Of  us  thy  daughters,  doleful  desolate.  60 

Behold  the  fowle  rejjroach  and  ojien  shame. 
The  which  is  day  by  day  unto  us  wrought 
By  such  as  hate  the  honour  of  our  name, 
The  foes  of  learning  and  teach  gentle  thought; 
They,  not  contented  us  themselves  to  scorne,         65 
Doo  seeke  to  make  us  of  the  world  forloriie. 

Ne  onely  they  that  dwell  in  lowly  dust. 

The  sonnes  of  darknes  and  of  ignoraunce  ; 

But  thev,  whom  thou,  great  love,  by  iloome  uniust 

Didst  to  the  type  of  honour  earst  advaunce  ;  70 

They  now,  puft  up  with  sdeignfuU  insolence. 

Despise  the  brood  of  blessed  sapience. 

The  sectaries  of  my  celestial!  skill, 

That  wont  to  be  the  worlds  chiefe  ornament. 

And  learned  impes  that  wont  lo  shoote  up  still,    75 

And  grow  to  height  ol'  kingdomes  government, 

They  underkeep,  and  with  their  spreading  amies 

Do  beat  their  buds,  that  perish  through  their  harmes. 

It  most  behoves  the  honorable  race 

Of  mightie  peeres  true  wisedome  to  sustaine,         80 

And  with  their  noble  countenaunce  to  grace 

The  learned  forheads,  without  gifts  or  gaine  : 

Or  rather  learnd  themselves  behoves  to  bee; 

'I  hat  is  the  girlond  of  nobditie. 

But  (ah  !)  all  otherwise  they  doo  esteeme  85 

Of  th' heavenly  gitt  of  wisdomes  influence. 
And  to  be  learned  it  a  base  thing  deeme  ; 
Base  minded  they  that  want  intelligence  : 
For  God  himselfe  for  wisedome  most  is  praised, 
And  men  to  (jod  thereby  are  nighest  raised.  90 

But  they  doo  onely  strive  themselves  to  raise 

Through  pompous  jiride,  and  foolish  vaiiiue  ; 

In  th'eves  of  people  ihey  put  all  their  praise. 

And  onely  boast  of  armes  and  ^luiicestne  : 

Bat  vertuous  deeds,  which  did  those  armes  first    ive 

To  their  grandsyres,  thev  care  not  to  alehiv  .         yfi 


So  I,  that  doo  all  noble  feates  professe 
To  register,  and  sound  in  trump  of  gold  ; 
Through  ilieir  bml  dooings,  or  base  slothfulnesse, 
Finde  nothing  wortliie  to  be  writ,  or  told:  100 

For  better  farre  it  were  to  hide  their  names. 
Then  telling  them  to  blazon  out  their  blames. 

So  shall  succeeding  ages  have  no  light 

Of  things  forejiast,  nor  moniments  of  time  ; 

And  all  that  in  tiiis  world  is  worthie  hight  105 

Shall  die  in  darknesse,  and  lie  hid  in  slime ! 

Therefore  1  mourne  with  deep  harts  sorrowing. 

Because  I  nothing  noble  have  to  sing. — 

With  that  she  raynd  such  store  of  streaming  teares. 
That  could  have  made  a  stonie  heart  to  weep ;     110 
And  all  her  sisters  rent  their  golden  heares, 
And  their  faire  faces  with  salt  humour  steep. 
So  ended  shoe  :  and  then  the  next  in  rew 
Began  her  grievous  plaint,  as  doth  ensew. 

MELPOMENE. 

O  !  WHO  shall  powre  into  my  swollen  eyes  115 

A  sea  of  teares  that  never  may  be  dryde, 

A  brazen  voice  that  may  with  shrilling  cryes 

Pierce  the  dull  heavens  and  fill  the  ayer  wide. 

And  yroti  sides  that  sighing  may  endure, 

To  waile  the  wretchednes  of  world  impure?  120 

Ah  !  wretched  w^orld,  the  den  of  wickednesse, 

Deformd  with  fikh,  and  fowle  iniquitie  ; 

Ah  I   wretched  world,  the  house  of  heavinesse, 

Fild  with  the  wreaks  of  mortall  miserie  ; 

Ah!  wretched  world,  and  all  that  is  therein,         12.' 

I'he  vassals  of  Gods  wrath,  and  slaves  to  sin. 

JMost  miserable  creature  under  sky 

JMan  witliout  understanding  doth  appeare ; 

For  al!  this  worlds  affliction  he  thereby, 

And  fortunes  freakes,  is  wisely  taught  to  beare  : 

Of  wretched  life  tlie  only  ioy  sliee  is,  131 

And  th'  only  comfort  in  calamities. 

Slie  armes  tlie  brest  with  constant  patience 
Against  the  bitter  throwes  of  dolours  darts  : 
She  solaceth  with  rules  of  sapience  135 

The  gentle  minds,  in  midst  of  worldly  smarts  : 
W  hen  he  is  sad,  sliee  seeks  to  make  him  merie, 
And  doth  refresh  jjis  spriglits  when  they  be  werie. 

But  he  that  is  of  reasons  skill  bereft, 

Alid  wants  the  stafte  of  wisedome  him  to  stay,    140 

Is  like  a  ship  in  midst  of  tempest  left 

Withouten  helme  or  pilot  her  to  sway: 

Full  sad  and  dreadfuil  is  that  ships  event  ; 

So  is  the  man  that  wants  intendiment. 

Why  tlien  doo  foolish  men  so  much  despize  145 

The  precious  store  of  this  celestial!  riches  ? 

\\  hy  doo  they  banisli  us,  tliat  patronize 

Tile  name  of  learning  ?     Most  iinhappie  wretches  ! 

I'he  wliich  lie  drowned  in  deep  wretchednes. 

Yet  doo  not  see  their  owne  unliappiness.  150 

IMv  part  it  is  and  my  professed  skill 

The  stage  witli  tragick  buskin  to  adorne, 

And  111!  the  scene  with  plaint  and  outcries  shrill 

Of  wretched  persons,  to  misfortune  borne  : 

But  none  more  tragick  matter  I  can  finde  155 

Then  this,  of  men  depriv'd  of  sense  and  minde. 


4.54 


THE  TCAKKH  OF  Tlir.  MUSES. 


For  all  mans  life  me  seemes  a  tragedy, 

Full  of  sad  sights  and  sore  catastrojjhes  ; 

First  comming;  to  the  world  with  weeping  eye, 

Where  all  hisdaves,  liise  dolorous  trophees,  160 

Are  heapt  with  spoyles  of  fortune  and  of  feare, 

And  he  at  last  laid  forth  on  balefull  beare. 

So  all  with  rufull  spectacles  is  fild. 

Fit  for  Megera  or  Persephone  ; 

]5ut  I  that  in  true  tragedies  am  skild.  165 

Tlie  flowre  of  wit,  finde  nought  to  busie  me; 

Therefore  I  mourne,  and  pitifully  mone. 

Because  that  mourning  matter  1  have  none.— 

Then  gan  she  wofully  to  waile,  nnd  wring 

Her  wretched  hands  in  lamentable  wise;  170 

And  all  her  sisters,  thereto  answering, 

Threw  forth  lowd  shrieks  and  drerie  dolefull  cries. 

So  rested  she  ;  and  then  tl>e  next  in  rew 

Began  her  grievous  plaint,  as  doth  ensew. 

THALIA. 

Where  be  the  sweete  delights  of  Learnings  treasure 

That  wont  with  comick  sock  to  beautefie  176 

The  painted  theaters,  and  fill  with  pleasure 

The  listners  eyes  and  eares  with  melodie  ; 

In  wliich  I  lato  was  wont  to  raine  as  queeiie. 

And  maske  in  mirth  with  graces  well  beseene  ?    180 

O  !  ;ill  is  gone  ;  and  all  that  goodly  glee, 

Which  v.'ont  to  be  the  glorie  of  gay  wits. 

Is  layd  abed,  and  no  where  now  to  see  ; 

And  in  her  roonie  xmseemly  Sorrow  sits, 

With  liollow  browes  and  giiesly  countenaunce,     183 

Marrnig  my  ioyous  gentle  dalliaunce. 

And  him  beside  sits  ugly  Rarbarisme, 

And  brutish  ignorance,  yclept  of  late 

Out  of  dredd  darknes  of  the  deepe  abysme. 

Where  being  bredd,  he  light  and  heaven  does  hite  . 

Tliey  in  tiie  miiides  of  men  now  tyrannize,  191 

And  the  faire  scene  with  rudenes  foule  disguize. 

All  places  they  with  Follie  have  possest, 

And  with  vaine  toyes  the  vulgar  entertaine  ; 

But  me  have  banished,  with  all  the  rest  19.) 

That  whilome  wont  to  wait  upon  my  traine, 

Fine  CounterfesauDce,  and  nnlinrttull  >j)()rt, 

Delight  and  Laughter,  deckt  in  seemly  sort. 

All  tliese,  and  all  that  els  the  comick  stage 

With  seasoned  wit  and  goodly  pleasance  graced,20() 

By  which  mans  life  in  his  likest  image 

Was  limned  forth,  are  wholly  now  defaced  ; 

And  those  sweete  wits,  which  wont  the  like  to  frame. 

Are  now  despizd,  and  made  a  lau^^iiing  game. 

And  he,  the  man  vvliom  nature  sidfe  had  made      20.5 

J'o  mock  her  seife,  and  truth  to  imitate, 

With  kindly  countei  under  mimic  shade. 

Our  pleasant  Willy,  ah  !   is  dead  of  late: 

W  ith  whom  all  lov  and  lolly  mcriinent 

Is  also  (leaded,  and  m  dolour  drent.  210 

In  stead  thereof  scoffing  Scuirililie, 

And  scornfull  Kollie  with  Contempt  is  crept, 

Boiling  in  rymes  of  shamelesse  rib  .udne 

Without  reganl,  or  due  decorum  kept  ; 

I'mIcIi  idle  wit  at  "ill  p,resuinrs  to  make,  21.5 

And  duth  the  leurueds  taske  upon  liim  take. 


But  that  -same  gentle  spirit,  from  whose  pen 
Large  streames  of  hoiitiie  and  sweete  nectar  flowe, 
Scorning  the  boldnes  of  such  base-hm-ne  men, 
Wliich  dare  their  follies  forth  so  rashlie  tbrowe  ;  920 
Doth  rather  choose  to  sit  in  idle  cell. 
Than  so  himselfe  to  iMockerie  to  sell. 

So  am  I  made  the  servant  of  the  manie, 

And  laughing  stocke  of  all  that  list  to  scoriie. 

Not  honored  nor  eared  for  of  anie  ;  22  j 

Hut  loath'd  of  losels  as  a  thing  forlorne  : 

Therefore  I  mourne  and  sorrow  with  the  resv, 

Untill  my  cause  of  sorrow  be  redrest. — 

Therewith  slie  lowdly  did  lament  and  shrike, 
Pouring  forth  streames  of  teares  abundantly  ;      230 
And  all  her  sisters,  with  compassion  like. 
The  breaches  of  liei  singulfs  did  supply 
So  rested  shee  :  and  thrn  the  next  In  rew 
Began  her  grievous  plaint,  as  doth  ensew. 

EUTERPE. 

Like  as  the  dearling  of  the  summers  pryde,  235 

Faire  Philomele,  when  winters  stonnie  wrath 

The  goodly  fields,  that  erst  so  gay  were  dyde 

In  colours  divers,  quite  despoyled  hath, 

All  comfortlesse  doth  hide  her  cheerlesse  head 

During  the  time  of  that  her  widowhead  :  2-40 

So  we,  that  earst  were  wont  in  sweet  accord 

All  places  with  our  pleasant  notes  to  fill, 

Wildest  favourable  times  did  us  afford 

Free  libertie  to  chaunt  our  charmes  at  will ; 

All  comfortlesse  upon  the  bared  bow,  VIS 

Like  wofull  culvers,  doo  sit  wayling  now. 

For  far  more  bitter  storme  than  winters  stowre 
The  beautie  of  the  world  hath  lately  wa-ted. 
And  those  fresh  buds,  which  wont  so  faire  to  flowre. 
Hath  marred  quite,  and  all  their  blossoms  blasted  ; 
And    those   yong   plants,  which   wont    with    fruit 
t'abound,  251 

Now  without  fruite  or  leaves  are  to  be  found. 

A  stonie  coldnesse  hath  benumbd  the  sence 

And  livelie  spirits  of  each  living  wight, 

And  dimd  with  darknesse  their  intelligence,         255 

Darknesse  more  than  C)merians  daylie  night: 

And  monstrous  error,  flying  in  the  ay  re. 

Hath  mard  the  face  of  all  that  semed  fayre. 

Image  of  hellish  horrour.  Ignorance, 

Borne  in  the  bosome  of  the  hlack  abysse,  260 

And  fed  with  furies  milke  for  i-usteiiaunce 

Of  his  weake  infancie,  begot  amisse 

Bv  yawning  Slowtli  on  his  owiie  mother  Night; 

So  bee  bis  sonnes  both  syre  and  brother  bight. 

He,  armd  with  blindnesse  and  with  boldnes  stout,265 
(  For  blind  is  bold,)  hath  our  fayre  light  defaced  ; 
And,  gatiiering  unto  him  a  ragged  rout 
Of  fauiies  and  satyres,  bath  our  dwellings  raced  ; 
And  our  chasl  bowers,  in  which  idl  vertue  rained, 
With  brutisbnesseand  beasllie  lilth  hath  stained.  270 

I'lie  sacred  s[)rings  of  horsefoot  Helicon, 

So  olt  bedeawed  with  our  Itarneil  laves, 

And  speaking  strt-ames  of  pure  Castalion, 

I  be  famous  vvitnes  e  of  our  v\onled  praise, 

I'hey  trampled  have  with  ibeir  fowle  toolings  trade. 

And  like  to  troublid  puddles  have  them  made.    276 


THE  TEARES  OF  TFIE  MUSES. 


455 


Our  pleasant  groves;,  which  planted  were  with  paines, 
T'.iat  with  our  musick  wont  so  oft  to  ring, 
And  arhors  sweet,  in  which  the  shepheards  swaines 
Were  wont  so  oft  their  pastoralls  to  sing,  280 

They  liave  cut  downe,  and  all  their  pleasaunce  mard, 
That  now  no  pastorall  is  to  bee  hard. 

In  stead  of  them,  fowle  goblins  and  shriek-owles 

With  fearfuU  howling  do  all  places  fill  ; 

And  feeble  Eccho  now  laments,  and  howles,        285 

The  dreudfuU  accents  of  their  outcries  shrill. 

So  all  is  turned  into  wildernesse, 

\\'hilest  Ignorance  the  muses  doth  oppresse. 

And  I,  whose  ioy  was  earst  with  spirit  full 

To  teach  the  warbling  pipe  to  sound  aloft,  290 

(My  spirits  now  dismavd  with  sorrow  dull,') 

Doo  mone  my  miserie  with  silence  soft. 

Therefore  I  mourne  and  waile  incessantly, 

Till  please  the  heavens  afFoord  me  remedy. — 

Therewith  shee  wayled  with  exceeding  woe,        295 

And  pitious  lamentation  did  make  ; 

And  all  her  sisters,  seeing  her  doo  soe, 

With  equall  plaints  lier  sorrowe  did  partake. 

So  rested  shee  :  and  then  the  next  in  raw 

Began  her  grievous  plaint,  as  doth  ensew.  300 

TERPSICHORE. 

Whoso  bath  in  the  lap  of  soft  delight 

Been  long  time  luld,  and  fed  with  pleasures  sweet, 

Feareles  through  his  own  fault  or  fortunes  spight 

To  tumble  into  sorrow  and  regreet, 

Yf  chaunce  him  fall  into  calamitie,  305 

Finds  greater  burthen  of  his  miserie. 

So  wee  that  earst  in  ioyance  did  abound, 

And  in  the  bosome  of  all  blis  did  sit, 

Like  virgin  queenes,  with  laurell  garlands  Ground, 

For  vertues  meed  and  ornament  of  wit  !  310 

Sith  Ignorance  our  kingdome  did  confound. 

Be  now  become  most  wretched  wightes  on  ground. 

And  in  our  roj'all  thrones,  which  lately  stood 

In  th'  hearts  of  men  to  rule  them  carefully, 

He  now  hath  placed  his  accursed  brood,  315 

Bv  him  begotten  of  fowle  Infamy  ; 

Blind  Error,  scornefull  Follie,  and  base  Spight, 

Who  bold  by  wrong  that  wee  should  have  bv  right. 

They  to  the  vulgar  sort  now  pipe  and  sing. 

And  make  them  merie  with  their  fooleries  :  320 

They  cherelie  chaunt,  and  rjmes  at  randon  fling. 

The  fruitful!  spavvne  of  their  rar.ke  fantasies  ; 

They  feede  the  eares  of  fooles  with  flattery. 

And  good  men  blame,  and  losels  magnify. 

All  places  they  doo  with  their  toyes  possesse,     325 
And  raigne  in  liking  of  the  multitude  ; 
The  schooles  they  fit  with  fond  new-fanL;lenesse, 
Aud  sway  in  court  with  pride  and  rashnes  rude  ; 
Mongst  simple  sheplieards  they  do  boast  their  skill, 
And  say  their  musicke  raat<i«eth  Phoebus  quill.  330 

The  noble  hearts  to  pleasures  they  allure, 
And  tell  their  prince  that  learning  is  but  vaine ; 
Faire  ladies  loves  they  spot  with  thoughts  impure. 
And  gentle  mindes  with  lewd  delights  distaine ; 
Clerks  they  to  loathly  idlenes  emice,  335 

And  fill  their  bookes  witli  discipline  of  vice. 


So  every  where  they  rule,  and  tyrannize. 

For  their  usurped  kingdomes  inaintenaunce, 

The  whiles  we  sillv  nr.iides,  whom  they  dispize, 

And  with  reprochfull  scorne  discountenaunce,    340 

From  our  owne  native  heritage  exilde, 

VValk  through  the  world  of  every  one  revilde. 

Xor  anie  one  dotli  care  to  call  us  in, 

Or  once  vouchsafeth  us  to  entertaine, 

Unlesse  some  one  perhaps  of  gentle  kin,  345 

For  pitties  sake,  compassion  our  paine. 

And  yeeld  us  some  reliefe  in  this  distresse; 

Yet  to  be  so  reliev'd  is  wretchednesse. 

So  wander  we  all  carefull  comfortlesse. 

Yet  none  doth  care  to  comfort  us  at  all  :  350 

So  seeke  we  helpe  our  sorrow  to  redresse, 

Yet  none  vouchsafes  to  answere  to  our  call  ; 

Therefore  we  luourne  and  pittilesse  complaine. 

Because  none  living  pittielh  our  paine. — 

With  that  she  wept  and  wofullie  waymented,      355 
That  naught  on  earth  her  griefe  might  pacifie  ; 
And  all  tlie  rest  her  dolefull  din  augmented 
With  shrikes,  and  groanes,  and  grievous  agonie. 
So  ended  shee  :   and  then  the  next  in  rew. 
Began  her  piteous  plaint,  as  doth  ensew.  360 

ERATO. 

Ye  gentle  siprits  !  breathing  from  above. 
Where  ye  in  Venus  silver  bowre  were  bred, 
Thoughts  halfe  devine,  full  of  the  fire  of  love. 
With  beautie  kindled,  and  with  pleasure  fed. 
Which  ye  now  in  securitie  possesse,  365 

Forgetfull  of  your  former  heavinesse  ; 

Now  change  the  tenor  of  your  ioyous  layes, 
With  which  ye  use  your  loves  to  deifie, 
And  blazon  foortli  an  earthlv  beauties  praise 
Above  the  compasse  of  the  arched  skie:  370 

Now  change  your  praises  into  piteous  cries. 
And  eulogies  turns  into  elegies. 

Such  as  ye  wont,  whenas  those  bitter  stounds 
Of  raging  love  first  gan  you  to  torment. 
And  launch  your  hearts  with  lamentable  wounds 
Of  secret  sorrow  and  sad  languishment,  376 

Before  your  loves  did  take  you  unto  grace  ; 
Those  now  renew  as  fitter  for  this  place. 

For  I  that  rule,  in  measure  moderate, 

I  he  tempest  of  that  stormie  passion. 

And  use  to  paiatin  rimes  the  troublous  state 

Of  lovers  life  in  likest  fashion, 

Am  put  from  practise  of  my  kindlie  skill, 

Banisht  by  those  that  love  with  leawdnes  fill. 


380 


85 


Love  wont  to  be  schoolmaster  of  my  skill. 

And  the  devisefull  matter  of  my  song  ; 

Sweete  Love  devoyd  of  villanie  or  ill. 

Hut  pure  and  spotles,  as  at  first  he  sprong 

Out  of  th'  Almighties  bosome,  where  he  nests; 

From  thence  infused  into  mortall  brests.  390 

Such  high  conceipt  of  that  celestiall  fire, 

T  he  l)ase-horne  brood  of  liliiulnes  cannot  gesse, 

Ne  ever  dare  their  dunghill  thoughts  aspire 

Unto  so  loftie  ]jitch  of  [lerfectnesse. 

Hut  rime  at  riot,  and  duo  mge  in  love  ;  395 

Yet  little  wote  whiit  doth  tlieieto  behove. 


456 


TtiK  IT.AHES  OF  THF-:  MUSES. 


Faire  Cytlieree,  the  motlier  of  Delisj'il. 

And  queene  of  Beautie,  now  thou  irmist  go  pack  ; 

For  lo!   thy  kingdome  is  defaced  quight, 

TLv  sceptre  rent,  and  power  put  to  wrack  ;  400 

And  thy  gay  sonne,  the  winged  god  of  Love, 

May  now  go  prune  his  plumes  like  ruffed  dove. 

And  ye  three  twins,  to  light  by  Venus  brought, 

Tiie  sweete  companions  of  the  Muses  late, 

From  whom  whatever  thing  is  goodly  thought,    405 

Doth  borrow  grace,  the  fancie  to  aggrate ; 

Go  beg  with  us,  and  be  companions  still. 

As  heretofore  of  good,  so  now  of  ill. 

For  neither  you  nor  we  shall  anie  more 

Find  entertainment  or  in  court  or  schoole  :  410 

For  that,  which  was  accounted  lieretofore 

The  learneds  meede,  is  now  lent  to  the  foole ; 

He  sings  of  love,  and  maketh  loving  layes, 

And  they  him  heare,  and  they  hitn  highly  prayse. — 

With  that  she  powred  foorth  a  brackish  flood       415 

Of  bitter  teares,  and  made  exceeding  mon&  ; 

And  all  her  sisters,  seeing  her  sad  mood, 

With  lowd  laments  her  answered  all  at  one. 

So  ended  she  :  and  then  the  next  in  rew 

Began  her  grievous  plaint,  as  doth  ensew.  420 

CALLIOPE. 

To  wliom  shall  I  mv  evill  case  complaine, 

Or  tell  the  anguish  of  my  inward  smart, 

Sith  none  is  left  to  remedie  my  paine, 

Or  deignes  to  pitie  a  perplexed  hart  ; 

But  rather  seekes  my  sorrow  to  augment  425 

With  fowle  report  and  cruell  banishment? 

For  tliev,  to  whom  I  used  to  applie 

The  faithfull  service  of  my  learned  skill. 

The  goodly  offspring  of  loves  progenie. 

That  wont  the  world  with  famous  acts  to  fill ;      430 

Whose  living  praises  in  heroick  style. 

It  is  my  chiefe  profession  to  compyle ; 

They,  all  corrupted  through  the  rust  of  time 

That  doth  all  fairest  thinj^s  on  earth  deface, 

Or  through  nnnoble  sloth,  or  sinful!  crime,  435 

That  doth  degenerate  the  noble  race  ; 

Have  both  desire  of  worthie  deeds  forlorne. 

And  name  of  learning  utterly  doo  scorne. 

Ne  doo  they  care  to  have  the  auncestrie 

Of  tir  old  heroes  memorizde  anew  ;  440 

Ne  doo  they  care  that  late  post^ritie 

.Should  know  their  names,  or  speak  their  praises  dew. 

But  die  forgot  from  whence  at  first  they  sj)rong, 

As  they  iheniselvos  slialbe  forgot  ere  long. 

What  bootes  it  then  to  come  from  glorious  445 

Forefathers,  or  to  liave  been  nohlv  bredd  ? 

What  oddes  twixt  Iius  and  old  Inaclius, 

Twixt  best  and  worst,  when  both  alike  are  dedd  ; 

If  none  of  neitlier  mention  >liould  make, 

Nor  out  of  dust  their  memories  awake  ?  450 

Or  who  would  ever  care  to  doo  brave  deed. 

Or  strive  in  vertue  others  to  excell ; 

If  none  should  yeehl  him  his  deserved  meed, 

Due  praise,  that  is  the  spur  of  dooing  well .' 

For  if  good  were  not  [)raised  more  than  ill,  455 

None  would  choose  goodnesof  his  owne  freewill. 


'J'herefore  the  nurse  of  Vertue  I  am  hight, 

And  golden  troinjjet  of  Hternitie, 

That  lowlv  tiioiiglits  lift  up  to  heavens  hight. 

And  mortal!  men  have  jiowre  to  deifie  :  460 

Bacchus  and  Hercules  I  raisd  to  heaven, 

And  Charlemaine  amongst  the  starris  seaven. 

But  now  I  will  my  golden  clarion  rend, 

And  will  henceforth  immortalize  no  more  ; 

Sith  I  no  more  find  worthie  to  commend  465 

For  prize  of  value,  or  for  learned  lore  : 

For  noble  peeres,  whom  I  was  wont  to  raise. 

Now  onely  seeke  for  pleasure,  nought  for  praise. 

Their  great  revenues  all  in  sumptuous  pride 
I'hey  spend,  that  nought  to  learning  they  may  spare  ; 
And  the  rich  fee,  which  poets  wont  divide,  471 

Now  parasites  and  sycojihants  doo  share  : 
Therefore  I  niourne  and  endlesse  sorrow  make. 
Both  for  my  selfe  and  for  my  sisters  sake. — 

With  that  she  lowdly  gan  to  waile  and  shrike,      475 

And  from  her  eyes  a  sea  of  teares  did  powre  ; 

And  all  her  sisters,  with  compassion  like, 

Did  more  increase  the  shaipnes  of  her  showre. 

So  ended  she  :   and  then  the  next  in  rew 

Began  her  plaint,  as  doth  herein  ensew.  480 

URANIA. 

What  wrath  of  aods,  or  wicked  influence 

Of  starres  conspiring  wretched  men  t'  afilict. 

Hath  powrd  on  earth  this  noyous  pestilence, 

That  mortall  mindes  dotli  inwardly  infect 

With  love  of  blindnesse  and  of  ignorance,  485 

To  dwell  in  darknesse  without  sovenance  ? 

W'hat  difference  twixt  man  and  beast  is  left, 

When  tir  heavenlie  light  of  knowledge  is  put  out. 

And  th'  ornaments  of  wisdome  are  bereft  "i 

Then  vvandreth  he  in  error  and  in  doubt,  49C 

Unweeling  of  the  danger  hee  is  in. 

Through  fleshes  frailtie,  and  deceipt  of  sin. 

In  this  wide  world  in  which  they  wretches  stray. 

It  is  the  onelie  comfort  wh.ich  they  have. 

It  is  tlieir  light,  their  loadstarre,  and  their  day  ;    495 

But  hell,  and  darknesse,  and  the  grislie  grave. 

Is  Ignorance,  the  enemy  of  Grace, 

That  mindes  of  men  borne  heavenlie  doth  debace. 

'I'hrough  knowledge  we  behould  the  worlds  creation, 

How  in  his  cradle  first  he  fostred  was  ;  500 

And  iudge  of  Natures  cunning  operation, 

How  things  she  formed  of  a  formlesse  mas: 

By  knowledge  wee  do  learne  our  selves  to  knowe, 

And  what  to  man,  and  what  to  God,  wee  owe. 

From  hence  wee  mount  aloft  unto  the  skie,  505 

And  hioke  into  the  ihrislall  firmament  ; 

There  we  behf)ld  the  heavens  great  hierarchie. 

The  starres  pure  light,  the  spheres  swift  movement, 

The  spirites  and  intelligences  fayre. 

And  angels  waighting  on  th'  Almighties  chayre.510 

And  there,  with  htimhle  minde  and  high  insight, 

Tir  IJernall  lAlakers  rnaii  stie  wee  viewe. 

His  love,  his  truth,  his  ^lorie,  and  his  might. 

And  mercie  more  then  mortall  men  can  vew. 

O  soveraigne  Lord,  O  sove'raigne  hap])inesse,     515 

To  see  thee,  and  thy  mercie  measurelesse  ! 


THK  TEAUKS  or  TIIK   Ml'SKS. 


Such  Iiappines  have  they,  that  do  embrace 

The  precepts  of  my  heavenlie  discipline  ; 

But  shame  and  sorrow  and  accursed  case 

Have  they,  that  seorne  the  sch^'OK-  of  arts  divine, 

And  banish  me,  which  do  piofesse  the  slcill  5'il 

To  make  men  heavenly  wise  through  humbled  will. 

However  yet  they  mee  despise  and  spight, 
1  feede  on  sweet  contentment  of  mv  thought, 
And  please  my  selfe  with  mine  owne  selt'e  delight, 
In  contemplation  of  things  heavenlie  wrought-   D'26 
So,  loathina;  earth,  I  looke  up  to  the  sky 
And,  being-  driven  hence,  1  thether  fly. 

Thence  I  behold  the  miserie  of  men,  [breed, 

Which   want  the  bliss   that  wisedom   would  tliem 
And  lilce  brute  beasts  doo  lie  in  loathsome  den    5ol 
Of  ghostly  darkues,  and  of  ghastlie  dreed  : 
For  whom  I  mourne,  and  for  ray  ffelfe  complaine. 
And  for  my  sisters  eake  whom  they  disdaine. — 

With  that  shee  wept  and  waild  so  pityouslie,      535 

As  if  her  eyes  had  beene  two  springing  wells; 

And  all  ihe  rest,  her  soirow  to  .supplie. 

Did  throw  forth  shriekes  and  cries  and  dreery  yells. 

So  ended  shee:  and  then  the  next  in  rew 

Began  her  mournfull  plaint,  as  doth  ensew.         540 

rOLVHYMNtA. 

A  DOLEFULL  case  desires  a  dolefull  song, 

Without  vaine  art  oi  curious  complements; 

And  squallid  Fortune,  into  basenes  flong. 

Doth  seorne  the  pride  of  wonted  ornaments. 

Then  fittest  are  tliese  ragged  rimes  for  mee,         545 

To  tell  my  sorrowes  that  exceeding  bee. 

For  the  sweet  numbers  and  melodious  measures, 
Witli  which  1  wont  the  winged  words  to  tie, 
And  make  a  tuneful!  diapase  of  pleasures. 
Now  being  let  to  runne  ut  libenie  550 

By  those  which  have  no  skill  to  rule  tht^m  right. 
Have  now  quite  lost  their  naturall  delight. 

Heapes  of  huge  words  uphoorded  hideously'. 
With  horrid  sound  though  iiaving  little  sence. 
They  thinke  to  be  chiete  praise  of  poetry ;  555 

And,  thereby  wanting  due  intelligence, 
Have  mard  tlie  lace  of  goodiy  poesie, 
And  made  a  monster  oi  tlieir  lautasie. 


457 


560 


W  liilom  Ml  ages  past  none  might  professe 
But  princes  and  liigh  priests  that  secret  skill  ; 
The  sacred  lavves  therein  they  wont  expresse, 
Ai>'j  with  dee])e  oracles  their  verses  fill  : 
I  hen  was  shee  hela  in  soveraigne  digniiie, 
And  made  the  noursling  of  nobilitie. 


But  now  nor  prince  nor  priest  doth  her  maintavne. 

But  suffer  her  proplianed  for  to  bee  566 

Of  the  base  vulgar,  that  with  liands  uncleane 

Dares  to  pollute  her  hidden  mysterie  ; 

And  treadeth  underfoote  hir  holie  things. 

Which  vi-as  the  care  of  Kesars  and  of  kings.         570 

One  onelie  lives,  her  ages  ornament. 

And  myrrour  of  her  Makers  maiestie, 

That  with  rich  bountie,  and  deare  cherishment. 

Supports  the  praise  of  noble  poesie  ; 

Ne  onelie  favours  them  which  it  professe,  375 

But  is  her  selfe  a  peereles  poetesse. 

Most  peereles  prince,  most  peereles  poetesse. 

The  true  Pandora  of  all  heavenly  graces. 

Divine  Elisa,  sacred  emperesse! 

Live  she  for  ever,  and  her  royall  p'laces  38C 

I'e  fild  with  praises  of  divinest  wits. 

That  her  eternize  with  their  heavenlie  writs  ! 

Some  few  beside  this  sacred  skill  esteme. 

Admirers  of  her  glorious  excellence; 

Which,  being  lightned  with  her  beawties  heme,  585 

Are   thereby  fild  with  hapjiie  influence, 

And  lifted  up  above  the  worldL's  gaze, 

To  sing  with  angels  her  immortall  praize. 

But  all  the  rest,  as  borne  of  salvage  brood, 

And  having  beene  wi;h  acorns  alwaies  fed,  590 

Can  no  whit  savour  this  celestiall  food, 

But  with  base  thoughts  are  into  blindiiesse  led. 

And  kept  from  looking  on  the  lightsome  nay  : 

For  whome  I  waile  and  weepe  all  that  I  may. — 

Eftsoones  such  store  of  teares  shee  forth  did  powre. 
As  if  shee  all  to  water  would  have  gone  ;  596 

And  all  her  sisters,  seeing  her  sad  stowre, 
Did  weep  and  waile,  and  made  exceeding  mone, 
And  all  their  learned  instruments  did  breake  : 
1    'i  lie  rest  untold  no  livii)g  tfugue  can  speake.      (500 


HE 


RUINES    OF  EOME. 


BY  BELLAY.  1591. 


Ye  beavenly  spirites,  whose  ashie  cinders  lie 
Under  deep  ruines,  with  Luge  walls  opprest. 
But  not  your  praise,  the  which  shall  never  die 
Through  your  faire  verses,  ne  in  ashes  rest; 
If  so  be  shrilling  voyce  of  wight  alive 
]May  reach  from  hence  to  depth  of  darkest  bell, 
Then  let  those  deep  abysses  open  rive, 
That  ye  may  understand  my  shrieking  yell ! 
Thrice  having  seene  under  the  heavens  veale 
Your  toombs  devoted  compasse  over  all, 
Thrice  unto  you  with  lowd  voyce  I  appeale, 
And  for  your  antique  furie  here  doo  call. 
The  whiles  that  I  witli  sacred  horror  sing 
Your  glorie,  fairest  of  all  earthly  thing  ! 


Great  Babjlon  her  haughtie  walls  will  praise, 
And  sharped  steeples  high  shot  up  in  ayre  ; 
Greece  will  the  olde  Ephesian  buildings  blaze ; 
And  Nylus  nurslings  their  pyitj^uides  faire; 
Tlie  same  \-et  vaunting  Greece  will  tell  the  storie 
Of  loves  great  image  in  Olympus  placed  ; 
Wansolus  worke  will  be  the  Carians  glorie  ; 
And  Crete  will  boast  the  labyrinth,  now  raced  ; 
The  antique  Rhodian  will  likewise  set  forth 
The  great  Colosse,  erect  to  memorie  ; 
And  what  els  in  tlie  world  is  of  like  worth, 
Some  greater  learned  wit  will  magnifie. 

But  I  will  sing  above  all  moniments 

Seven  Roman  hills,  the  worlds  seven  wonderments. 


Thou  stranger,  which  for  Rome  in  Rome  here  seekest, 
And  nought  of  Rome  in  Rome  perceivst  at  all. 
These  sanieolde  walls,  olde  arches,  which  thou  seest, 
Olde  palaces,  ;s  tiiat  which  tlome  men  call, 
Beholde  what  wreaks,  what  mine,  and  what  wast. 
And  how  that  she,  which  with  her  mighiie  powre 
Tain'd  all  the  world,  hath  tam'd  herselfe  at  last; 
The  ])ray  of  Time,  which  all  things  doth  devowre  ! 
Itdine  now  of  I{oine  is  tli'  oiiely  funerall. 
And  oiiely  Rome  of  Rome  liiitli  victorie  ; 
Ne  ought  save  Tyber  hastning  to  bis  fall 
Heinaines  of  all :   O  worlds  inconstancie  ! 
That  whidi  is  firme  doth  flit  and  fall  away. 
And  that  is  flitting  doth  abide  and  stay. 


She,  whose  high  top  above  the  starres  did  sore, 
One  foote  on  Thetis,  th' other  on  the  morning, 
One  hand  oa  Scythia,  th' other  on  the  More, 
l)0th  heaven  and  earu.  in  roundnesse  compassing; 


love  fearing,  leest  if  she  should  greater  growe. 
The  giants  old  siiouia  once  againe  uprise,        [nowe 
Her  whelm'd  with  hills,  these  seven    hils  wliich  be 
Tombes  of  her  greatnes  which  did  threate  the  skies: 
Upon  her  head  be  heapt  Mount  Saturnai, 
Upon  her  bellie  th' antique  Palatine, 
Upon  her  storaacke  laid  INIount  Quirinal, 
On  her  left  hand  the  noysome  Esquiline, 

And  Ca.'lian  on  the  right;  but  both  her  feete 
Mount  Viminal  and  Aventine  doo  meete. 


Who  list5  to  see,  what  ever  nature,  arte. 
And  heaven,  could  doo  ;  O  Rome,  thee  let  him  see. 
In  case  thy  greatnes  he  can  gesse  in  harte. 
By  that  which  but  the  picture  is  of  thee  ! 
Rome  is  no  more  :  but,  if  the  sliade  of  Rome 
May  of  the  bodie  yeeld  a  seeming  sight. 
It's  like  a  corse  dravvne  forth  out  of  the  tombe 
By  magicke  skill  out  of  eternall  night : 
The  corpes  of  Rome  in  ashes  is  entombed. 
And  her  great  sjjirite,  reioyned  to  the  spirite 
Of  this  great  masse,  is  in  the  same  enwombed  ; 
But  her  brave  writings,  which  her  famous  merite 
In  spight  of  time  out  of  the  dust  doth  reare, 
Doo  make  her  idole  through  the  world  appears. 

VI. 

Such  as  the  Berecyntbian  goddesse  bright. 
In  her  swifte  charret  with  higli  turrets  crownde. 
Proud  that  so  manie  gods  she  brought  to  light; 
Such  was  this  citie  in  her  good  daies  fownd  : 
'I'his  citie,  more  than  that  great  Phrygian  mother 
Renowm'd  for  fruite  of  famous  progenie. 
Whose  greatnes  by  the  greatnes  of  none  otlier. 
But  by  her  selfe,  her  ecjuall  match  coulil  see : 
Rome  onely  might  to  Rome  compared  bee, 
And  onely  Rome  could  make  great  Rome  to  tremble 
So  did  the  gods  by  lieavenly  doome  decree, 
That  other  eartbiie  power  should  not  resemble 
Her  that  did  match  the  whole  earths  puissaunce, 
And  did  her  courage  to  the  iieavens  advaunce 

VII. 

Ye  sacred  ruines,  and  ye  tiagick  sights, 

Which  onely  doo  the  name  of  Rome  retaine, 

Olde  moniments,  which  of  so  famous  sprights 

The  honour  yet  in  ashes  doo  maintaine; 

Triumphant  arcks,  S[)vres,  neighbours  to  the  skie, 

That  you  to  see  doth  th' heaven  it  selfe  appall ; 

Alas,  by  little  ye  to  nothing  flie. 

The  peoi)les  fable,  and  the  spoyle  of  all! 

And  though  your  frames  do  for  a  time  make  warre 

Gainst  Time,  yet  Time  in  time  shall  luinate 

Your  w  f)rkes  and  names,  and  your  last  relKpies  marre 

My  sad  desires,  rest  therefore  moderate  ! 

For  if  that  time  make  ende  of  things  so  sure. 
It  ala  will  end  the  paine  which  1  endure. 


lU'INKS  OF  no. ME. 


459 


Tbroufi;h  armes  and  vassals  Rome  the  w  oil  J  subdu'd, 
That  one  would  weene  that  one  sole  cities  strength, 
Both  land  and  sea  in  ronndnes  liad  survew'd, 
To  bo  the  measure  of  her  bredth  and  length  : 
Tliis  peoples  vertue  yet  so  fruitf'ull  was 
Of  vertuous  nephewes,  that  jjosteritie, 
Striving  in  power  their  grandfathers  to  passe, 
The  lowest  earth  ioined  to  the  heaven  hie; 
To  th'  end  that,  having  all  parts  in  their  power. 
Nought  from  the  Romane  Empire  might  be  quight ; 
And  that  though  time  doth  common  wealths  devowre. 
Yet  no  time  should  so  low  embase  their  higlit, 
'J'hat  her  head  earth'd  in  lier  foundations  deep 
Should  not  her  name  and  endles  honour  keep. 


Ye  cruell  siarres,  and  eke  ye  gods  unkinde, 

Heaven  envious,  and  bitter  stepdame  Nature  ! 

&b  it  by  fortune,  or  by  course  of  kinde, 

That  ye  doo  wield  th'  affaires  of  earthlie  creature , 

Why  have  your  hands  long  sithence  travelled 

To  frame  this  world,  that  doth  endure  so  long  ? 

Or  why  were  not  these  Romane  palaces 

I^fadH  '..fsome  matter  no  lesse  firme  and  strong  1 

1  s;iv  i;.)t,  as  the  common  vovce  doth  say. 

That  all  things  which  beneath  the  nioone  have  beinc 

Are  temporall,  and  subiect  to  decay  : 

But  I  say  rather,  though  not  all  agreeing 

With  some  tliat  weene  the  contrarie  in  thought. 
That  all  this  whole  sliall  one  day  come  to  nought. 


As  that  brave  sonne  of  Aeson,  which  by  charmes 
Atchiev'd  the  golden  fleece  in  Colchid  land. 
Out  of  t!ie  earth  engendred  men  of  armes 
Of  dragons  teeth,  sowne  in  the  sacred  sand  ; 
So  this  brave  towne  that  in  youthlie  daies 
An  hydra  was  of  warriours  glorious. 
Did  fill  with  her  renowmed  nurselings  praise 
'J'he  firie  sunnes  both  one  and  other  huus  : 
But  they  at  last,  their  being  then  not  living 
An  Hercules  so  ranke  seed  to  represse, 
Emongst  themselves   with  cruell  furie  striving, 
Mow'd  downetliemselves  with  slaughtermercilesse  ; 
Renewing  in  themselves  that  rage  unkinde. 
Which  whilom  did  those  earthborn  brethren  blinde. 


JMars,  shaming  to  have  given  so  great  head 

'I'o  his  off-spring,  that  mortall  puissaunce, 

Puft  up  with  pride  of  Romane  hardie-head. 

Seemed  above  Heavens  powre  it  selfe  to  advaunce  ; 

Cooling  againe  his  former  kindled  heate. 

With  which  he  had  those  Romane  spirits  fild, 

Did  blowe  new  fire,  and  with  enflamed  breath, 

Into  the  Gothicke  colde,  hot  rage  instil'd  : 

Then  gan  that  nation,  th'  earths  new  giant  brood, 

'i'o  d.irt  abroad  the  thunderbolts  of  warre, 

And,  beating  downe  these  walls  with  furious  mood 

Ato  her  mothers  bosome,  all  did  marre  ; 

I'o  tir  end  that  none,  all  were  it  love  his  siro, 
Sliould  boast  himselfe  of  the  Romane  Empire 


Like  as  whilome  the  children  of  the  earth 
Heapt  hills  on  hills  to  scale  the  starrie  skie. 
And  fight  against  the  gods  of  heavenly  berths 
Whiles  love  at  them  his  thunderbolts  let  flie  , 


All  suddenly  with  lightning  overthrowne. 
The  furious  squadrons  down(!  to  ground  did  fall. 
That  th'  earth  under  her  childrens  weight  did  grone, 
And  th'  lieavens  in  glorie  triumpht  over  all : 
So  did  that  haughtie  front,  which  heaped  was 
On  these  seven  Romane  hits  it  selfe  upreare 
Over  the  world,  and  lift  her  loftie  face 
Against  the  heaven,  that  gan  her  force  to  feare. 
Hut  now  these  scorned  fields  bemone  her  fall. 
And  o'ods  secure  feare  not  her  force  at  all. 


Nor  the  swift  furie  of  the  flames  aspiring, 
Nor  the  deep  wounds  of  victours  raging  blade, 
Nor  ruthlesse  spoyle  of  souldiers  blood  desiring. 
The  which  so  oft  thee,  Rome,  their  concjuest  made  ; 
Ne  stroke  on  stroke  of  fortune  variable, 
Ne  rust  of  age  liating  coiitinuaunce. 
Nor  wrath  of  gods,  nor  spight  of  men  unstable. 
Nor  thou  oppos'd  against  thine  owne  puissance  ; 
Nor  th'  horrible  uprore  of  windes  high  blowing. 
Nor  swelling  streames  of  tliat  god  snakie-paced. 
Which  hath  so  often  with  his  overflowing 
I'hee  drenched,  have  thy  pride  so  much  abaced  ; 
But  that  this  nothing,  winch  they  have  thee  left. 
Makes  the  world  wonder  what  they  from  thee  reft. 


As  men  in  summer  fearles  passe  the  foord. 

Which  is  in  winter  lord  of  all  the  plaine, 

And  with  his  tumbling  streames  doth  beare  aboord 

The  ])loughmans  hope  and  she[)heards  labour  vaine  : 

And  as  the  coward  beasts  use  to  despise 

The  noble  lion  alter  his  lives  end, 

\\  betting  their  teeth,  and  with  vaine  foolhardise 

Daring  the  foe  that  cannot  him  defend  : 

And  as  at  1  roy  most  dastards  of  the  Greekes 

Did  brave  about  the  corpes  of  Hector  colde  : 

So  those,  which  whilome  wont  with  palid  cheekes 

i'he  Romane  triumphs  glorie  to  beliold, 

Now  on  these  ashie  toinbesshew  boldnesse  vaine^ 
And,  conquer'd,  dare  the  conquerour  disdaine. 


Ye  pallid  spirits,  and  ye  ashie  ghoasts, 
Which,  ioying  in  the  brightnes  of  your  day. 
Brought  foorth  these  signes  of  your  presumptuous 
Which  now  their  dusty  reliques  do  bewray  ;  [boasts 
Tell  me,  ye  spirits  !   (sith  the  darksome  river 
Of  Styx,  not  passable  to  soules  returning. 
Enclosing  you  in  thrice  three  wards  for  ever, 
Doo  not  restrains  your  images  still  mourning,) 
Tell  me  then,  (for  perhaps  some  one  of  you 
Yet  here  above  him  secretly  doth  hide,) 
Doo  ye  not  feele  your  torments  to  accrewe, 
When  ye  sometimes  behold  the  ruin'd  pride 

Of  tliese  old  Romane  works,  built  with  your  hands, 
Now  to  become  nought  els  but  heaped  sands  ' 


Like  as  ye  see  the  wrathfull  sea  from  farre 
In  a  great  mountaine  heajj't  with  hedeous  noyse, 
Eftsoones  of  thousand  billowes  shouldred  narre, 
Against  a  rocke  to  breake  with  dreadfuU  poyse  : 
Like  as  ye  see  fell  Boreas  with  sharpe  blast 
'J'ossing  huge  tempests  through  the  troubled  skie 
Eftsoones  having  his  wide  wings  spent  iii  wast. 
To  stop  his  wearie  c^riere  suddenly  : 


460 


I  UK    Itl  l.\i:.S  OK  ROME. 


And  us  ye  see  huge  flames  s;]iie(l  diverslie, 
Gathered  in  one  up  to  tlie  heavens  to  Sjivre, 
F.ftsoones  consum'd  to  tall  downe  feebily  : 
So  whilom  did  tliis  monarcliie  aspyre 

As  waves,  as  winde,  iis  fire,  sjjred  over  all, 
Till  it  bv  t'alall  doome  adowne  did  fall. 


So  long  as  loves  great  bird  did  make  his  flight, 
liearing  the  fire  with  which  heaven  doth  us  fray, 
Heaven  had  not  feare  of  that  presumptuous  might, 
With  which  the  giaunts  did  the  gods  assay  : 
But  all  so  soone,  as  scortching  sunne  had  brent 
His  wings  which  wont  the  earth  to  overspiedd, 
'I'he  earth  out  of  her  massie  vv'ombe  forth  sent 
'Ihat  antique  horror,  which  made  heaven  adredd. 
Then  was  the  Germane  raven  in  disguise 
'J'hat  Romane  eagle  seene  to  cleave  asunder, 
And  towards  heaven  freshly  to  arise 
Out  of  these  mountaines,  now  consum'd  to  ponder  ; 
lu  which  the  foule,  that  serves  to  beare  the  light- 
Is  now  no  more  seen  flying,  nor  alighting,   [ning. 


These  heapes  of  stones,  these  old  wals,  which  ye  see, 
Were  first  enclosures  but  of  salvage  soyle  ; 
And  these  brave  palluces,  which  maystred  bee 
Of  time,  were  shepheards  cottages  somewhile. 
Then  tooke  the  shepheards  kingly  ornaments. 
And  the  stout  hynde  arm'd  his  right  hand  with  Steele  : 
Eftsoones  their  rule  of  yearely  presidents 
Grew  great,  and  sixe  montlis  greater  a  great  deele  ; 
^Vhich,  made  perpetuall,  rose  to  so  great  might, 
I'hat  thence  th'  imperlall  eagle  rooting  tooke, 
Till  th'  heaven  it  selfe,  opposing  gainst  her  might, 
Her  power  to  I'etors  successor  brtooke  ; 

Who,  shepheardlike,(  as  fates  the  same  foreseeing,) 
Doth  show  that  all  tilings  turne  to  their  first  being. 


All  that  is  perfect,  which  th'  heaven  beaufefies  ; 
All  that's  imperfect,  borne  belowe  the  moone  ; 
All  tliat  doth  feede  our  spirits  and  our  eies  ; 
And  all  that  doth  consume  our  pleasures  soone; 
All  the  mishap,  the  which  our  dales  outweares, 
All  the  good  hap  of  th'  oldest  times  afore  ; 
Rome,  in  the  time  of  her  great  ancesters, 
Like  a  Pandora,  locked  long  in  store. 
But  Destinie  this  huge  chaos  turmoyling. 
In  which  all  good  and  evill  was  enclosed, 
Their  heavenly  vertues  from  these  woes  assoyling, 
Caried  to  heaven,  from  sinfull  bondage  losed  : 
But  their  great  sinnes,  the  causers  of  their  paine. 
Under  these  antitjue  ruines  yet  remaine. 


No  otherwise  than  Ravnie  (,'loud,  first  fed 
With  earthly  va])ours  gathered  m  the  ayre, 
Kftsoones  in  Com])as  arch't  to  steepe  his  bed. 
Doth  plonge  himselfe  in  Tethys  bosome  faire  ; 
And,  mounting  u[)  againc  from  wlience  lie  came, 
\Vith  his  great  bellie  spreds  tliedininied  world, 
'Jill  at  the  last,  dissolving  his  moist  frame. 
In  raine,  or  siiowe,  or  haile,  he  forth  is  liorld  ; 
This  citie,  which  was  first  but  shepheards  shade, 
U|irising  by  degrees,  grewe  to  suih  llel^ht, 
'J'hat  ([ueene  of  land  and  sea  her  selfe  she  made. 
At  last,  not  able  to  beare  so  great  weight,       [vade  ; 
Her  power,  disperst,  through   all  the  world    did 
'I'o  shew  that  all  in  th'  end  to  nought  shall  fade. 


The  same,  which  Pyrrbus  and  the  puissaunce 
Of  Afrike  could  not  tame,  that  same  brave  citie, 
Which,  with  stout  courage  arm'd  against  mischaunce, 
Sustein'd  the  shocke  of  common  enmitie  , 
Long  as  her  ship,  tost  with  so  mania  freakes. 
Had  all  the  world  in  armes  against  ner  Dent, 
Was  never  seene,  that  anie  fortunes  wreakes 
Could  breake  her  course  begun  with  brave  intent. 
But,  when  the  obiect  of  her  vertue  failed. 
Her  power  it  selfe  against  it  selfe  did  arms  ; 
As  he  that  having  long  in  tenijiest  sailed, 
Faine  would  arive,  but  cannot  for  the  storme, 
If  too  great  winde  against  the  ])ort  him  dnve. 
Doth  in  the  port  it  selfe  his  vessell  rive. 


When  that  brave  honour  of  the  Latine  name, 
Which  mear'd  her  rule  with  Africa,  and  Byze, 
With  Thames  inhabitants  of  noble  fame, 
And  they  wliich  see  the  dawning  day  arize  ; 
Her  nourslings  did  with  mutinous  uprore 
Harten  against  her  selfe,  her  conquer'd  spoile. 
Which  she  had  wonne  from  all  the  world  afore, 
Of  all  the  world  was  s|)oyrd  within  a  while  : 
So,  when  the  compast  course  of  the  universe 
In  sixe  and  thirtie  thousand  yeares  is  ronne, 
The  bands  of  th'  elements  shall  backe  reverse 
To  their  first  discord,  and  be  quite  undonne  : 

The  seedes,  of  which  all  things  at  first  were  bred. 
Shall  in  ";reat  Chaos  womhe  againe  be  hid. 


O  wnrie  wisedome  of  the  man,  that  would 
That  Carthage  towres  from  spoile  should  be  forborne, 
To  lb'  end  that  his  victorious  people  should 
With  cancring  laisure  not  be  overworne  ! 
He  well  foresawe,  how  that  the  Romane  courage, 
Impatient  of  pleasures  faint  desires, 
Through  idlenes  would  turne  to  civill  rage. 
And  he  her  selfe  the  matter  of  her  fires. 
For,  in  a  people  given  all  to  ease. 
Ambition  is  engendred  easilv  ; 
As  in  a  vicious  bodie  grose  disease 
Soone  growes  through  humours  superfluitie.   fp'^id 
That  came  to  passe,  when,  swolne  with  plenties 
Nor  prince,  nor  peere,  nor  kin,  they  would  abide. 

XXIV. 

If  tlie  blinde  furie,  wliich  warres  breedeth  oft. 
Wonts  not  t'  enrage  the  hearts  of  equal  beasts, 
Whether  they  fare   on  foote,  or  flie  aloft. 
Or  armed  be  with  clawes,  or  scalie  creasts ; 
What  fell  Krviinis,  with  hot  burning  tODgS, 
L>id  grype  your  hearts  with  noysome  rage  imbew'd. 
That,  each  to  other  working  cruell  wrongs, 
\'ourhhides  in  your  owne  bowels  you  embrew'd  ? 
Was  this  (ye  Romanes)  your  hard  destinie? 
Or  some  old  sinne,  whose  una])peased  guilt 
Powr'd  vengeance  forth  on  you  eternallie? 
Or  brothers  blood,  tiie  which  at  first  was  spilt 
lljion  your  walls,  that  God  might  not  endure 
Ui)on  the  same  to  set  foundation  sure  1 


O  that  I  had  the  Thracian  poets  harpe, 
For  to  awake  out  of  th'  infernall  shade 
Those  antiijue  Cffsars,  sleeping  long  in  darke 
The  which  this  auncient  citie  whilome  made' 


THE  RUINES  OF  ROME. 


461 


Or  that  I  had  Amphions  instrument. 
To  quicken,  with  his  vitall  notes  accord, 
The  stonie  iovnts  of  these  old  walls  now  rent, 
Bv  which  th'  Ausoni-.m  light  mV'it  he  restor'd  ! 
Or  that  at  least  I  could,  with  poi  cill  fine, 
Fashion  the  pourtraicts  of  these  palaeis, 
By  paterne  of  great  Virgils  spirit  divine  ! 
I  would  assay  with  that  which  in  me  is. 
To  builde,  with  level!  of  my  loftie  style. 
That  which  no  hands  can  ever  more  oompyle. 


Who  list  the  Romane  greatnes  forth  to  figure, 
Him  needeth  not  to  seeke  for  usage  right 
Of  line,  or  lead,  or  rule,  or  squaire,  to  measure 
Her  length,  her  breadth,  lier  deepnes,  or  her  hight ; 
But  him  behoves  to  vew  in  compasse  round 
All  that  the  Ocean  graspes  in  his  long  armes  ; 
Beit  where  theyerely  starre  doth  scortch  the  ground, 
Or  where  colde  Boreas  blowes  his  bitter  stormes. 
Rome  was  th'  whole  world ,  and  al  the  world  was  Rome  ; 
And  if  things  nam'd  their  names  doo  equalize, 
When  land  and  sea  ye  name,  then  name  ye  Rome  ; 
And,  naming  Rome,  ye  land  and  sea  comprize  : 
For  th'  auncient  plot  of  Rome,  displayed  plaine, 
The  map  of  all  the  wide  world  doth  containe. 


Thou  that  at  Rome  astonisht  dost  behold 
The  antique  pride  which  menaced  the  skie, 
These  haughtie  heapes,  these  palaces  of  olde. 
These  wals,  these  arcks,  these  baths,  these  temples  hie ; 
ludge,  by  these  ample  mines  vew,  the  rest 
The  which  iniurious  time  hath  quite  outworne, 
Since  of  all  workmen  helde  in  reckning  best; 
Yet  these  olde  fragments  are  for  paternes  borne  : 
Then  also  marke,  how  Rome,  from  day  to  day, 
Repayring  her  decayed  fashion, 
Renevves  herselfe  with  buildings  rich  and  gay  ; 
That  one  would  iudge,  that  the  Romaine  dremon 
Doth  yet  himselfe  with  fatall  h;ind  enforce, 
Againe  on  foote  to  reare  her  pouldre.l  corse. 

XXVIII. 

He  that  hath  seene  a  great  oke  drie  and  dead, 
Yet  clad  with  reliques  of  some  fr(ji)hees  olde. 
Lifting  to  heaven  her  aged  horie  head, 
Whose  foote  in  ground  hath  left  but  feeble  holde, 
But  halfe  disbowel'd  lies  above  the  ground. 
Shewing  her  wreathed  rootes  and  nuked  armes, 
And  on  her  trunke  all  rotten  and  unsound 
Onely  supjioits  herselfe  for  meate  of  wormes  ; 
And,  though  she  owe  her  fall  to  the  first  winde. 
Yet  of  the  devout  people  is  adord. 
And  manie  yong  plants  s])ring  out  of  her  rinde; 
Who  such  an  oke  hath  .seene  let  him  record 
That  such  this  cities  honour  was  of  yore. 
And  mongst  all  cities  florished  much  more. 


All  that  which  Aegypt  whilome  did  devise  ; 

All  that  which  Greece  their  temples  to  embrave. 

After  th'  lonike,  Atticke,  Doricke  gnkn ; 

Or  Corinth  skil'd  in  curious  workes  to  grave ; 

All  that  Lysippus  practike  arte  could  forme ;  ' 

A;)elles  wit;  or  Phidias  his  skill ; 

V\  as  wont  this  auncient  citie  to  adorne, 

.\nd  the  heaven  it  selfe  with  her  wide  wonders  fill. 


All  that  which  Athens  ever  brought  forth  wise  ; 
All  that  which  Afrike  ever  brought  forth  strange; 
All  that  which  Asia  ever  had  of  prise  ; 
Was  here  to  see.     O  mervelous  great  change  ! 

Rome,  living,  was  tlie  worlds  sole  ornament; 

And,  dead,  is  now  the  worlds  sole  moniment. 


Like  as  the  seeded  field  greene  grasse  first  showes. 
Then  from  greene  grasse  into  a  stalke  doth  spring, 
And  from  a  stalke  into  an  eare  forth-growi's. 
Which  eare  the  fruitfull  graine  doth  shortly  bring  ; 
And  as  in  season  due  the  husband  mowes 
The  waving  lockes  of  those  faire  ycallow  heares. 
Which  bound  in  sheaves,  and  layd  in  comely  rowe3 
Upon  the  naked  fields  in  stalkes  he  reares* 
So  grew  the  Romane  empire  by  degree. 
Till  that  barbarian  hands  it  quite  did  spill. 
And  left  of  it  but  these  olde  markes  to  see, 
Of  which  all  pa-ssers  by  doo  somewhat  pill  : 

As  they,  which  gleane  the  reliques  use  to  gather. 
Which'  th'    husbandman   behind    him    chanst  tc 
scatter. 

XXXI. 

That  same  is  now  nought  but  a  champian  wide. 
Where  all  this  worlds  pride  once  was  situate. 
No  blame  to  thee,  whosoever  dost  abide 
By  Nvle,  or  Gange,  or  Tygre,  or  Euphrate  ; 
Ne  Afrike  thereof  guiltie  is,  nor  Spaine, 
Nor  the  bolde  people  by  the  Thamis  brincks, 
N'or  the  brave  warlicke  brood  of  Alemaine, 
Nor  the  borne  soldier  which  Rhine  running  drinks 
Thou  onely  cause,  0  Civill  Furie,  art! 
Which,  sowing  in  th'  Aemathian  fields  thy  spight. 
Didst  arme  thy  hand  against  thy  proper  hart ; 
To  th'  end  that  when  thou  wast  in  greatest  hight 
To  greatnes  growne,  through  long  prosperitie. 
Thou  then  adowne  might'st  fall  more  horriblie. 

xxxn. 

Hope  ye,  my  verses,  that  posteritie 
Of  age  ensuing  shall  you  ever  read  ? 
Hope  ye,  that  ever  immortalitie 
So  meane  harpes  worke  may  chalenge  for  her  meed  ? 
If  under  heaven  anie  endurance  were. 
These  moniments,  which  not  in  paper  writ, 
Btit  in  ])orphyre  and  marble  doo  appeare. 
Might  well  have  hop'd  to  have  obtained  it. 
Nath'les  my  lute,  whom  Phoebus  deignd  to  give. 
Cease  not  to  sound  these  olde  antiquities  : 
For  if  that  time  doo  let  thy  glorie  live, 
Well  maist  thou  boast,  how  ever  base  thou  bee. 
That  thou  art  first,  which  of  thy  nation  song 
Th'  olde  honour  of  the  people  gowned  long. 

L'E'U'oi/. 
Bellay,  first  garland  of  free  poesie  [wits 

That  France  brought  forth,  though  fruitfull  of  brave 
Well  worthie  thou  of  immortalitie, 
That  long  hast  traveld,  by  the  learned  writs, 
Olde  Rome  out  of  her  ashes  to  revive, 
And  give  a  second  life  to  dead  decayes  ! 
Needes  must  he  all  eternitie  survive. 
That  can  to  other  give  eternall  dayes: 
Thy  daves  therefore  are  endles,  and  thy  prayse 
Excelling  all,  that  ever  went  before. 
And,  after  thee,  gins  Bartas  hie  to  rayse 
His  heavenly  muse,  th'  Almightie  to  adore. 
Live,  happie  spirits,  th'  honour  of  your  nanit. 
And  fill  the  world  with  never  dying  fame  ! 


I  HE 

RUINES   OF   TIME. 

BY  ED.  SP. 

DEDICATED     TO     THE     RIGHT     NOBLE     AND     BEAUTIFULL    LAWSr 

THE  LA :  MARIE, 

COUNTESSE  OF  PEMBROOKE. 

1591. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  NOBLE  AND  BEAUTIFULL  LADIE, 

THE  LA:  MARIE, 

COUNTESSE    OF    PEMBROOKE. 

Most  honourable  and  bountifull  Ladie,  there  bee 
long  sithens  deepe  sowed  in  my  brest  tlie  seedes  of 
most  entire  love  and  humble  aftection  unto  that  most 
brave  knight,  your  noble  brother  deceased  ;  which, 
taking  roote,  began  in  his  life  time  somewhat  to  bud 
forth,  and  to  shew  themselves  to  him,  as  then  in  the 
weaknes  of  their  first  spring  ;  and  would  in  iheir 
riper  strength  (had  it  pleased  High  God  till  then  to 
drawe  out  his  daies)  spired  forth  fruit  of  more  per- 
fection. But  since  God  hath  disdeigned  the  world 
of  that  most  noble  sjiirit,  which  was  the  hope  of  all 
learned  men,  and  the  patron  of  my  young  muses  ; 
together  with  him  both  their  hope  of  anie  further 
fruit  was  cut  off,  and  also  the  tender  delight  of  those 
their  first  blossoms  nipped  and  quite  dead.  Yet, 
sithens  my  late  cumming  into  England,  some  frends 
of  mine,  (which  might  much  prevaile  with  me,  and 


indeede  coraraaund  me,)  knowing  withhowe  straight 
bandesof  duetie  I  was  tied  to  him,  as  also  bound 
unto  that  noble  house,  (of  which  the  cbiefe  hope 
then  rested  in  him,)  have  sought  to  revive  them  by 
upbraiding  me,  for  that  I  have  not  shewed  anie 
thankefull  remembrance  towards  him  or  anv  of  them  ; 
but  suffer  their  names  to  sleep  in  silence  ami  forget- 
fulnesse.  Whom,e  chieflie  tosatisfie,  or  els  to  avoide 
that  fowle  blot  of  unthankefulnesse,  I  have  conceived 
this  small  poeme,  intituled  by  a  generall  name  of  The 
Worlds  liuines  ;  yet  speciallie  intended  to  the  re- 
nowraing  of  that  nohle  race,  from  which  both  30U  and 
he  sprong,  and  to  the  eternizing  of  some  of  th« 
chiefe  of  them  late  deceased.  'I'he  which  I  deilicatt 
unto  your  La.  as  whome  it  most  specially  concenietli; 
and  to  whome  I  acknowledge  mv  selfe  boundcn  by 
many  singular  favours  and  great  graces.  I  ]>riiy  for 
your  honourable  happiuesse  :  and  so  humbly  kissi> 
your  hands. 

Your  ladiships  ever  humblie  at  commaund. 

K.  S. 


It  chaunced  me  on  day  beside  the  shore 

Of  silver-streaming  Tliamesis  to  bee, 

Nigh  where  tlie  gnodly  Verlame  stood  of  yore. 

Of  which  t'lec-  ;iow  remaines  no  memorie. 

Nor  anie  little  nioniment  to  see,  5 

By  which  the  travailer,  that  fares  that  way. 

This  onca  was  she,  may  warned  be  to  say. 

There,  on  the  (^thor  side,  I  did  behold 

A  woman  sitiin:-  sorrowltillie  wailing, 

Rending  her  \(llijw  locks,  like  wyrie  gold  10 

About  her  slioulders  careleslie  downe  trailing, 

And  streames  of  toares  from   hor   faire  eyes   forth 

In  lier  right  hand  a  broken  rod  s1ie  held,      [railing: 

Which  towards  heaven  slice  seemd  on  high  to  weld. 

Whether  she  were  one  of  that  rivers  nymplies,     15 

Which  did  the  losse  of  some  dere  love  lament, 

I  doubt ;  or  one  of  those  three  fatall  inipes, 

\\  ti'ch  draw  the  dayes  of  men  forth  in  extent; 

Or  ill'  auncient  genius  of  that  citie  brent  : 

But,  seeing  her  so  piteouslie  perplexed,  20 

I  /to  her  calling)  askt  what  her  so  vexed. 


"  Ah!  what  delight  (quoth  she)  in  earthlie  thing. 

Or  comfort  can  I,  wretched  creature,  have  1 

AVhose  happines  the  heavens  envying. 

From  highest  staire  to  lowest  step  me  drave,         '25 

And  have  in  mine  owne  bowels  made  mv  grave, 

That  of  all  nations  now  I  am  forlorne. 

The  worlds  sad  spectacle,  and  fortunes  scorne." 

Much  was  I  mooved  at  her  piteous  plaint, 

And  felt  my  heart  nigh  riven  in  ray  brest  SO 

With  tender  ruth  to  see  her  sore  constraint  ; 

1'hat,  shedding  teares  a  while,  I  still  did  rest. 

And,  alter,  did  her  name  of  her  ret]uest. 

"  Name  have  I  none  ((juoih  she)  nor  any  being. 

Bereft  of  both  by  fates  uniust  decreeing.  35 

"  I  was  that  citie,  which  the  garland  wore 

Of  IJritaines  pride,  delivered  unto  me 

By  liomane  victors,  which  it  wonne  of  yore; 

Though  nimght  at  all  but  ruincs  now  I  bee, 

And  lye  in  mine  owne  ashes,  as  you  see  :  40 

Verlame  1  was  ;  what  bootes  it  tiiat  I  was, 

8ith  novr  1  am  but  weedes  and  wastefull  grass  1 


THE   tJUlNLS  Of  Tiaib. 


463 


O  vaine  worlds  glorie,  and  unstedfjist  state 
Of  all  that  lives  on  face  of  sinfull  earth  I 
W'hicl),  from  their  first  untill  their  utmost  date.     45 
Taste  no  one  lioure  of  happines  or  merth  ; 
I'.ut  like  as  at  the  ingate  of  their  berth 
'I'hey  crying  creep  out  of  their  mothers  woomb, 
So  wailing  back,  go  to  their  wofull  toomb. 

"  AVliy  then  dooth  flesli,  a  bubble-glas  of  breath,  50 

Hunt  after  honour  and  advauncement  vaine. 

And  reare  a  trophee  for  devouring  death, 

With  so  great  labour  and  long-lasting  paine, 

As  if  his  daies  for  ever  should  remaine  1 

Sith  all,  that  in  this  world  is  great  or  gaie,  55 

Doth  as  a  vapour  vanish  and  decaie. 

"  Looke  backe,  who  list,  unto  the  former  ages. 
And  call  to  count,  what  is  of  them  become: 
Where  be  tliose  learned  wits  and  antique  sages, 
Which  of  all  wisdome  knew  the  perfect  somme  ?    60 
Where  those  great  warriors,  which  did  overcome 
The  world  with  con(|uest  of  their  might  and  niaine. 
And  made  one  meare  of  th'  earth  and  of  their  raine? 

"  What  nowe  is  of  th'  Assyrian  Lyonesse, 

Of  whom  no  footing  now  on  earth  appeares?  65 

What  of  the  Persian  beares  outragiousnesse, 

Whose  memorie  is  quite  worne  out  witli  yeares? 

Wlio  of  the  Grecian  Libbard  now  ought  heares, 

That  over-ran  the  East  with  greedie  powre, 

And  left  his  whelps  their  kingdomes  to  devoure?  70   j 

"  And  where  is  that  same  great  seven-headed  beast. 

That  made  all  nations  vassals  of  her  pride, 

To  full  before  her  feete  at  her  beheast. 

And  in  the  necke  of  all  the  world  did  ride? 

Where  doth  she  all  that  wondrous  welthe  now  hide  ~i 

VVith  her  owne  weight  downe  pressed  now  shee  lies. 

And  by  her  heapes  her  hugenesse  testifies.  77 

"  O  Rome,  thy  ruine  I  lament  and  rue, 

And  in  thy  fall  my  fatall  overthrowe, 

That  whilom  was,  whilst  heavens  with  equall  vewe, 

Deignd  to  behold  me  and  their  gifts  bestowe,         81 

The  picture  of  thy  pride  in  pompous  shew  : 

And  of  list'  wbnie  world  as  thou  wast  the  empresse. 

So  I  qI'     I  -.  in    '1  northerne  world  was  princesse. 

"  To  1  -      vtie  of  my  buildings  fayre,  85 

Adorr  .  :  -irest  golde  and  precious  stone  ; 

To  tell  :i.es,  and  endowments  rare, 

That  by  my  foes  are  now  all  spent  and  gone  ; 

To  tell  my  forces,  matchable  to  none  ; 

Were  but  lost  labour,  that  few  would  beleeve,       90 

And,  %vitb  rehearsing,  would  me  moie  agree ve. 

'■High  towers,      ::e  temples,  goodly  theaters. 
Strong  w  diis,  r  '  L;  porcnes,  princelie  pallaces. 
Large  streetei^,  brave  houses,  sacred  sepulchres. 
Sure  gates,  sweete  gardens,  stately  galleries,         95 
Wrought  with  faire  pill  ours  and  fine  imageries  ; 
All  those  (O  i)itie  !)  now  are  turnd  to  dust. 
And  overjjrowne  with  black  oblivions  rust. 

"  Thereto  for  warlike  power,  and  peoples  store. 

In  Brirannie  was  none  to  match  with  mee,  100 

That  manie  often  did  abie  full  sore  : 

Ne  Troynovant,  though  elder  sister  shee, 

With  my  gieat  forces  might  co.«pared  bee; 

T!.at  stout  Pendragon  to  hisperlll  felt, 

^^'ho  m  a  siege  seaven  yeres  about  me  dwelt.       105 


"  But  long  ere  this,  Bunduca,  Britonnesse, 

Her  mightie  boast  against  my  bulwarkes  brought ; 

Bunduca  !  that  victorious  conqueresse, 

That,  lifting  up  her  brave  heroick  thought 

Bove  womens  Vi-eaknes,  with  the  Romanes  fought. 

Fought,  and  in  field  against  them  thrice  prevailed : 

Yet  was  she  foyld,  when  as  she  me  assailed.        112 

"  And  though  at  last  by  force  I  conquered  were 

Of  bardie  Saxons,  and  became  their  thrall  ; 

Yet  was  1  with  much  bloodshed  bought  full  deere. 

And  priz'd  with  slaughter  of  their  general! :  116 

The  moniment  of  whose  sad  funerall, 

For  wonder  of  the  world,  long  in  me  lasted  ; 

But  now  to  nought,  through  sjioyle  of  time,  is  wasted. 

"  Wasted  it  is,  as  if  it  never  were  ;  120 

And  ail  the  rest,  that  me  so  honord  made. 

And  of  the  world  admired  ev'rie  where. 

Is  turned  to  smoake,  that  doth  to  nothing  fade  ; 

And  of  that  brightnes  now  appeares  no  shade. 

But  greislie  shades,  such  as  doo  haunt  in  hell      1^25 

With  fearfull  fiends,  that  in  deep  darknes  dwell. 

"  Where  mv  high  steeples  whilom  iisde  to  stand. 
On  which  the  lordly  faulcon  wont  to  towre, 
There  now  is  but  an  heap  of  lyme  and  sand 
For  the  shriche-owle  to  build  her  baleful!  bowre  : 
And  where  the  niglitingale  wont  forth  to  powre  131 
Her  restles  plaints,  to  comfort  wakefull  lovers. 
There  now  haunt  yelling  me  wes  and  whining  plovers. 

"  And  where  the  christall  Thamis  we  ir       -jdo 

In  sdver  channel!,  downe  along  the  li-  135 

About  whose  flowrie  bankes  on  either  .- 

A  thousand  nymphes,  witli  mirthful!  ioll  "(\^ 

W^ere  wont  to  play,  from  all  annoyance  free  ; 

There  now  no  rivers  course  is  to  be  seene. 

But  moorish  fennes,  and  marshes  ever  greene.     140 

"  Seemes,  that  that  gentle  river  for  great  griefe 
Of  my  misliaps.  which  oft  I  to  him  plained  ; 
Or  for  to  shunne  tlie  horrible  mischiefe. 
With  whicli  he  saw  my  cruel!  foes  mo  pained. 
And  his  pure  stre;imes  with  guiltles  bloud  oft  stained: 
From  my  unhajipie  neighborhood  farre  fled,  146 

And  Ids  sweete  waters  away  with  him  led. 

"  There  also,  where  tlie  winged  ships  were  seene 

In  liquid  waves  to  cut  their  fomie  waie, 

And  thousand  fishers  numbred  to  have  been,        150 

In  that  wide  lake  looking  for  plenteous  p.aie 

Of  fish,  which  they  witli  bats  usde  to  betraie, 

Is  now  no  lake,  nor  anie  fishers  store, 

JNor  ever  ship  shall  saile  there  anie  more. 

"  They  all  are  gone,  and  all  with  them  is  gone!    155 

Ne  ought  to  me  remaines,but  to  lament 

My  long  decay,  wliich  no  man  els  doth  mone. 

And  mourne  my  fall  with  doleful!  dreriment. 

Yet  it  is  comfort  in  gre;it  languishnierit, 

To  be  bemoned  witli  compassion  kinde,  160 

And  mitigates  the  anguish  of  the  minde. 

"  But  me  no  man  bevvaileth,  but  in  game, 
Ne  sheddeth  teares  from  lamentable  eie : 
Nor  anie  lives  tliat  mentioiietli  my  name 
To  be  remembered  of  postentie, 
Save  One,  that  maugre  Fortunes  iniurie, 
And  Times  decav,  and  Envies  cruel!  tort 
Hath  writ  my  record  in  true-seeming  ?j;u 


4C4 


THE   RLiMS  OK  'IIME. 


'' (';iTnbilen  !  the  noiirice  of  •.niii(]iiitie, 

And  luiiterne  unto  lute  succediiig  age,  1?() 

I'o  see  the  light  of  simple  viritie 

buried  in  luines,  through  the  great  outrage 

Of  her  owne  ))eo[)le  led  ivilh  w  arlike  rage  : 

Canibden  !   though  iinie  all  moniments  obscure, 

Y'et  thy  iust  labours  ever  shall  endure.  175 

"  But  whie  (unliappie  wight !)  doo  I  thus  crie, 

And  grieve  that  my  remembrance  quite  is  raced 

Outof  t];e  knowledge  of  posteritie, 

And  all  my  antique  moniments  defaced? 

Sith  I  doo  dailie  see  things  highest  placed,  100 

So  Sonne  as  Fates  their  vitall  thred  have  shorne. 

Forgotten  (juite  as  they  weie  never  borne. 

"  It  is  not  long,  since  these  t«o  eyes  beheld 

A  mightie  j)iiMce  of  most  renowmed  race, 

Whom  England  high  in  count  of  honour  held,    185 

And  greatest  ones  did  sue  to  gaine  his  grace  ; 

Of  greatest  ones  he  greatest  in  his  place. 

Sate  in  the  bosome  of  his  soveraine, 

And  right  ami  loyuU  did  his  woid  maintaine. 

"  I  saw  him  die,  I  saw  him  die,  as  one  190 

Of  the  meane  peojile,  and  brought  foorlli  on  beare  ; 

I  saw  him  die,  and  no  man  left  to  mone 

His  doleiull  fate,  that  late  him  loved  deare  ; 

Scarse  anie  left  to  close  liiseylids  neare  j 

Scarse  anie  left  upon  his  lips  to  laie  195 

The  sacred  sod,  or  requiem  to  sale. 

"  O  trustlesse  state  of  miserable  men, 
'J'hat  builde  your  blis  on  hojie  of  earthly  thing. 
And  vainly  thinte  your  selves  halfe  happie  then. 
When  painted  faces  with  smooth  flattering  200 

Doo  fawne  on  you,  and  your  wide  praises  sing ; 
And,  when  the  courting  masker  louteth  lowe, 
Him  true  in  heart  and  trustie  to  you  trow  ! 

•'  All  is  but  fained,  aua  with  oaker  dide, 

That  everie  shower  will  wash  and  wipe  away  ;     205 

All  things  doo  change  that  under  heaven  abide. 

And  after  death  all  friendship  doth  decaie. 

Therefore,  what  ever  man  bearst  worldliesway. 

Living,  on  God,  and  on  thy  selfe  relie  ; 

For  when  thou  diest,  all  shall  with  thee  die.         210 

"  He  now  is  dead,  and  all  is  with  him  dead. 
Save  what  in  heavens  storehouse  he  uplaid  ; 
His  hope  is  faild,  and  come  to  passe  his  dread. 
And  evill  men  (now  dead)  his  deedes  upbraid: 
Spite  bites  tlie  dead,  that  living  never  baid.         215 
lie  now  is  gone,  the  whiles  the  foxe  is  crept 
Into  the  hole,  the  which  the  badger  swept. 

"  He  now  is  dead,  and  all  his  glorie  gone. 

And  all  his  greatness  vapoured  to  nought, 

That  as  a  glasse  upon  the  water  shone,  220 

\\  hich  vanisht  quite,  so  soone  as  it  was  sought: 

His  name  is  worne  alreadie  out  of  thought, 

,\  e  anie  poet  seekes  him  to  revive  ; 

^'et  manie  poets  honourd  him  alive. 

.Ve  doth  his  Colin,  carelesse  Colin  Cloute,       225 
'   11  enow  his  idle  bagpipe  up  to  raise, 
N  ■  tell  his  sorrow  to  liie  listning  rout  [praise  : 

O     shepheard    groomes,   which  wont  his  songs   to 
1'  .ise  who  so  list,  yet  I  will  him  dispraise, 
'  'nt.U  he   pnte  him  of  this  guihie  blame  :  230 

U  ake. .."-  cpheards  boy,  at  length  awake  for  sbame 


"  And  who  so  els  did  goodnes  bv  him  gaine. 

And  who  so  els  his  bounteous  mind  did  trie, 

W  iieiher  iie  shepheard  be,  or  shej)heaids  swaine 

(For  manie  did,  which  doo  it  now  dente,)  2S5 

Awuke,  and  to  his  song  a  part  applie . 

And  1,  the  whilest  you  mourne  for  his  decease. 

Will  with  my  mourning  plaints  your  plaint  increase, 

"  He  (]\i\e,  and  after  him  his  brother  dyde. 

His  brother  prince,  his  biother  noble  peere,  240 

'i'hat  whilest  he  lived  was  of  none  envyde. 

And  dead  is  now,  as  living,  counted  deare, 

Deare  unto  all  that  true  affection  beure  ; 

But  unto  thee  most  deare,  O  dearest  dame. 

His  noble  spouse,  and  paragon  of  fame.  245 

"  He,  whilest  he  lived,  happie  was  through  thee, 

And,  being  dead,  is  happie  now  much  more  ; 

Living,  that  lincked  chaunst  with  thee  to  bee. 

And  dead,  because  him  dead  thou  dost  adore 

As  living,  and  thy  lost  deare  love  deplore.  250 

So  whilst  that  thou,  fairflowre  of  ehastitie, 

Dost  live,  by  thee  thy  lord  shall  never  die. 

"  Thv  lord  shall  never  die,  the  whiles  this  verse 

Shall  live,  and  surely  it  shall  live  for  ever: 

For  ever  it  shall  live,  and  shall  rehearse  255 

His  worthie  praise,  and  vertues  dying  never. 

Though  death  his  soule  doo  from  his  bodie  sever  : 

And  thou  thy  selfe  herein  shalt  also  live; 

Such  grace  the  heavens  doo  to  my  verses  give. 

"  No  shall  his  sister,  ne  thy  father,  die ;  260 

Thy  father,  that  good  earle  of  rare  renowne. 
And  noble  patrone  of  weake  povertie  ! 
Whose  great  good  deeds  in  countrey,  and  in  towns. 
Have  jiurchast  him  in  heaven  an  happie  crowne- 
Where  he  now  liveth  in  eternall  blis,  265 

And  left  his  sonne  t'  ensue  those  steps  of  his. 

"  He,  noble  Bub,  his  grandsires  livelie  hayre. 
Under  the  shadow  of  thy  counteuuunce 
Now  ginnes  to  shoote  up  fast,  and  flourish  fayre 
In  learned  artes,  and  goodlie  gouvtinaunce,         270 
That  him  to  highest  honour  shall  advaunce. 
Brave  impe  of  Bedford,  grow  apace  in  bountie. 
And  count  of  wisedome  more  than  of  thy  countie  ! 

"  Ne  mny  I  let  thy  husbands  sister  die, 

That  goodly  ladie,  sith  she  eke  did  sj)ring  275 

Out  of  his  stocke  and  famous  familie. 

Whose  praises  I  to  future  age  doo  sing  ; 

And  foortli  out  of  her  happie  womb  did  bring 

Ihe  sacred  brood  of  learning  and  all  honour; 

In  whom  the  heavens  povvrde  all  their  gifts  upon  her 

"  IMost  gentle  spirite  breathed  from  above,  281 

Out  of  (fee  bosome  of  the  Makers  blis, 

In  whom  all  bountie  and  all  vertuous  love 

Appeared  in  their  native  propertis. 

And  did  enrich  that  noble  breast  of  his  285 

With  treasure  passing  all  this  worldes  worth, 

Worthie  of  heaven  it  selfe,  which  brought  it  forth. 

"  His  blessed  spirite,  full  of  power  divine 

And  influence  of  all  celestiall  grace, 

Loathing  this  sinfuU  earth  and  earthlie  slime,      290 

Fled  hacke  too  soone  unto  his  native  ))lace 

Too  soone  for  all  that  did  his  love  embrace 

Too  soone  for  all  this  wretched  world,  whom  he 

Robd  of  all  rijrhtand  true  nobilitie. 


THE  RUINES  UF   1  l.MK. 


4€5 


'295 


■'  Yet,  ere  his  happie  soule  to  heaven  went 

Out  of  this  flesLlie  oaole,  he  did  devise 

Unto  his  heavenlie  Maker  to  present 

His  bodie,  as  a  spotles  sacrifise  ; 

And  chose,  that  guiltie  hands  of  enemies 

Should  powre  forth  tb'  offring  of  his  guiltles  blood  : 

So  life  exchanging-  for  his  countries  good.  301 

"  O  noble  spirite,  live  there  ever  blessed, 

The  worlds  late  wonder,  and  the  heavens  new  ioy  ; 

Live  ever  tliere,  and  leve  me  hei'e  distressed 

With  mortall  cares  and  cumbrous  worlds  anoy  !  305 

But,  where  thou  dost  that  happines  enioy. 

Bid  me,  O  bid  me  quicklie  come  to  thee, 

That  happie  there  I  maie  thee  alwaies  see  ! 

"  Yet,  whilest  the  Fates  affoord  me  vitall  breath, 

I  will  it  spend  in  speaking  of  thy  praise,  310 

And  sing  to  thee,  untill  that  timelie  death 

By  heavens  doome  doo  eiide  mv  earthhe  daies  : 

Thereto  doo  thou  my  humble  spirite  raise, 

And  into  me  that  sacred  breath  inspire, 

Which  tliou  there  breathest  perfect  and  entire.   315 

"  Then  will  I  sing;  but  who  can  better  sing 

Than  thine  owne  sister,  peerles  lady  bright. 

Which  to  thee  sings  with  deep  harts  sorrowing, 

Sorrowing  tempered  with  deare  delight, 

That  her  to  heare  I  feele  my  feeble  spright  320 

Robbed  of  sense,  and  ravished  with  ioy; 

O  sad  io}',  made  of  mourning  and  anoy  ! 

"  Yet  will  I  sing  ;  but  who  can  better  sing 
Than  thou  thv  selfe,  thine  owne  selfes  valiance,  324 
That,  whilst  thou  livedst,  madest  the  forrests  ring. 
And  fields  resownd,  and  flockes  to  leap  and  daunce. 
And  shepheardes  leave  their  lambs  unto  mischaunce. 
To  runue  thy  shrill  Arcadian  pipe  to  heare  : 
O  happie  were  those  dayes,  thrice  happy  were  ! 

"  But  now  more  happie  thou,  and  wretched  wee,  330 

\\  hich  want  the  wonted  swetnes  of  thy  voice. 

Whiles  thou  now  in  Elysian  fields  so  free. 

With  Orpheus,  and  with  Linus,  and  the  choice 

Of  all  that  ever  did  in  rimes  reioyce, 

Conversest,  and  doost  heare  their  heavenlie  layes,  335 

And  they  heare  thine,  and  thine  doo  better  praise. 

"  So  there  thou  livest,  singing  evermore^ 

And  here  thou  livest,  being  ever  song 

Of  us,  which  living  loved  thee  afore, 

/Vnd  now  thee  worship  mongst  that  blessed  throng  340 

Of  heavenlie  poets  and  heroes  strong. 

So  thou  boih  liere  and  tliere  imraortall  art. 

And  everie  where  through  excellent  desart. 

"  But  such  as  neither  of  themselves  can  sing. 

Nor  yet  are  sung  of  others  for  reward,  345 

Die  in  obscure  oblivion,  as  the  thing 

Which  never  was  ;  ne  ever  with  regard 

Their  names  shall  of  the  later  age  be  heard, 

But  shall  in  rustie  darknes  ever  lie, 

Unles  they  mentioned  be  with  infamie.  350 

"  What  booteth  it  to  have  beene  rich  alive  ? 

What  to  be  great  'f  what  to  be  gracious  ? 

When  alter  death  no  token  doth  survive 

Of  former  beeing  in  this  mortall  lious. 

But  sleepes  in  dust  dead  and  inglorious,  355 

Like  beast,  whose  breath  but  in  his  nostrels  is. 

And  bath  no  hope  of  happinesse  or  blis. 


"  How  manie  great  ones  may  remembred  be. 
Which  in  their  daies  most  famouslie  did  florish  ; 
Of  whume  no  word  we  hearp,  uorsigne  now  see,  360 
But  as  tilings  wipt  out  with  a  sponge  do  perishe. 
Because  they  living  cared  not  to  cherislie 
No  gentle  wits,  through  pride  or  covetize. 
Which  might  their  names  for  ever  memorize  ' 

"  Provide  therefore  (ye  princes)  whilst  ye  live,  36j 

That  of  the  AJuses  ye  may  friended  bee, 

W' hich  unto  men  eternitie  do  give  ; 

For  they  be  daughters  of  dame  iMemorie 

And  love,  the  father  of  Eternitie, 

And  do  tiiose  men  in  golden  thrones  repose,        370 

Whose  merits  they  to  glorifie  do  chose. 

"  The  seven-fold  yron  gates  of  grislie  hell, 

And  horrid  house  of  sad  Froserpina, 

They  able  are  with  power  of  mightie  spell 

'J'o  breake,  and  thence  the  soules  to  bring  awaie  375 

Out  of  dread  darkenesse  to  eternall  day. 

And  them  immortall  make  which  els  would  die 

In  foule  forgetfulnesse,  and  nameles  lie. 

"  So  whilome  raised  they  the  puissant  brood 

Of  golden-girt  Alcmena,  for  great  merite,  380 

Out  of  the  dust,  to  which  the  Oeta^an  wood 

Had  him  consum'd,  and  spent  his  vitall  spirite. 

To  highest  heaven,  where  now  he  doth  inherite 

All  happinesse  in  Hebes  silver  bowre, 

Chosen  to  be  her  dearest  paramoure,  385 

"  So  raisde  they  eke  faire  Ledaes  warlike  twinnes, 

And  interchanged  life  unto  them  lent, 

That,  when  th'  one  dies,  the  other  then  beginnes 

To  shew  in  heaven  his  brightnes  orient ; 

And  they,  for  pittie  of  the  sad  wayment,  390 

Which  Orpheus  for  Eurydice  did  make, 

Her  back  againe  to  life  sent  for  his  sake. 

"  So  happie  are  they,  and  so  fortunate. 

Whom  the  Pierian  sacred  sisters  love, 

That  freed  from  bands  of  implacable  fate,  395 

And  power  of  death,  they  live  for  aye  above, 

^Vhere  mortall  wreakes  their  blis  may  not  remove  : 

But  with  the  gods,  for  former  vertues  meede. 

On  nectar  and  ambrosia  do  feede. 

"  For  deeds  doe  die,  how  ever  noblie  donna        400 
And  thoughts  of  men  do  as  themselves  decay  : 
But  wise  wordes  taught  in  numbers  for  to  runne. 
Recorded  by  the  ft]  uses,  live  for  ay  ; 
Ne  may  with  storming  showers  be  washt  away, 
Ne  bittar-breathing  windes  with  harmful!  blast,  405 
Nor  age,  nor  envie,  shall  them  ever  wast. 

"  Li  vaine  doo  earthly  princes  then,  in  vaine, 

Seeke  with  pyramides,  to  heaven  aspired  ; 

Or  huge  colosses,  built  with  costlie  paine ; 

Or  br;isen  pillours,  never  to  be  fired  ;  410 

Or  shrines,  made  of  the  mettall  most  desired; 

To  make  their  memories  for  ever  live  : 

For  how  can  mortall  immortalitie  give? 

"  Such  one  Mausolus  made,  the  worlds  great  wonder 
But  now  no  remnant  doth  thereof  remaine  :  415 

Such  one  Marcellus,  but  was  torne  with  thunder: 
Such  one  Lisippus,  but  is  worne  with  raine  : 
Such  one  King  Edmond,  but  was  rent  for  gaine. 
All  such  vaine  moniments  of  earthlie  masse, 
Devour'd  of  Time,  in  time  to  nought  doo  passe.  420 

HH 


466 


THE  RUIXES  OF  TIME. 


"  But  Fame  with  <]fok!eii  wings  aloft  doth  flie. 

Above  the  reach  of  ruinous  decay, 

And  with  hiave  plumes  doth  beate  the  azure  skie, 

Admir'd  of  base-borne  men  from  f;irie  away  : 

Then  who  so  will  with  vertuous  deeds  assay       425 

To  mount  to  heaven,  on  Pegasus  must  ride. 

And  with  sweete  poets  verse  be  glorifide. 

"  For  not  to  have  been  dipt  in  Lethe  lake. 

Could  save  thesonne  of  Thetis  from  to  die; 

Uut  that  blinde  bard  did  him  immortall  make      430 

With  verses,  dipt  in  deavv  of  Castalie  : 

Which  made  the  Easterne  conquerour  to  crie, 

O  fortunate  yong-maa  !  whose  vertue  found 

So  brave  a  trorape,  thy  noble  acts  to  sound. 

"  Therefore  in  this  halfe  happie  I  doo  read  435 

Good  ]Melibre,  that  hath  a  poet  got 

To  sing  his  living  praises  being  dead, 

Deserving  never  here  to  be  forgot, 

[n  sj)ite  of  envie,  that  his  deeds  would  spot : 

Since  whose  decease,  learning  lies  unregarded,    440 

And  nitn  of  armes  doo  wander  unrewarded. 

"  Those  two  be  those  two  great  calamities, 

That  long  agoe  did  grieve  the  noble  spright 

Of  Salonjon  with  great  indiginites  ; 

Who  whilome  was  alive  the  wisest  wight.  445 

But  now  his  wisedome  is  disprooved  quite  ; 

For  he,  that  now  welds  all  things  at  his  will, 

Scorns  th'  one  and  th'  other  in  his  deeper  skill. 

"  O  griefe  of  griefes  !   O  gall  of  all  good  heartes  ! 
To  see  that  vertue  should  dispised  bee  450 

Of  him,  that  first  was  raisde  for  vertuous  parts. 
And  now,  broad  spreading  like  an  aged  tree, 
Lets  none  shoot  up  that  nigh  him  planted  bee  : 
O  let  the  man,  of  whom  the  Muse  is  scorned, 
Nor  alive  nor  dead  be  of  the  iMuse  adorned  !         455 

"  O  vile  worlds  trust !   that  with  such  vaine  illusion 
Hath  so  wise  men  bewitcht,  and  overkest, 
That  they  see  not  the  way  of  their  confusion  : 

0  vaincsse  !   tobe  added  to  the  rest, 

That  do  my  soule  with  inward  griefe  infest :  60 

Let  them  behold  the  piteous  fall  ot  mee, 
And  in  my  case  the  r  ovvne  eubample  see. 

"  And  who  so  els  that  sits  in  highest  seate 

Of  this  worlds  glorie,  worshipped  of  all, 

Ne  feareth  change  of  time,  nor  fortunes  threate, 

Let  him  brhold  the  horror  of  my  fall,  466 

And  his  ovvnc  end  unto  remembrance  call  ; 

'I'bat  of  like  ruine  he  may  warned  bee. 

And  in  himselfe  be  moov'd  to  pittie  mee." — 

Thus  having  ended  all  her  piteous  plaint,  470 

With  dolofull  shrikes  shee  vanished  away, 

'J  hut  1  through  inward  sorrowe  wexen  faint, 

And  all  astonished  with  deepe  dismay 

For  her  departure,  had  no  word  to  say  ; 

But  sate  long  time  in  sencelesse  sad  affright,       475 

Looking  still,  if  I  might  of  her  have  sight. 

Which  when  I  missed,  having  looked  long. 
My  thought  returned  greeved  home  againe, 
Keiiewing  her  complaint  with  ])<is.iion  strong. 
For  ruth  of  that  same  womans  piteous  ])aine  ;       400 
Whose  wordes  recording  in  my  troubled  braine, 

1  felt  such  anguish  wound  my  feeble  heart. 
That  frozen  horror  ran  through  everie  part. 


So  inlie  greeving  in  my  groning  brest, 

And  deepelie  muzing  at  her  doubtfull  spftach,       485 

Whose  meaning  much  I  labored  foorth  to  wrestfi. 

Being  above  my  slender  reasons  reach  ; 

At  length,  by  demonstration  me  to  teach, 

Before  mine  eies  strange  sights  presented  were, 

Like  tragicke  pageants  seeming  to  appears  490 

I. 

I  SAW  an  image,  all  of  massie  gold.. 

Placed  on  high  upon  an  altare  faire, 

That  all,  which  did  the  same  from  farre  beholde, 

Might  worship  it,  and  fall  on  lowest  staire. 

Not  that  great  idoU  might  with  this  compaire,      495 

To  which  th'  Assyrian  tyrant  would  have  made 

The  holie  brethren  falselie  to  have  praid. 

But  th'  altare,  on  the  which  this  image  staid. 

Was  (O  great  pitie!)  built  of  brickie  clay. 

That  shortly  the  foundation  decaid,  500 

With  showres  of  heaven  and  tempests  worne  away  ; 

Then  downe  it  fell,  and  low  in  asiies  lay, 

Scorned  of  everie  one,  which  by  it  went ; 

That  1,  it  seeing,  dearelie  did  lament. 

n. 

Next  unto  this  a  statelie  towre  appeared,  505 

Built  all  of  richest  stone  that  might  bee  found. 

And  nigh  unto  the  heavens  in  height  upreared. 

But  placed  on  a  plot  of  sandie  ground  : 

Not  that  great  towre,  which  is  so  much  renowiul 

For  tongues  confusion  in  holie  writ,  510 

King  Ninus  worke,  might  be  com])ar'd  to  it. 

But  O  vaine  labours  of  terrestriall  wit, 

]3hat  buildes  so  stronglie  on  so  frayle  a  soyle. 

As  with  each  storme  does  fall  away,  and  flit. 

And  gives  the  fruit  of  all  your  travailes  loyle,       515 

I'o  be  the  pray  of  Tynie,  and  Fortunes  spoyie  ! 

I  saw  this  towre  fall  sodainelie  to  dust. 

That  nigh  with  griefe  thereof  my  heart  was  brust. 

III. 
Then  did  I  see  a  pleasant  paradize, 
Full  of  swocte  flowres  and  daintiest  delights,       5'20 
Sucli  as  on  earth  man  could  not  more  devize. 
With  pleasures  choy  ce  to  feed  his  cheerfuU  sprights  : 
Not  that,  which  iVierlin  by  his  magicke  slights 
Made  for  the  gentle  squire,  to  entertaine 
His  fayre  Belpha'be,  could  this  gardiiie  staine.     5'25 
But  O  short  pleasure  bought  with  lasting  jiaino  I 
Who  will  hereafter  anie  flesh  delight 
In  earthlie  blis,  and  ioy  in  pleasures  vaine, 
Since  that  I  sawe  this  gardine  wasted  quite, 
That  where  it  was  scarce  seemed  anie  sight.'       5,'30 
'J'hat  I,  which  once  that  beautie  did  beholde. 
Could  not  from  teares  my  melting  eyes  with-holde. 

IV. 

Soone  after  this  a  giaunt  came  in  jilace, 

Of  woiulrous  powre,  and  of  exceeding  stature, 

'J'hat  none  durst  vewe  the  horror  of  his  face,        535 

Yet  was  he  milde  of  speach,  and  meeke  of  nature: 

Not  he,  which  in  despite  of  his  Creatour 

Witli  railing  tearmes  defide  the  levvisii  boast, 

Blight  with  this  mightie  one  in  hugenes  boast; 

For  from  the  one  he  could  to  th'  other  coast         540 

Stretch  his  strong. thiijhes,  and  th'  ocean  overstride 

And  reatch  his  hand  into  his  enemies  boast. 

But  see  the  end  of  pompe  and  fleshlie  pride  ! 

One  of  his  feete  unwares  from  him  did  slide, 

'i'hat  downe  hee  fell  into  the  deepe  abisse,  045 

Where  drowned  wuth  him  is  all  his  earthlie  blisse. 


im:  RuixKs  OF  i'imk. 


467 


Then  did  I  see  a  bridge,  made  all  of  golde, 

Over  the  sea  from  one  to  other  side, 

Withouten  prop  or  pilloiir  it  t'upholde, 

But  like  the  coloured  rainbowe  arched  wide:       5oO 

Not  that  great  arche,  which  Traian  edifide. 

To  be  a  wonder  to  all  age  ensuing-, 

Was  matchable  to  this  in  equall  vewing. 

But  (ah  !)  what  bootes  it  to  see  earthlie  tLing 

In  glorie  or  in  greatnes  to  excell,  555 

Sith  time  dotli  greatest  things  to  mine  bring? 

This  goodlie  bridge,  one  foote  not  fastned  well, 

Can  fade,  and  all  the  rest  downe  shortlie  fell, 

Ne  of  so  brave  a  building  ought  remained, 

That  griefe  thereof  my  spirite  greatly  pained.      560 

VI. 

I  saw  two  beares,  as  white  as  anie  milks, 

Lying  together  in  a  mightie  cave, 

Of  milde  aspect,  and  haire  as  soft  as  silke. 

That  salvage  nature  seemed  not  to  have. 

Nor  after  greedie  spoyle  of  bloud  to  crave  •         565 

'iwo  fairer  beasts  might  not  elsewhere  be  found, 

Although  the  compast  world  were  sought  around. 

But  what  can  long  abide  above  this  ground 

in  state  of  blis,  or  stedfast  happinesse  ? 

The  cave,  in  which  these  beares  lav  sleeping  sound, 

Was  but  of  earth,  and  with  her  weightinesse        57] 

Upon  them  fell,  and  did  unwares  oppresse ; 

That,  for  great  sorrovv  of  their  sudden  fate, 

Henceforth  all  worlds  felicitie  I  hate. 

^  Much  was  I  troubled  in  my  lieavie  sprigbt,  575 
At  sight  of  these  sad  spectacles  forepast, 
liiat  all  my  senses  were  bereaved  quight, 
And  I  ill  minde  remained  sore  agast. 
Distraught  twixt  feare  and  pitie  ;.  -when  at  last 
I  heard  a  voyce,  which  loudly  to  me  called,  580 

That  wth  the  suddein  shrill  I  was  appalled. 

Behold  (said  it)  and  by  ensample  see, 

That  all  is  vanitie  and  griefe  of  minde, 

Ne  other  comfort  in  this  world  can  be, 

15ut  hope  of  heaven,  and  heart  to  God  inclinde  ;  585 

Tor  all  the  rest  must  needs  be  left  behinde  : 

With  that  it  bad  me  to  the  other  side 

To  cast  mine  eye,  where  other  sights  I  spide. 

I. 

Vroy  that  famous  rivers  further  shore, 

'I  here  stood  a  snowie  swan  of  heavenlv  hiew,       590 

And  gentle  kinde,  as  ever  fowle  alore  ; 

A  fairer  one  in  all  the  goodlie  criew 

Ot  white  Strimonian  brood  might  no  man  view  : 

■J'here  he  most  sweetly  sung  the  prophecie 

Of  his  owne  death  in  doleful!  elegie.  595 

At  last,  when  all  his  mourning  melodie 

He  ended  had,  that  both  the  shores  resounded, 

Feeling  the  fit  that  him  forewarnd  to  die. 

With  loftie  flight  above  the  earth  he  bounded, 

And  out  of  sight  to  highest  heaven  mounted,       600 

\\'h^re  now  he  is  become  an  heavenly  signe; 

There  now  the  icy  is  his,  here  sorrow  mine. 

ir. 

Whilest  thus  I  looked,  loe  !   adowne  the  lee 
[  saw  an  harpe  stroong  all  with  silver  twyne. 
And  made  of  golde  and  costlie  vvorie,  605 

Swimming,  that  whilome  seemed  to  have  been 
The  Larpe  on  which  Dan  Orpheus  was  seene 


Wylde  beasts  and  forrests  after  him  to  lead. 
Bur  was  th'  hai]ie  of  Philisites  now  dead. 
At  length  out  of  the  river  it  was  reard,  610 

And  borne  above  the  cloudes  to  be  divin'd. 
Whilst  all  the  way  most  heavenly  novse  was  heard 
Of  the  strings,  stirred  with  the  warWing  wind, 
That  wrought  both  ioy  and  sorrow  in  my  mind  : 
So  now  in  heaven  a  signe  it  doth  appeare,  615 

The  harpe  well  knowne  beside  the  Northern  Beare. 


Soone  after  this  I  saw  on  th'  other  side 

A  curious  cotfer  made  of  heben  wood. 

That  in  it  did  most  precious  treasure  hide, 

Kxceeding  all  this  baser  workliis  good  :  620 

Yet  through  the  overflowing  of  the  flood 

It  almost  drowned  was,  and  done  to  nought, 

That  sight  thereof  much  griev'd  my  pensiVe  thouo-ht. 

At  length,  when  most  in  peril  it  was  brought. 

Two  angels,  downe  descending  witli  swift  flight,  625 

Out  of  the  swelling  streame  it  liglitly  caught. 

And  twixt  their  blessed  arraes  carried  quight 

Above  tlie  reach  of  anie  living  sight : 

So  now  it  is  transform 'd  into  that  starre. 

In  which  all  heavenly  treasures  locked  are.  630 


Looking  aside  I  saw  a  stately  bed. 

Adorned  all  with  costly  cloth  of  gold. 

That  might  for  anie  princes  couch  be  red, 

And  deckt  with  daintie  flowres,  as  if  it  shold 

Be  for  some  bride,  her  ioyous  night  to  hold  :       635 

Therein  a  goodly  virgine  sleeping  lay; 

A  fiiirer  wight  saw  never  summers  day. 

I  heard  a  voyce  that  called  fiirre  away, 

And  her  awaking  bad  her  quickly  dight. 

For  lo  !  herbridegroome  was  in  readie  ray  64C 

To  come  to  her,  and  seeke  her  loves  delig'ht: 

With  that  she  started  up  with  cherefull  sight, 

W'hen  suddeinly  both  bed  and  all  was  gone. 

And  I  in  langour  left  there  all  alone. 


Still  as  I  gazed,  I  beheld  where  stood  645 

A  knight  all  arm'd,  njion  a  winged  steed. 

The  same  that  was  bred  of  flledusaes  blood. 

On  which  Dan  Perseus,  borne  of  heavenly  seed 

The  faire  Andromeda  from  perill  freed  : 

Full  mortally  this  knight  ywounded  was,  050 

i'hat  streames  of  blood  foorth  flowed  on  the  gras  : 

Yet  was  he  deckt  (small  ioy  to  him  alas !) 

With  manie  garlands  for  his  victories. 

And  with  rich  spoyles,  which  late  he  did  purchas 

Through  brave  atchievements  from  his  enemies  :   655 

Fainting  at  last  through  long  infirmities. 

He  smote  his  steed,  that  straight  to  heaven  him  bore, 

And  left  me  here  his  losse  for  to  deplore. 


Lastly  I  saw  an  arke  of  purest  golde 
Upon  a  brazen  pillour  standing  hie  66C 

Which  th'  ashes  seem'd  of  some  great  prince  to  hold 
Eiiclosde  thereni  for  eiidles  memorie 
Of  him,  whom  all  the  world  did  glorifie  : 
Seemed  the  heavens  with  the  earth  did  disagree, 
Wliefher  should  of  those  ashes  keeper  bee.  66i 

At  last  me  seem'd  wing-footed  Mercurie, 

I!   H   2 


468 


THL  RUINES  OF  TIME. 


From  heaven  descending  to  appease  their  strife. 

The  arke  did  beare  witli  him  above  the  skie. 

And  to  those  aslies  cjave  a  second  life, 

To  live  ill  heaven,  where  happines  is  rife  :  670 

At  which  the  earth  did  grieve  exceedingly, 

And  1  for  dole  was  almost  like  to  die, 

U  Envoy. 

Inamortall  spirite  of  Philisides, 

Which  now  art  made  the  heavens  ornament, 

'^hat  whilorae  wast  the  worldes  chiefst  riches ;   675 


Give  leave  to  him  that  lov'de  thee  to  lament 

His  losse,  by  lacke  of  thee  to  heaven  hent. 

And  with  last  duties  of  this  broken  verse, 

Broken  with  sighes,  to  decke  thy  sable  herse ! 

And  ye,  faire  ladie  !   th'  honour  of  your  daies,      680 

And  glorie  of  the  world,  your  high  thoughts  scorne  ; 

Vouchsafe  this  moniment  of  his  last  praise 

With  some  few  silver-dropping  teares  t'  adorne  ; 

And  as  ye  be  of  heavenlie  off-spring  borne. 

So  unto  heaven  let  your  high  minde  aspire, 

And  loath  this  drosse  of  sinfuU  vv-orlds  desire  !     686 


MUIOPOTMOS: 


FATE     OF     THE     BCJTTEKFLIE, 

BY  ED.  SP. 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  MOST  FAIRE  AND  VERTU0U3  LADIE, 

THE   LADIE   CAREY. 
1590. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  WORTHY  AND  VERTUOUS   LADIE, 

THE  LA  :  CAREY  : 

Most  brave  and  bountiful!  La :  for  so  excellent 
favours  as  I  have  received  at  your  sweet  handes,  to 
offer  these  fewe  leaves  as  in  recompence,  should  be 
as  to  offer  flowers  to  the  gods  for  their  divine  bene- 
fites.  Therefore  1  have  determined  to  give  my 
selfe  wholy  to  you,  as  quite  abandoned  from  my 
■€\fe,  and  absolutely  vowed  to  your  services  ; 
which  in  all  right  is  ever  held  for  full  recompence 
of  debt  or  damage,  to  have  the  person  yeelded. 
IMv  person  I  wot  wel  how  little  worth  it  is.  But 
the  laithfuU  minde  and  humble  zeale  which  I  bear 
unto  your  La :  may  perhaps  be  more  of  price,  as 
may  please  you  to  account  and  use  the  poore 
service  therof ;  which  taketh  glory  to  advance  your 


excellent  partes  and  noble  vertues,  and  to  spend 
it  selfe  in  honouring  you ;  not  so  much  for  your 
great  bounty  to  my  self,  which  yet  may  not  be  un- 
minded ;  nor  for  name  or  kindreds  sake  by  you 
vouchsafed  ;  being  also  regardable  ;  as  for  that 
honorable  name,  which  yee  have  by  your  brave 
deserts  purchast  to  your  selfe,  and  spred  in  the 
mouths  of  all  men :  with  which  I  have  also  pre- 
sumed to  grace  my  verses  ;  and,  under  your  name, 
to  commend  to  the  world  this  small  Poeme.  The 
which  beseeching  your  La  :  to  take  in  worth,  and 
of  all  things  therin  according  to  your  wonted  gra- 
ciousnes  to  make  a  milde  construction,  I  humbly 
pray  for  your  happines. 

Your  La :  ever  humbly ; 

E.  S. 


I  siMG  of  deadly  dolorous  debate, 
Stir'd  up  through  wrathfull  Nemesis  despight, 
Betwixt  two  mightie  ones  of  great  estate, 
Drawne  into  armes,  and  proofe  of  mortall  fight, 
'Ihrough  prowd  ambition  and  hart-swelling  hate,    5 
WiJilest  neither  could  the  others  greater  might 
And  sdeignfull  scorne  endure  ;  that  from  small  iarre 
Their  wraths  at  length  broke  inio  open  warre. 


The  roote  whereof  and  tragicall  effect, 
Vouchsafe,  O  thou  the  mournfulst  INIuse  of  nyne,  10 
I'hat  wont'st  the  tragick  stage  for  to  direct, 
In  funerall  complaints  and  wailefuU  tj'ne, 
Ileveale  to  me,  and  all  the  meanes  detect, 
Through  which  s-ad  Clarion  did  at  last  decline 
To  lowest  wretchednes  :  And  is  tliere  then  l5 

Such  rancour  in  the  harts  of  mishtie  men! 


Mi'inroTMOs 


469 


Of  all  the  race  of  silver- winged  flies  f 

Which  doo  possesse  the  empire  of  the  aire, 

Betwixt  the  centred  earth,  and  azure  skies, 

Was  none  more  favourable,  nor  more  taire,  20 

Whilst  heaven  did  f;u-our  liis  felicities, 

Then  Clarion,  the  eldest  sonne  and  heire 

Of  MuscaroU,  and  in  his  fathers  si<;ht 

Of  all  alive  did  seeme  the  fairest  wight. 

With  fruitfuU  hope  his  aged  breast  he  fed  25 

Of  future  good,  which  his  young  toward  yeares, 
Full  of  brave  courage  and  bold  hardjhed 
Above  th'  ensample  of  his  eijuall  peares. 
Did  largely  promise,  and  to  him  fore-red, 
(Whilst  oft  liis  heart  did  melt  in  tender  teares,)  30 
Ihat  he  in  time  would  sure  prove  such  an  one, 
As  should  be  worthie  of  his  fathers  throne. 

The  fresh  young  flie,  in  whom  the  kindly  fire 
Of  lustful!  yongth  began  to  kindle  fast. 
Did  much  disdaine  to  subiect  his  desire  3ij 

To  loathsome  sloth,  or  li  ures  in  ease  to  wast ; 
But  ioy'd  to  range  abroad  in  fresh  attire. 
Through  the  wide  compas  of  the  avrie  coast ; 
And,  with  unwearied  wings,  each  part  t'  inquire 
Of  the  wide  rule  of  his  renowmed  sire.  40 

For  he  so  swift  and  nimble  was  of  flight. 

That  from  this  lower  tract  he  dar'd  to  stie 

Up  to  the  clowdes,  and  thence  with  pineons  light 

To  mount  aloft  unto  the  cnstall  skie, 

To  view  the  wo'  kmanship  of  heavens  bight :  45 

Whence  down  descending,  he  along  would  flie 

Upon  the  streaming  rivers,  sport  to  finde  ; 

And  oft  would  dare  to  tempt  the  troublous  winde. 

So  on  a  summers  day,  when  season  milde 

With  gentle  calme  the  world  had  quieted,  50 

And  high  in  heaven  Hvjierion's  fierie  cliilde 

Ascending  did  his  beanes  abroad  dispreii. 

Whiles  all  the  heavens  on  lower  creatures  smilde  ; 

Young  Clarion,  w  ith  vauntfull  lustiehed, 

After  his  guize  did  cast  abroad  to  fare  ;  55 

And  thereto  gan  his  furnitures  prejjare. 

His  breast-plate  first,  that  was  of  substance  [lure. 

Before  his  noble  heart  he  firmelv  bound. 

That  mought  his  life  from  yron  death  assure. 

And  ward  his  gentle  corps  from  cruell  wound  :     60 

For  it  by  arte  was  framed,  to  endure 

The  bit  of  balefull  Steele  and  bitter  stownd. 

No  lesse  then  that  which  Vulcane  made  to  shield 

Achilles  life  from  fate  of  Troyan  field. 

And  then  about  his  shoulders  broad  he  threw        65 

An  hairie  hide  of  some  wild  beast,  whom  hee 

In  selvage  forrest  by  adventure  slew. 

And  reft  the  spoyle  his  oinament  to  bee  ; 

Which,  spredding  all  his  backe  with  dreadfull  view, 

Blade  all,  that  him  so  horrible  did  see,  70 

Thinke  him  Alcides  with  the  lyons  skin, 

When  the  Nsemean  conquest  he  did  win. 

Upon  bis  head  his  glistering  burganet. 
The  which  was  wrought  by  -wonderous  device, 
And  curiously  engraven,  he  did  set :  7.5 

I'he  metall  was  of  rare  and  passing  price  ; 
Not  Bilbo  Steele,  nor  brasse  from  Corinth  fet. 
Nor  costly  oricalche  from  strniige  Phoenice  ; 
But  such  as  could  both  Phoebus  arrowes  ward. 
And  th'  hayling  darts  of  henvea  beating-  Imrd.        80 


Therein  two  deadly  weapons  fixt  he  bore. 

Strongly  outlanced  towards  either  side. 

Like  two  sharpe  speares,  his  enemies  to  gore  : 

Like  as  a  warlike  brigandine,  applyde 

To  fight,  layes  forth  her  ihreatuU  pikes  afore,  85 

The  engines  which  i  i  them  sad  death  doo  hyde  : 

So  did  this  flie  outstretch  his  fearel'ull  homes 

Yet  so  as  him  their  terrour  more  adornes. 

Lastly  his  shinie  wings  as  silver  bright. 

Painted  with  thousand  colours  passing  farre  90 

All  painters  skill,  he  did  about  him  dight : 

Not  halfe  so  manie  sundrie  colours  arre 

In  Iris  bowe ;  ne  heaven  doth  shine  so  bright. 

Distinguished  with  manie  a  twinckling  starre  ; 

Nor  lunoes  bird,  in  her  ev-spotted  traine,  95 

So  many  goodly  colours  doth  containe. 

Ne  (may  it  be  withouten  perill  spoken) 

The  archer  god,  the  sonne  of  Cytheree, 

That  ioyes  on  wretched  lovers  to  be  wroken. 

And  heaped  spoyies  of  bleeding  harts  to  see,        100 

Beares  in  his  wings  so  manie  a  changefull  token. 

Ah  !  my  liege  lord,  forgive  it  unto  mee. 

If  ought  agninst  thine  honour  I  have  tolde  ; 

Yet  sure  those  wings  were  fairer  manifolde. 

Full  many  a  ladie  faire,  in  court  full  oft  105 

Beholding  them,  him  secreilv  envide. 
And  wisht  that  two  such  fannes,  so  silken  soft,  ■ 
And  golden  faire,  her  love  would  her  provide  ; 
Or  that,  when  them  the  gorgeous  flie  had  doft. 
Some  one,  that  would  with  grace  be  gratifide,     110 
From  him  would  steale  them  privily  away, 
And  bring  to  her  so  precious  a  pray. 

Report  is  that  dame  Venus  on  a  day,  [ground, 

In    sjiriiig    when    flowres   doo   clothe    the    fruitt'ull 
Walking  abroad  with  all  her  nyniphes  to  play,     115 
Bad  her  faire  damzels  flocking  her  arownd 
To  gather  flowres.  lier  forhead  to  array  : 
Emongst  the  rest  a  gentle  nymph  was  found, 
Hight  Asteiy,  excelling  all  the  crewe 
In  curteous  usage  and  unstained  hewe.  120 

Who  beeing  nimbler  ioynted  then  the  rest, 

And  more  industrious,  gathered  more  store 

Of  the  fields  honour,  than  the  otiiers  best; 

Which  thev  in  sectet  harts  envying  sore, 

Tolde  Venus,  when  her  as  the  worthiest  125 

She  praisd,  that  Cupide  (as  they  heard  before) 

Oid  lend  her  secret  aide,  in  gathering 

Into  her  lap  the  children  of  the  Sprang, 

\'.  hereof  the  goddesse  gathering  iealous  feare. 
Not  yet  unmindful),  how  not  long  agoe  130 

Her  sonne  to  Psyche  secrete  love  did  beare, 
And  long  it  close  conceal'd,  till  mickle  woe 
Thereof  arose,  and  manie  a  nifull  teare  ; 
Reason  with  sudden  rage  did  overgoe ; 
And,  giving  hastie  cre;lit  to  ih'accuser,  135 

Was  led  away  of  them  tiiat  did  abuse  lier. 

Eftsoones  that  damzell,  bv  her  heavenly  mio-ht. 

She  turn'd  into  a  wini;ed  butteiflie. 

In  the  wide  aire  to  make  her  wandring  flight, 

And  ail  those  flowres,  with  which  so  plenteouslie  140 

Her  lap  she  filled  had,  that  bred  her  spight, 

She  })laced  in  her  winL;s    lor  tneniorie 

Of  her  iiretfnded  crime,  thduoh  crime  none  were  : 

Since  which  tliat  flie  them  in  her  wings  doth  beare. 


470 


Mnoi'O'i  \if)s. 


Thus  tlie  fresh  Clarion,  being-  readip  digiit,  1-lJ 

Unto  his  iourney  did  liimsell'e  addresse, 

And  with  good  speed  began  to  take  his  flight  ; 

Over  the  fields,  in  his  frank  lustinesse. 

And  all  the  cliainpaigne  o're  be  soared  light  ; 

And  all  tlie  countrey  wide  be  did  possesse,  150 

Feeding  >ipon  their  pleasures  bounieouslie. 

That  none  gainsaid,  nor  none  did  him  envie. 

The  woods,  the  rivers,  and  the  medowes  greene. 
With  bis  aire-cutting  wings  be  measured  wide, 
Ne  did  lie  leave  the  raountainesbare  unseene,      155 
Nor  the  ranke  grassie  fennes  delights  untride. 
But  none  of  these,  bow  ever  sweet  they  beene. 
Mote  please  his  fancio,  nor  him  cause  t'  a])ide  : 
His  choicefuU  sense  with  every  change  doili  flit ; 
No  common  things  may  please  a  wavering  wit.  160 

To  the  gay  gardins  his  unstaid  desire 
Him  wholly  caried,  to  refresh  his  spriglits  : 
There  lavish  Nature,  in  her  best  attire, 
Powres  forth  sweete  odors  and  alluritig  sights  ; 
And  Arte,  with  her  contending,  doth  aspire,         165 
'J  '  excell  the  naturall  with  made  delights  : 
And  all,  that  faire  or  pleasant  may  be  found. 
In  riotous  excesse  doth  there  abound. 

There  be  arriving,  round  about  dotli  flie. 

From  bed  to  bed,  from  one  to  other  border;  170 

And  takes  survey,  with  curious  busie  eye. 

Of  .every  fiowre  and  herbe  tjjere  set  in  order  ; 

Now  this,  now  tliat,  he  tasteth  tenderlv. 

Yet  none  of  them  he  rudely  doth  disorder, 

Ne  with  his  feete  their  silken  leaves  deface  ;        175 

But  pastures  on  the  pleasures  of  each  place. 

And  evermore  with  most  varietie. 

And  cliange  of  sweeinesse,  (for  all  change  is  sweete), 

He  casts  bis  glution  sense  to  satistie. 

Now  sucking  of  the  sap  of  herbe  most  meet,         180 

Or  of  the  deaw,  which  yet  on  them  does  lie, 

Now  ill  the  same  bathing  his  tender  leete  : 

And  then  be  jiearcht-th  on  some  braunch  thereby, 

'Jo  weather  him,  and  his  moyst  wings  to  dry. 

And  then  againe  he  turneth  to  bis  play,  185 

To  spoyle  the  ])leasures  of  that  Paradise  ; 

'Ihe  wholesome  saulge,  and  lavender  still  gray, 

Ranke-sinelling  rue,  and  cummin  good  for  "eyes, 

The  roses  raigning  m  the  pride  of  AJay, 

Sharpe  isope  good  for  greene  wounds  remedies,  190 

Faire  mangoldes,  and  bees-allurin"-  thime, 

Sweet  marioram,  and  daysies  decking  prune  : 

Code  violets,  and  orpine  growing  siill, 

l.mbathed  bahne,  and  cheerfuU  galingale. 

Fresh  co.^tmane,  and  breathlull  camoniill,  195 

Dull  poppy,  and  dnnk-ciuickning  setuule, 

Veyne  healing  verven,  and  hed-j)urgino'  dill, 

Sound  savone,  and  bazil  heartie-tiale. 

Fat  colworts,  and  cuinlortiiig  perseline, 

Cold  lettuce,  aiKl  reiresbin^  rosmaiine.  200 

And  whatso  else  of  vertuc  good  or  ill 

Grewe  in  this  gariiin,  tetclit  Irom  fane  away. 

Of  every  one  he  takes  and  lastes  at  will. 

And  on  their  pleasures  gi'eeuily  do  li  pray. 

Then  when  he  hath  boih  plai  i,  and  ted  his  fill,     i.'05 

In  the  warme  sunne  iie  dulh  liuusehe  embay. 

And  tliero  him  rests  in  notous  suffisaunce 

Of  all  bis  gladlulues,  ai'.d  kuigly  loyaunce. 


\\  hat  more  feiu-itie  can  fall  to  creature 

Than  to  enjoy  delight  with  libertie,  210 

And  to  be  lord  of  all  the  workes  of  Nature, 

To  raigne  in  th'  aire  from  th'  earth  to  highest  skie, 

To  leed  on  flowres  and  weeds  of  glorious  feature. 

To  take  what  ever  thing  dntb  please  the  eie  ? 

Who  rests  not  j)!eased  with  such  liappines,  215 

Well  ^vortlly  he  to  taste  of  wretcbednes. 

Rut  what  on  earib  can  long  abide  in  state  1 

Or  who  can  him  assure  ot  hap])y  day  ? 

Sith  morning  faiie  may  bring  fowle  evening  late, 

And  lea.-t  mi?lia]>  the  most  blisse  alter  may  '         220 

Fur  thousand  perills  lie  in  close  awaite 

About  us  daylie,  to  worke  our  decay  ; 

That  none  except  a  god,  or  God  him  guide, 

jMay  them  avoyde,  or  remedie  provide. 

And  whatso  heavens  in  their  secret  doome  225 

Ordained  have,  bow  can  fraile  fleshly  wight 
Forecast,  but  it  must  needs  to  issue  come  ? 
The  sea,  the  aire,  the  tire,  the  dav,  the  night. 
And  th' armies  of  their  creatures  all  and  some 
Do  serve  to  them,  and  with  importune  might      230 
Warre  against  us  the  vassals  of  their  will. 
Who  then  can  save  what  tiiey  dispose  to  spill ! 

Not  thou,  O  Clarion,  though  fairest  thou 

Of  all  thy  kinde,  unhappie  happie  flie, 

\\  hose  cruell  fate  is  woven  even  now  235 

Of  loves  owne  hand,  to  worke  thy  miserie  ! 

Ne  may  thee  help  the  manie  liartie  vow, 

Which  tliy  old  sire  with  sacred  pietie 

Hath  jiowred  forth  for  thee,  and  th*  altars  sprent : 

]\  ought  may  thee  save  from  heavens  avengeraent ! 

It  fortuned  (as  heavens  had  beliigbt)  241 

That  in  this  gardin,  where  young  Clarion 

U'as  wont  to  solace  him,  a  wicked  wight, 

The  foe  of  faire  things,  th' author  of  confusion. 

The  shame  of  nature,  the  bondslave  of  £{>ight,     2-15 

Had  lately  built  bis  batefuU  mansion  ; 

And,  lurking  closely,  in  awaite  now  lay, 

How  he  might  any  in  his  trap  betray. 

But  when  he  spide  the  ioyous  butterflie 

In  this  faire  plot  displacing  to  and  fro,  250 

Feareles  of  foes  and  hidden  ieopardie. 

Lord  !  bow  be  gan  for  to  bestirre  him  tbo. 

And  to  his  wicked  worke  each  part  applie  ! 

His  heart  did  eariie  against  his  hated  foe. 

And  bowels  so  with  rankling  poyson  swelde,       255 

i'liat  scarce  the  skin  the  strong  contagion  helde. 

The  cause,  why  he  this  flie  so  maliced. 

Was  (as  in  stories  it  is  written  found) 

For  tliat  his  niotlier,  which  him  bore  and  bred, 

Tlie  most  line-iiiigred  workwoman  on  ground,     260 

.•\rachne,  by  his  nieHiies  was  vmiquisht-d 

Of  Pallas,  and  in  her  owne  skill  confound, 

\\  hen  she  with  her  for  excellence  coiitemled, 

Ihat  wrought  her  bhame,  and  sorrow  never  ended. 

For  the  Tritonian  goadesse  having  hard  265 

Her  bhized  fame,  whicii  all  the  v^orld  had  fild. 

Came  downe  to  prove  the  tiuth,  and  due  reward 

Fur  her  pr<iise-wortluf  wvorkmanslii[)  to  yield: 

But  thi'  presumptuous  diiinzeli  rasblv  dar'd 

The  godde-^se  selie  to  chalenge  to  the  held,  270 

And  to  comjjare  wuh  her  in  cuiious  skill 

Of  woikes  with  loouie,  with  needle,  and  with  quill. 


3MUIOPOTM0S. 


4rx 


Minerva  did  tbe  clialenge  not  refuse, 

But  deign'd  with  her  the  parao^on  to  mate  : 

So  to  their  worke  they  sit,  and  each  doth  chuse  275 

What  storie  she  will  for  her  tapet  take. 

Arachne  figur'd  how  love  did  abuse 

Europa  like  a  bull,  and  on  his  backe 

Her  through  the  sea  did  beare  ;   so  lively  scene, 

That  it  true  sea,  and  true  bull,  ye  would  weene.  280 

Shee  seem'd  still  backe  unto  tlie  land  to  looke, 
And  her  play-fellowes  ayde  to  call,  and  feare 
'J"he  dashing  of  the  waves,  that  up  she  tooke 
Her  daintie  feet,  and  garments  gathered  neare  : 
But  (Lord  !)  how  she  in  everie  member  sliooke,  285 
When  as  the  land  she  saw  no  more  appeare, 
But  a  wilde  wildernes  of  waters  deepe  : 
Then  gan  she  greatly  to  lament  and  weepe. 

Before  the  bull  she  pictur'd  winged  Love, 

With  his  yong  brother  Sport,  light  fluttering      290 

Upon  the  waves,  as  each  had  been  a  dove  ; 

The  one  his  bowe  and  shafts,  the  other  spring 

A  burning  teade  about  his  head  did  move, 

As  in  their  syres  new  love  both  triumphing : 

And  manie  nvmplies  about  them  flocking  round,  295 

And  many  tritons  which  their  homes  did  sound. 

And,  round  about,  her  worke  she  did  empale 

With  a  faire  border  wrought  of  sundrie  liowres, 

Enwoven  with  an  yvie-winaing  trayle  : 

A  goodly  worke,  full  fit  for  kingly  bowres  ;         300 

Sucli  as  dame  Pallas,  such  as  Envie  pale, 

Ihat  all  good  things  with  venemous  tooth  devowres, 

Could  not  accuse.     Then  gan  the  goddesse  bright 

Her  selfe  likewise  unto  her  worke  to  dight. 

She  made  the  storie  of  the  olde  debate,  305 

Which  she  with  Neptune  did  for  Athens  trie  : 
Twelve  gods  doo  sit  around  in  royall  state, 
And  love  in  mid,-t  with  awfull  maiestie. 
To  iudge  the  strife  betweene  them  stirred  late  : 
Each  of  the  "ods,  by  his  like  visnomie  310 

Eathe  to  be  knowne  ;  but  love  above  them  all. 
By  his  great  lookes  and  power  iiuperiall. 

Before  them  stands  tlie  god  of  seas  in  place, 

Clayming  tliat  sea-coast  citie  as  his  right. 

And  strikes  the  rockes  with  his  three-forked  mace  ; 

Whenceforth  issues  a  warlike  steed  in  sight,       316 

The  signe  by  which  he  chalengeth  the  place  ; 

That  all  the  gods,  which  saw  his  wondrous  might, 

Did  surely  deeme  the  victorie  his  due : 

But  seldome  seene,  foreiudgenient  proveih  true. 

Then  to  herselfe  she  gives  her  Aegide  shield,      321 
And  steel-hed  speare,  and  morion  on  her  hedd. 
Such  as  she  oft  is  seene  in  warlike  field  : 
Then  sets  she  forth,  how  with  her  weapon  dredd 
She  smote  the  ground,  the  which  streight  foorth  did 
A  fruitful!  olyve  tree,  with  berries  spredd,  [yield  326 
That  all  the  gods  admir'd  ;  then  all  the  storie 
She  compast  with  a  wreathe  of  oly  ves  hourie. 

Emongst  these  leaves  she  made  a  butterflie. 
With  excellent  device  and  wondrous  slight,         330 
Fluttnng  among  the  olives  wantonly, 
That  seem'd  to  live,  so  like  it  w,is  in  sight : 
The  velvet  nap  which  on  his  wings  doth  lie, 
The  silken  downe  with  which  his  biicke  is  dight. 
His  broad  outstretched  homes,  his  hayriethies,  335 
His  glorious  colours,  and  his  glistering  eies. 


\V'hich  when  Arachne  saw,  as  overlaid. 

And  mastered  with  workmanship  so  rare. 

She  stood  astonied  long,  ne  ought  gaiuesaid ; 

And  with  fast  fixed  eyes  on  her  did  stare,  340 

And  by  her  silence,  signe  of  one  dismaid, 

The  victorie  did  yeeld  her  as  her  share  ; 

Yet  did  she  inly  fret  and  felly  burne. 

And  all  her  blood  to  poysonous  rancor  turns  ; 

That  shortly  from  the  shape  of  womanhed,  3  to 

Such  as  she  was  when  Fallas  she  attempted, 
She  grew  to  hideous  shape  of  dryrihed. 
Pined  with  griefe  of  folly  late  repented  : 
Eftsoones  her  wliite  streight  legs  were  altered 
i'o  crooked   crawling  shankes,  of  inarrowe  em  pled  ; 
And  her  faire  face  to  foul  and  loathsome  hewe,  351 
And  her  fine  corpes  t'  a  bag  of  veniin  grewe. 

This  cursed  creature,  mindfull  of  that  olde 
Enfested  grudge,  the  which  his  mother  felt, 
So  soone  as  Clarion  he  did  beholde,  355 

His  heart  with  vengeful!  malice  inly  swelt ; 
And  weaving  straight  a  net  with  manie  a  fold 
About  the  cave,  in  which  he  lurking  dwelt, 
With  fine  small  cords  about  it  stretched  wide, 
So  finely  spunne,  that  scarce  they  could  be  spide.360 

Not  anie  dam::ell,  which  her  vaunteth  most 

In  skilfull  knitting  of  soft  silken  twyne  ; 

^;or  anie  weaver,  which  his  worke  doth  boast 

In  diaper,  in  damaske,  or  in  lyne  ; 

Nor  anie  skil'd  in  workmanship  erabost  ;  365 

Nor  anie  skil'd  in  loupes  of  fingring  fine  ; 

Might  in  their  divers  cunning  ever  dare 

Wilh  this  so  curious  networke  to  compare. 

Ne  doo  I  thinke,  that  that  same  subtil  gin, 

The  which  the  Lemnian  god  framde  craftily,        370 

Mars  sleeping  witn  his  wife  to  compasse  in. 

That  all  the  gods  with  common  mockerie 

Might  laugh  at  them,  and  scoriie  their  shameful!  sin. 

Was  like  to  this.     This  same  he  did  applie 

For  to  entrap  the  careles  Clarion,  375 

That  rang'deachwhere  without  suspition. 

Suspition  of  friend,  nor  feare  of  foe, 

That  hazarded  his  health,  had  he  at  all, 

But  walkt  at  will,  and  wandred  to  and  fro, 

lu  the  pride  of  his  fretdome  principal!  •  380 

Litle  wist  lie  his  fatall  future  woe, 

But  was  secure ;  the  liker  he  to  fall. 

He  likest  is  to  fall  into  mischaunce. 

That  is  regardles  of  his  governaunce. 

Yet  still  Aragnoll  (so  his  foe  was  hight)  385 

Lay  lurking  covertly  him  to  surprise  ; 

And  all  his  gins,  that  him  entangle  might, 

Drest  in  good  order  as  he  could  devise. 

At  length,  the  foolish  flie  without  foresight. 

As  he  that  did  all  daunger  quite  despise,  390 

Toward  those  parts  came  flying  carelesselie, 

Where  hidden  was  his  hateful!  enemie. 

Who,  seeing  him,  with  secret  ioy  therefore 

Did  tickle  inwardly  in  everie  vaine  ; 

And  his  false  hart,  fraught  with  all  treasons  store. 

Was  fill'd  witli  hope  his  purjiose  to  obtaine  :       396 

Himselfe  he  close  upgatliered  more  and  more 

Into  his  den,  that  his  deceitful!  traiiie 

By  his  there  being  might  not  be  bewraid, 

Ne  anie  noyse,  ne  anie  motion  made.  100 


472 


-lOPOTM 


Lite  as  a  wily  foxe,  that,  having  spide 

AVhdre  on  a  sunnie  b;inke  the  lambes  doo  play. 

Full  closely  cret^ping  by  the  hinder  side, 

Lyes  in  anibusbmeut  oi'  his  hoped  ])ray, 

Ne  stirreth  linibe;  till,  seeing  readie  tide,  405 

He  rusheth  forth,  and  snatcbeth  quite  away 

One  of  the  litle  yonglings  unawares  : 

So  to  bis  works  Aragnoll  him  prepares. 

*Vho  now  shall  give  unto  my  heavie  eyes 

A  well  of  teares,  that  all  may  overflow?  410 

Or  where  sbnU  I  find  lamentable  cryes. 

And  mournfuU  tunes,  enough  my  griefe  to  show? 

lielpe,  O  thou  Tragick  Muse,  me  to  devise 

Notes  sad  enough,  t'expresse  this  bitter  throw  : 

For  loe,  the  drerie  stownd  is  now  arrived,  415 

That  of  all  happines  hath  us  deprived. 


The  luckles  clarion,  whether  crucll  Fate 
Or  wicked  Fortune  fauhles  him  misled, 
Or  some  ungracious  blast  out  of  the  gate 
Of  Aeoles  raine  perforce  him  drove  on  bed. 
Was  (O  sad  hap  and  howre  unfortunate  !) 
With  violent  swift  fliglit  forth  caried 
Into  the  cursed  cobweb,  which  his  foe 
Had  framed  for  his  finall  overthroe. 


420 


42d 


There  the  fond  flie,  entangled,  strugled  lou^ 
Hiraselfe  to  free  thereout;  but  all  in  vaine. 
For,  striving  more,  the  more  in  laces  strong 
Himselfe  he  tide,  and  wrapt  bis  winges  twaine 
In  lymie  snares  the  subtill  loupes  among* 
That  in  the  ende  he  breathlesse  did  remaine         430 
And,  all  his  yongthly  forces  idly  spent. 
Him  to  the  mercie  of  th'  avenger  lent. 


WHiich  when  the  greisly  tyrant  did  espie, 

Like  a  grimme  lyon  rushing  with  fierce  might 

Out  of  bis  den,  he  seized  greedelie  435 

On  the  resistles  pray;  and,  with  fell  spight, 

Under  the  left  wing  strooke  his  weapon  slie 

Into  his  heart,  that  his  deepe-groning  spright 

In  bloodie  streames  forth  fled  into  the  aire, 

ills  bodie  left  the  spectacle  of  care.  440 


"B  B  I  TT  A  1  N'S     IDA. 

WRITTEN    BVTHAT    RENOWNED    POET, 

EDMOND  SPENCER. 

XOWDON: — PRINTED    FOR   THOMAS    WALKLEY,    AND    ARE   TO    BE   SOLD    AT   HIS   SHOP    AT    THE    EAGLE  iNO   CHILD   IH 

BRITTAINES  BURSSE.    1628."       12mo. 


THE    EPISTLE. 

TO  THE  niHGT  NOBLE  LADY, 

MAEY, 

DAVOHTER  TO  THE  MOST  ILLUSTRIOUS  PRINCE,  GEORGE,  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 

Most  noble  Lady !  I  have  presumed  to  present  this  Poem  to  your  honourable  hand,  encourag-ed  onely 
by  the  worth  of  the  famous  autlior,  (for  1  am  certainly  assured,  by  the  ablest  and  most  knowing  men, 
that  must  be  a  worke  of  Spencers,  of  whom  it  were  pitty  that  any  thing  should  bee  lost,)  and  doubting 
not  but  your  Lady-ship  will  graciously  accept,  though  from  a  meane  hand,  this  humble  present,  since 
that  the  man  that  offers  it  is  a  true  honourer  and  observer  of  your  selfe  and  your  princely  family,  and  shall 
ever  remaine 

The  humblest  of  your  devoted  servants, 

Thomas  Walkley 


MARTIAL. 


Accipefacundi  CuHcem  studiose  Maroni$, 
Ne  nugis,  ■positis,  armu ,  virumque  canas. 


See  here  that  stately  muse,  that  erst  could  raise 

In  lasting  numbers  great  Elizaes  praise. 

And  dresse  fair  vertue  in  so  rich  attiie. 

That  even  her  foes  were  forced  to  admire 

And  court  her  heavenly  beauty  !     Shee  that  taught 

The  Graces  grace,  and  made  the  Vertues  thought 

INIore  vertuous  than  before,  is  pleased  here 

To  slacke  her  serious  flight,  and  feed  your  eare 

With  love's  delightsome  toys  :  doe  not  refuse 

These  harmelesse  sports  ;  'tis  learned  Spencer's  muse} 

But  think  his  loosest  poems  worthier  then 

The  serious  follies  of  unskillfull  men. 


CANTO  I. 

THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  youthly  shepheards  wonning  here. 
And  beauties  rare  displayed,  appeare  ; 
What  exercise  heo  chiefe  affects. 
His  name  and  scornefull  love  neglects. 

I-  II. 

In  Ida  vale  (  who  knowes  not  Ida  vale?)  '    Among  the  rest,  that  all  the  rest  excel'a. 

When  hiuiiilesse  Troy  yet  felt  not  Grecian  spite,  A  dainty  boy  there  wonn'd,  wliose  hannlesse  yearea 

An  hundred  shepheards  wonn'd,  and  in  the  dale,  Now  in  their  freshest  budding  gently  sweld  ;" 

Whiletlieir  fV.ire  flockes  the  three-le;iv'd  pastures  bite,  His  nimph-like  tace  nere  felt  the  nimble  sheeres. 

The  shepljeards  boyes  with  hundred  sportings,  light  Youth's  downy    blossome  through    his    cbeeke  ap- 
Gave  winges  unto  the  times  too  speedy  hast  :  peares  ; 

Ah.  foolish  lads  !  that  strove  with  lavish  wasr  His  lovely  limbes  (but  love  he  quite  discarded) 

So  fast   to  -pend  the   time  that  spends  your  time  Were  made  for  phiy  (but  be  no  play  regarded) 

'**  fast.  And  fit  love  to  reward,  and  with  love  be  rewarded 


474 


BRITTAIN'S  IDA. 


High  was  his  fore-head,  arcli't  with  silver  mould, 
(AV'here  never  anger  churHsh  rinkle  dighted), 
His  auburne  lockes  hung  like  darke  threds  of  gold, 
That  wanton  aires  (with  their  faire  length  incited) 
To  plav  among  their  wanton  curies  delighted  ; 
f  lis  smiling  eves  with  simjde  truth  were  stor'd  : 
Ah  !  how  should   truth    in   those   thiefe   eyes  be 
stor'd,  [restor'd? 

Which  thousand  loves  had  stol'n,  and  never  one 

IV. 

Hij  lillv-cheeke  might  seeme  an  ivory  plaine, 
IMore  [ii'.relv  white  than  frozen  Apenine, 
W  liere  lovely  Bashfuliiess  did  sweetly  raine, 
In  blushing  scarlet  cloth'd  and  ])urple  fine. 
A  hundred  hearts  had  tliis  delightfull  shrine, 
(Still  cold  it  selfe)  inflam'd  with  hot  desire, 
That  well  the  face  might  seem,  in  divers  tire, 
To  be  a  burning  snow,  or  else  a  freezing  fire. 


His  cheerful!  lookes  and  merry  face  would  proove 

(If  eyes  the  index  be  where  thoughts  are  read) 

A  dainty  play-fellow  for  naked  Love  ; 

Of  all  the  other  parts  enough  is  sed. 

That  they  were  fit  twins  fur  so  fayre  a  bead  : 


Thousand  hoyes  for  him,  thousand  maidens  dy'de, 
IJye  they  that  list,  for  such  his  rigorous  pride, 
He  thousand  boyes  (ah,    foole  !)    and    thousand 
maids  deni'd. 

VI. 

His  ioy  was  not  in  musiques  sweete  delis;ht, 

(  Though  well  his  hand  had  learnt  that  cunning  arte,) 

Or  dainty  songs  to  daintier  eares  indite, 

But  through  the  plaines  to  chase  the  nimble  hart 

With  well-tun'd  hounds  ;  or  with  his  certaiut>  dart 

The  tusked  boare  or  savage  beare  to  wound  ; 

INIeane  time  his  heart  with  monsters  doth  abound  ; 

Ah,   foole!  to   seeks  so  farre  what  neerer  might 
be  found  ! 


His  name  (well  knowne  unto  those  woodv  shades. 
Where  unrewarded  lovers  oft  complaine  them,) 
Anchises  was  ;   Anchises  oft  the  glades 
And  mountains  heard,  Anchises  had  disdain'd  them  ; 
Not  all  their  love  one  gentle  looke  had  gain'd  ihem, 
Thatrockey  hills,  with  ecchoing  noyse  consenting, 
Anchises  plain'd  ;  but  he  no  whit  relenting. 
Harder  then   rocky  hils,   laugbt  at  their  vaine 
lamenting. 


CANTO  II. 

THE   ARGUMENT. 

Diones  Garden  of  Delight 

With  wonder  holds  Anchises  sight ; 

While  from  the  bower  such  musique  sounds. 

As  all  his  senses  neere  confounds. 


One  day  it  chanc't  as  bee  the  deere  persude, 
Tyred  with  sport,  and  faint  with  weary  play, 
Faire  Venus  grove  not  farre  away  he  view'd. 
Whose  trembling  leaves  invite  him  there  to  stay. 
And  in  their  shades  his  sweating  limbes  display  ; 
There  in  the  cooling  glade  he  softly  paces. 
And  much  delighted  with  their  even  spaces, 
What  in    himselfe  he  scorn'd,  bee  prais'd  their 
kind  imbraces. 

II. 

The  woode  with  Paphian  myrtles  peopled, 
(AVhose  springing  youth  felt  never  winters  spiting,) 
To  laurels  sweete  were  sweetely  married. 
Doubling  their  pleasing  smels  in  their  uniting  ; 
When     single    much,     much    more    when    mixt, 
delighting  : 
No  foot  of  beaste  durst  touch  this  hollowed  place. 
And  many  a  boy  that  long'd  the  woods  to  trace, 
Entred   with    feare,   but   aoone   turn'd    back  bis 
frighted  face. 

in. 

The  thicke-lockt  boughs  shut  out  the  tell-tale  sunne, 
^For  Venus  hated  his  all-blabbing  light. 
Since  her  knowne  fault,  which  ott  she  wisht  undon,) 
And  scattered  raves  did  make  a  doubtfull  sight. 
Like  to  the  first  of  day  or  last  of  night : 
Tiie  fittest  lisjht  for  lovers  gentle  ])tay  : 
Such  light  best  sliewes  the  wandring  lovers  way, 
And  guides  his  erring  hand  :  night  is  Love's  holly- 
day. 


IV. 

So  farre  in  this  sweet  labyrinth  he  stray'd 
That  now  he  views  the  garden  of  Delight, 
Whose  breast,  with  thousand  painted  flowers  array'd, 
With  divers  ioy  captiv'd  his  wandring  sight ; 
But  soon  the  eyes  rendred  the  eares  their  right; 
For  such  strange  harmony  he  seem'd  to  heare. 
That  all  his  senses  flockt  into  his  eare. 
And  every  faculty  wisht  to  be  seated  there. 


V. 

From  a  close  bower  this  dainty  musique  flow'd 
A  bower  appareld  round  with  divers  roses. 
Both  red  and  white,  which  by  their  liveries  show'd 
Their  mistris  faire,  that  there  her  selfe  re])oses ; 
Seem'd  that  would  strive  with  these  rare  musique 
clozes. 
By  spreading  their  faire  bosomes  to  the  light, 
Which  the  distracted  sense  should  most  delight; 
That,  raps  the  melted  eare ;  this,  both  the  smel 
and  sight. 

VI. 

The  boy  'twixt  fearefull  hoi)e,  and  wishing  feare, 
Crept  all  along  (for  much  he  long'd  to  see 
The  bower,  much  more  the  guest  so  lodged  there  j) 
And,  as  he  goes,  he  marks  how  well  agree 
Naturn  and  Arte  in  discord  unity, 

F'/.ich  striving  who  should  best  performe  his  part. 
Yet  Arte  now  helping  Nature,  Nature  Arte  ; 
While  from  his  eares  a  vovce  thus  stole  his  heart. 


BRITTAIN'S  IDA. 


475 


'  Fond  men  !  whose  wretched  care  the  life  soone  en- 
By  striving-  to  increase  vour  ioy,  do  spend  it ;   [ding-, 
And,  sjiending-  ioy,  yet  find  no  joy  in  spending; 
You  hurt  your  life  bv  striving-  to  amend  it  ; 
And,  seeking  to  prolong  it,  soonest  end  it  : 

Then,  n-hile  fit  time  affords  thee  time  and  leasure, 
Enioy  while  yet  thou  mayst  thy  lifes  sweet  plea- 
sure : 
Too  foolish  is  the  man  that  starves  to  feed  his 
treasure. 

VIII. 

"  Love  is  lifes  end  ;  (an  end,  but  never  ending ;) 
All  ioyes,  all  sweetes,  all  happinesse,  awarding  ; 
Love  is  lifes  wealth  (nere  spent, but  ever  spending,) 
More  rich  by  giving,  taking  by  discarding  ; 
Love's  lifes  reward,  rewarded  in  rewarding  : 


'J'hen  from  tliy  wretched  heart  fond  care  remoove; 
Ah  I   sliouldst  thou  live  but  once  loves  sweetes  to 


proove. 
Thou  wilt  not  love  to  live,  unlesse  thou  live  to 
love." 


To  this  sweet  voyce  a  daint}'^  musique  fitted 
Its  well-tun'd  strings,  and  to  her  notes  consorted. 
And  while  with  skilfull  voyce  the  song  she  dittied, 
The  blabbing  Echo  had  her  words  retorted  ; 
That  now  the  boy,  beyond  his  soule  transported, 
Through    all  his  liinbes    feeles    run    a    pleasant 

shaking. 
And  'twixt  a  hope  and  feare,  suspects  mistaking, 
And    doubts    he  sleeping-  dreames,    and    broad 
awake  feares  waking. 


CANTO  in. 


THE     ARGUMENT. 


Faire  Cythereas  limbes  beheld. 
The  straying  lads  heart  so  inthral'd, 
That  in  a  trance  his  melted  spright 
Leaves  th'  sences  slumbring  in  delisrht. 


Now  to  the  bower  liee  sent  his  theevish  eyes 
To  steale  a  happy  sight ;  there  doe  they  finde 
Faire  Venus,  that  within  halfe  naked  lyes  ; 
And  straight  amaz'd  (so  glorious  beauty  shin'd) 
Would  not  returne  the  message  to  the  minde  ; 
But,  full  of  feare  and  superstitious  awe, 
Coidd  not  retire,  orbacke  their  beams  withdraw, 
So  fixt  on  too  much  seeing  made  they  nothing  saw. 


Her  goodly  length  stretcht  on  a  lilly-bed, 
(A  bright  foyle  of  a  beauty  farre  more  bright,^ 
Fevi-  roses  round  about  were  scattered. 
As  if  the  lillies  learnt  to  blush,  for  spight 
To  see  a  skinne  much  more  then  lilly-white : 
The  bed  sanke  with  delight  so  to  be  pressed, 
And   knew  not   which  to  thinke  a   chance  more 

blessed, 
Both  blessed  so  to  kisse,  and  so  agayne  be  kissed. 


Her  spacious  fore-head,  like  the  clearest  moone. 
Whose  fuUgrowne  orbe  begins  now  to  be  spent, 
Largely  display'd  in  native  silver  shone, 
Giving  wide  room  to  Beauty's  regiment. 
Which  on  the  plaine  with  Love  tryumphing  went ; 
Her  golden  haire  a  rope  of  pearle  imbraced, 
Which,  with  their  dainty  thr^ds  oft-times  enlaced. 
Made  the   eie   think  the  pearle  was  there  in  gold 
inchased. 

IV. 

Her  full  large  eye,  in  ietty-blacke  array'd, 
Prov'd  beauty  not  confin'd  to  red  and  ^«liite. 
But  oft  her  selfe  in  blacke  more  rich  display'd  , 
Both  contraries  did  yet  themselves  unite, 
To  make  one  beauty  in  dift'ereiit  delight ; 


A  thousand  Loves  sate  playing  in  each  eye  J 
And  smiling  Mirth,  kissing  fair  Courtesie, 
By  swete  perswasion  wan  a  bloodlesse  victory. 


The  whitest  white,  set  by  her  silver  cheeke, 
Grew  pale  and  wan,  like  unto  heavy  lead  ; 
The  freshest  purple  fresher  dyes  must  seeke, 
That  dares  compare  with  them  his  fainting  red  : 
On  these  Cupido  winged  armies  led 

Of  little  Loves  that,  witli  bold  wanton  traine 
Under  those  colours,  marching  on  the  plaine. 
Force  every   heart,   and  to  low    vasselage    con- 
straine. 


Her  lips,  most  happy  each  in  other's  kisses, 
From  their  so  wisht  imbracements  seldome  parted, 
Yet  seem'd  to  blush  at  such  their  wanton  blisses  ; 
But,  when   sweet  words  their    ioyning  sweet  dia 

parted, 
To  th'  eare  a  dainty  musique  they  imparted  : 
Upon  them  fitly  sate,  delightfull  smiling, 
A  thousand   soules  with  pleasing  stealth  beguil- 
ing : 
Ah  !  that  such  shews  of  ioyes  should  be  all  ioyes 
exilino-. 


The  breath  came  slowly  thence,  unwilling  leaving 
So  sweet  a  lodge  ;  but  when  she  once  intended 
To  feast  the  aire  with  words,  the  heart  deceiving. 
More  fast  it  thronged  so  to  be  expended  ; 
And  at  each  word  a  hundred  Loves  attended, 

Playing  i'  th'  breath,  more  sweete  than  is  that  firing 
Where  that  Arabian  onely  bird,  expiring. 
Lives  by  her  de;ith,by  losse  of  breath  more  fresh  re 
spiring. 


76 


BRITTAIN'S  IDA. 


Hercliin,  like  to  a  stone  in  gokl  incliased, 
Seeni'd  a  fair  iewt'll  wroiiglit  with  cunning  hand. 
And,  being  double,  doubly  the  face  graced  : 
Tliis  goodly  frame  on  her  round  neoke  did  stand  ; 
Such  jnllar  well  such  curious  work  sustain'd  ; 
And.  on  liis  top  the  heavenly  spheare  up-rearing, 
iMight   veil  present,  with  daintier  appearing, 
A  lesse  but  better  Atlas,  that  faire  heaven  bearing. 

IX. 

Lower  two  breasts  stand,  all  their  beauties  bearing, 
Two  breasts  as  smooth  and  soft ;  but,  ah,  alas  ! 
Their  smoothest  softnes  farre  exceedes  comparing ; 
More  smooth  and  soft,  but  naught  that  ever  was, 
Where  they  aie  tirst,  deserves  the  second  jjlace  ; 
Yet  each  as  soft  and  each  as  smooth  as  other  ; 
And  when  thou  first  tri'st  one,  and  then  the  other. 
Each  softer  seemes  then  each,  and  each  then  each 
seemes  smoother. 

X. 

Lowlv  betweene  their  dainty  hemispbaeres, 
(Tlieir  heniisphsres  the  heav'nly  globes  excelling,) 
A  path  more  white  than  is  the  name  it  beiires. 
The  Lacteal  Path,  conducts  to  tlie  sweet  dwelling 
Where  best  delight  all  ioyes  sits  freely  dealing  ; 
Where  hundred  sweetes,  and  still  fresh  ioyes  at- 
tending, 
Receive  in  giving ;  and,  still  love  dispending, 
Grow  richer  by  their  losse,  and  wealthy  by  ex- 
pending. 


But  stay,  bold  shepheard  !  here  thy  footing  stay, 
Nor  trust  too  much  unto  thy  new-borne  quill. 
As  farther  to  those  dainty  limbs  to  stray. 
Or  hope  to  paint  that  vale  or  beautious  hill 
Which  past  the  finest  hand  or  choycest  skill : 
But  were  thy  verse  and  song  as  finely  fram'd 
As  are  those  parts,  yet  should  it  soonebe  blam'd, 
for  nmv    the   shameles   wot  Id  of  best  things  is 
asham'd. 

XII. 

That  cunning  artist,  that  old  Greece  admir'd, 

Thus  farre  his  Venus  fitlv  portraved, 

But  there  he  left,  nor  farther  ere  aspir'd  ; 

His  Da?dale  hand,  that  Nature  perfected 

By  arte,  felt  arte  by  nature  limitted. 

Ah!   well  he  knew,  though  his  fit  hand  could  give 
Breath  to  dead  colours,  leaching  marble  live, 
Yet  would  these  lively   parts   his  hand   of  skill 
deprive. 

XIII. 

Such  wlien  this  gentle  boy  her  closely  view'd, 
C)nely  with  thinnest  t^ilken  vale  o'er-layd. 
Whose  snowy  colour  much  more  snowv  shew'd. 
By  being  next  that  skin,  and  all  betray'd. 
Which  best  in  naked  beauties  are  array 'd, 
His  spirits,  melted  with  so  glorious  sight, 
Ran  from  their  worke  to  see  so  splendid  light, 
And  left   be  fainting  limbes   sweet  slumbring  in 
delight. 


CANTO  IV. 

THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  swonding  swaine  recovered  is 
By  th'  goddesse  ;  his  soule-rajiting  blisso  ; 
'I'heir  mutual  conference,  and  how 
Her  service  she  doth  him  allow. 


SoFT-SLEEPiNO  Venus,  waked  with  the  fall. 
Looking  behind,  the  sinking  boy  espies  ; 
With  all  she  starts,  and  wondereth  withall  ; 
She  thinks  that  there  her  faire  Adonis  dyes, 
And  more  she  thinkes  the  more  the  boy  she  eyes  : 
So  stepping  rieerer,  up  begins  to  reare  him  ; 
And  now  w  ith  Love  himselfe  she  will  confer  him. 
And  now  before  her  Love  himselfe  she  will  prefer 
him. 

II. 
The  lad,  soone  with  that  dainty  touch  reviv'd, 
Feehng  himselfe  so  well,  so  sweetly  seated, 
Begins  to  doubt  whether  he  yet  here  liv'd, 
Or°else  his  flitting  soul,  to  heav'n  translated. 
Was  there  in  starry  throne  and  blisse  instated  ; 
Oft  would  he  dye,  so  to  be  often  saved  ; 
And  now  with  happy  wish  he  closely  craved 
For  ever  to  be  dead,  to  be  so  sweet  ingraved. 
III. 
The  Piiphian  princesse  (in  whose  lovelv  breast 
Spiteful  disdame  could  never  find  a  place) 
When  now  she  saw  him  from  his  til  releast, 
(To  Juno  leaving  wrath  and  scolding  base,) 
Comforts  the  trembling  bov  with  smiling  g^ice  : 


But  oh  !  those  smiles  ("too  full  of  sweete  delight) 
Surfeit  his  heart,  full  of  the  former  sight  ;  [sprite. 
So,  seeking  to  revive,  more  wounds    his  feeble 


"  Tell  me,  fair  boy  !  (sayd  she)  what  erring  chance 

Hither  directed  thy  unwary  pace  ? 

For  sure  contempt  or  pride  durst  not  advance 

Their  foule  aspect  in  thy  so  pleasant  face  : 

Tell  me,  what  brought  thee  to  this  hidden  place? 

Or  lacke  of  love,  or  mutuall  answering  fire? 

Or  hindred  bv  ill  chance  in  thy  desire  ? 

Tell  me,  what  ist    thy  faire  and    wishing    eyes 
require?" 

V. 

The  bov  (whose  sence  was  never  yet  acquainted 
With  sucl)  a  musitpie)  stood  with  eares  arected, 
And,  sweetly  witli  that  pleasant  spell  enchanted, 
!\Iore  of  those  sugred  straines  long  time  expected  ; 
I  ill  seeing  she  his  speeches  not  reiected, 

First  siglies  arising  from  his  hearts  low  center, 
1  iius    gan    reply,  when    each  word  bold  would 

venter, 
And  ttnve  the  first  that  dainty  labyrinth  to  enter 


BRITTAIN'S  IDA. 


477 


'  Faire  Cyprian  queene,  (for  well  that  lieavenly  face 
Prooves  thee  the  mother  of  all  concjueringLove,) 
Pardon,  I  pray  thee,  my  iinweetin"-  pace  ; 
For  no  presumptuous  thoughts  did  hither  moove 
Aly  darino^  feete  to  this  thy  holy  grove  ; 

But  lucklesse  chance  (which,  if  you  not  gaine-say, 
1  still  must  rue,)  hath  caus'd  me  here  to  stray. 
And  lose  my  selfe  (alas  !)  in  losing  of  my  way. 


"  Nor  did  I  come  to  right  my  wronged  fire  ; 

Never  till  now  I  saw  what  ought  be  loved  ; 

And  no\v  I  see,  but  never  dare  aspire 

To  moove  my  hope,  where  yet  my  love  is  mooved  ; 

Wlience  though  I  would,  I  would  it  not  remooved ; 
Only  since  I  have  plac't  my  love  so  high. 
Which  sure  thou  must,  or  sure  thou  wilt,  deny, 
Grant  me  yot  still  to  love,  though  in  my  love  to 
dye," 


But  shee  that  in  his  eyes  Loves  face  had  seen, 
And  flaming  heart,  did  not  such  suite  disdaine, 
(For  cruelty  fits  not  sweete  Beauties  queene,) 
But  gently  could  his  passion  entertain, 
Though  she  Loves  princesse,  he  a  lowly  swain : 
First  of  his  bold  intrusion  she  acquites  him, 
Then  to  her  service  (happy  boy  !)  admits  him. 
And,  like  another  Love,  with  bow  and  quiver  fits 
him. 


And  now  with  all  tlie  loves  he  grew  acquainted. 
And  Cupids  selfe,  with  his  like  face  delighted. 
Taught  him  a  hundred  wayes  with  which  he  daunted 
The  prouder  hearts,  and  wronged  lovers  righted. 
Forcing  to  love  that  most  his  love  despited  : 
And  now  the  practique  boy  did  so  approve  him, 
And  with  such  grace  and  cunning  arte  did  moove  him. 
That  all  the  pritty  loves  and  all  the  graces  love  him. 


CANTO  V. 

THE    ARGUMENT. 


The  lovers  sad  despairing  plaints 
Bright  Veuus  with  his  love  acquaints; 
Sweetly  importun'd,  he  doth  shew 
From  whom  proceedeth  this  his  woe. 


Yet  never  durst  his  faint  and  coward  heart 
(Ah,  foole  !  faint  heart  faire  lady  ne're  could  win  !) 
Assaile  faire  Venus  with  his  new-learnt  arte. 
But  kept  his  love  and  burning  flame  within. 
Which  more  flam'd  out  the  more  he  prest  it  in  , 
And  thinking   oft  how  iust  shee  might  disdaine 

him. 
While  some  cool  mirtle  shade  did  entertaine  him. 
Thus  sighing  would  he  sit,  and  sadly  would  he 
plain  him : 

II. 
"  Ah,  fond  and  haplesse  boy !  nor  know  I  whether 
More  fond  or  haplesse  more,  that  all  so  high 
Hast  plac't  thy  heart  where  love  and  fate  together 
May  never  hope  to  end  thy  misery. 
Nor  yet  thy  self  dare  wish  a  remedy  : 

All  hindrances  (alas  !)  conspire  to  let  it ; 

Ah,  fond,  and  hapless  boy  1  if  canst  not  get  it ! 

In  thinking  to  forget,  at  length  learue  to  forget  it. 

III. 
"  Ah,  farre  too  fond,  but  much  more  haplesse  swaine  ! 
Seeing  thy  love  can  be  forgotten  never, 
Serve  and  observe  thy  love  with  willing  paine ; 
And  though  in  vaine  thy  love  thou  doe  persever, 
Yet  all  in  vaine  doe  thou  adore  her  ever. 

No  hope  can  crowne  thy  thoughts  so  farre  aspiriug, 
Nor  dares  thy  selfe  defire  thine  owne  desiring. 
Yet  live  thou  in  her  love,  and  dye  in  her  admiring." 


'i'hus  oft  the  hopelesse  boy  complayning  lyes; 
But  she,  that  well  could  guesse  his  sad  lamenting, 
(Who  can  conceal  love  from  Loves  mothers  eyes?) 
Did  not  di^daine  to  give  his  love  contenting  ; 
Cruel  the  soule  that  feeds  on  soules  tormenting  ; 


Nor  did  she  scorne  him,  though  not  nobly  borne, 
(Love  is  nobility)  nor  could  she  scorne 
That  which  so  noble  skill  her  title  did  adorne. 


One  day  she  chans't,  thrice  happy  day  and  chance  ! 
While  loves  were  with  the  graces  sweetly  sporting. 
And  to  fresh  musique  sounding  play  and  dance. 
And  Cupids  selfe,  with  shepheards  boys  consorting^ 
Laugh'd  at  their  pritty  sport  and  simple  courting, 
Faire  Venus  seats  the  fearfull  boy  close  by  her, 
Where  never  PhcEbus  jealous  lookes  might  eye  ber. 
And  bids  the  boy  his  mistris  and  her  name  descry 
her. 

VI. 

Long  time  the  youth  bound  up  in  silence  stood. 
While  hope  and  feare  with  hundred  thougths  begun 
Fit  prologue  to  his  speech  ;  and  fearfull  blood 
From  heart  and  face  with  these  post-tydings  runne, 
1  hat  eylher  now  he's    made,   or  now  undon  ; 
At  length  his  trembling  words,  with  feare  made 

weake. 
Began  iiis  too  long  silence  thus  to  breake, 
While  from  his  humble  eies  first  reverence  seem 'd 
to  speake. 

VII. 

"  Faire  Queene  of  Love  !    my  life  thou  maist  com- 
mand. 

Too  slender  price  for  all  thy  former  grace. 

Which  I  receive  at  thy  so  bounteous  hand  ; 

But  never  dare  I  speak  her  name  and  face  ; 

My  life  is  much  lesse-priz'd  than  her  disgrace  : 
And,  for  I  know  if  I  her  name  ielate 
I  purchase  anger,  I  must  hide  her  state, 
Uiilesse  thou  sweare   by  Stix  I  purchase  not  n«>' 
hate," 


478 


BRITTAIX'S  IDA. 


Faire  Venus  well  perceiv'd  his  subtile  shift, 
A/jd,  swearing  gentle  patience,  gently  smil'd, 
Wliile  thus  the  boy  persu'd  his  former  drift: 
"  No  tongue  was  ever  yet  so  sweetly  skil'd, 
Nci  greatest  orator  so  highly  stil'd, 
.  Though  helptwith  all  the  choicest  artes  direction, 
But  when  he  durst    describe   her  heaven's    per- 

ff^ction, 
I5y  his  imperfect  praise  disprais'd  his  imperfection. 


"  Her  forme  is  as  her  selfe,  perfect  coeleslriall, 
No  mortall  spot  her  heavenly  frame  disgraces  : 
Beyond  compare  such  nothing  is  teirestriall ! 
More    sweete   than  thought  or  pow'rfull  wish  em- 
braces ; 
The  map  of  heaven,  the  summe  of  all  her  graces  : 
But  if  you  wish  more  truely  limb'd  to  eye  lier, 
Than  fainting  speech  or  words  can  well  descrv  her, 
Look  in  a  glasse,  and  there  more  perfect  you  may 
spy  her." 


CANTO  VI. 

THE    ARGUMENT. 

The  boyes  short  wish,  her  larger  grant. 
That  doth  his  soule  witli  blisse  enchant ; 
Whereof  impatient  uttering  all, 
InraQ-ed  Jove  contrives  his  thrall. 


"Thy  craftv  arte,"  reply'd  the  smiling  queene, 
"  Hath  well  my  chiding  and  not  rage  prevented, 
Yet  mio-hi'st  thou  thinke  that  yet  'twas  never  seene 
That  angry  rage  and  gentle  love  consented  ; 
But  if  to  me  thy  true  love  is  presented, 

What  wages  for  thy  service  must  I  owe  thee? 
For  by  the  selfe-same  vow  I  here  avow  tbee, 
Whatever  ihou  require  I  frankly  will  allow  thee." 

II. 
"  Pardon,"  replies  the  boy,  "  for  so  affecting 
Beyond  movtallity,  and  not  discarding 
Thy  service,  was  much  more  than  my  expecting 
But  if  thou  (more  thy  bounty-hood  regarding) 
Wilt  needs  heap  up  reward  upon  rewarding, 
'J"hy  love  I  dare  not  aske,  or  mutual  fixing, 
One  kisse  is  all  my  love  and  prides  aspiring. 
And  after  starve  my  heart,  for  my  too  much  de- 
siring." 

III. 
"  Fond  boy !"  (sayd   she)   "  too  fond,  that    ask  no 
Thy  want  by  taking  is  no  whit  decreased,        [more  j 
And  giving  spends  not  our  increasing  store  :" — 
Thus  with  a  kisse  his  lips  she  sweetly  pressed; 
Most  blessed  kisse  !  but  hope  more  than  most  blessed. 
The  boy   did  thinke   heaven   fell   while   thus   he 
And  wliile  ioy  he  so  greedily  enioy'd,  [ioy'd, 

He  felt  not  halfe  his  ioy  by  being  over-ioyd. 

IV. 

"  Why  sighst!  faire  boy  !"  (sayd  sb?)  '•  dost  thou 
repent  thee 
Tbv  narrow  wish  in  such  straight  bonds  to  stay?" 
"  VVell  may  I  sigh"  (sayd  he)  "  and  well  lament  me. 
That  never  such  a  debt  may  hope  to  pay." 
"  A  kisse,"  (savd  she)  "  a  kisse  will  back  repay." 
"  Wilt  thou"  (reply'd  the  boy,  too  much  delighted,) 
Content  thee  with  such  jiay  to  be  requited  V 
She  grants  ;  and  he  his  lips,  heart,  soule,  to  pay- 
ment cited. 

V. 

Look  as  a  ward,  long  from  his  land*  detain'd. 
And  subiect  to  his  guardians  cruel  lore, 
Now  spends  the  more,  the  more?  he  was  restrain'd  ; 
So  he  ;  yet  though  in  laying  out  his  store 
He  doubly  takes^  yet  finds  himself  grow  poore  ; 
With  that  he  markes,  and  tels  her  out  a  score, 
And  doubles  them,  and  trebles  all  before. 
Fond   boy  I  the   more   thou    paist,   thy  debt  still 
grows  th?  more. 


At  length,  whether  these  favours  so  had  fir'd  Lim 
With  kindly  heute,  inflaming  his  desiring. 
Or  whether  those  sweete  kisses  had  inspir'd  him. 
He  thinkes  that  something  wants  for  his  requiring. 
And  still  aspires,  yet  knows  not  his  aspiring ; 
But  yet  though  that  bee  knoweth  so  she  gave, 
That  he  presents  himselfe  her  bounden  slave 
Still  his  more  wishing  fiice  seem'd  somewhat  else 
to  crave. 

VII. 

And,  boldned  with  successe  and  many  graces, 
His  hand,  chain'd  up  in  feare,  he  now  releast, 
And  asking  leave,  courag'd  with  her  inibraces, 
Againe  it  prison 'd  in  her  tender  breast : 
Ah,  blessed  prison  !  prisners  too  mucli  blest  ! 
There  with  those  sisters  long  time  doth  he  jsby. 
And  now  full  boldly  enters  loves  highway, 
\\  bile  downe  the  pleasant  vale  his  creeping  hand 
doth  stray. 

VIII. 

She,  not  displeas'd  with  this  his  wanton  play, 
Hiding  his  blushing  with  a  sugred  kisse. 
With  such  sweete  heat  his  rudenesse  doth  allay, 
That  now  he  jierfect  knowes  whatever  blisse 
Elder  Love  taught,  and  he  before  did  misse ; 

That  moult  with  ioy,  in  such  untri'd  ioyes  trying 
He  gladly  dies  ;  and,  death  nev.-  life  apjdyinu'. 
Gladly  againe  he  dyes,  that  oft  he  may  be  dying. 

IX. 

Long  thus  he  liv'd,  sluinbring  in  sweete  delight, 
Free^^from  sad  caie  and  fickle  worlds  annoy. 
Bathing  in  li(iuid  ioyes  his  melted  s})rite  ;: 
And  longer  mou^ht^  but  he  (ah,  foolish  boy!) 
Too  proud,  and  too  impatient  of  his  ioy,        [parted, 
To  woods,  and   heav'n,  and  earth,   his  blisse  im« 
'i'hat  Jove  upon  him  downe  his  thunder  darted, 
Blasting  his  splendent   face,  and   all  his   beautv 
svvarted. 

X. 

Such  be  his  chance  that  to  his  love  doth  wrong ; 
Unwortliv  he  to  save  so  worthy  place. 
That  caniiot  hold  his  peace  and  blabbing  tongue  ; 
Light  ioyes  float  on  his  lips,  but  rightly  grace 
SiiK-kes     deepe,    and    ih' heart's    low    center   dotb 
inibrace. 
IMiglit  I  enioy  my  love  till  I  unfold  it, 
I'd  lose  all  favours  when  1  blahhing  told  it: 
He  is  not  fit  for  love  that  is  not  fit  to  hold  it. 


VIEW 


STATE    OF   IRELAND. 

WniTTEN   DIALOGUE-WISE  BETWEEN 

EFDOXUS    AND     IRENEUS. 


EuDOX. — But  if  that  country  of  Ireland,  whence 
pou  lately  came,  be  of  so  goodly  and  commodious  a 
soil,  as  you  report,  I  wonder  that  no  course  is  taken 
for  t'le  turning  thereof  to  good  uses,  and  reducing 
lliat  nation  to  better  government  and  civility. 

Iren. — Marrv,  so  there  havebeen  divers  good  jdots 
devised,  and  wise  counsels  cast  already  about  re- 
formation of  that  realm  ;  but  they  sav,  it  is  the  fatal 
destiny  of  that  land,  that  no  purjioses  whatsoever 
which  are  meant  for  her  good,  will  pros]ier  or  take 
good  effect :  which,  whether  it  ])roceed  from  the 
verv  genius  of  the  soil  or  influence  of  the  stars,  or 
that  Almighty  God  hath  not  yet^pjjointed  the  time 
Df  her  reformation,  or  that  he  reserveth  her  in  this 
anqniet  state  still,  for  some  secret  scourge,  which 
shall  by  her  come  unto  England,  it  is  hard  to  be 
known,  but  vet  much  to  be  feared. 

Evnox.  — Surely  I  suppose  this  but  a  vain  conceit 
of  siniple  men,  which  judge  ihin-gs  bv  their  eifects, 
and  not  by  their  causes;  for  1  would  ratiier  thuik 
the  cause  of  this  evil  which  hangiMh  upon  that 
country,  to  proceed  rather  of  the  unsoundness  of 
the  counsels,  and  plots  which  you  say  have  been 
oftentimes  laid  for  tlie  reforniaricn,  or  of  fainlness 
in  following  and  effecting  the  same,  than  of  any 
such  latal  course  appointed  of  God  as  you  misdeem  : 
out  it  is  the  manner  of  men,  that  when  they  are  fallen 
into  any  absurdity,  or  their  actions  succeed  not  as 
chey  would,  they  are  always  ready  to  impute  the  blame 
thereof  unto  the  heavens,  so  to  excuse  their  own 
follies  and  imperfections.  So  have  I  heard  it  often 
wished  also  (even  of  some  whose  great  wisdoms  in 
opinion  should  seem  to  iudge  more  soundly  of  so 
weighty  a  consideration)  that  all  that  laud  were  a 
sea-pool:  which  kind  of  speech,  is  the  manner  ra- 
ther of  desperate  men  far  driven,  to  wish  the  utter 
ruin  of  that  which  they  cannot  redress,  than  of 
grave  counsellors,  which  ought  to  think  nothing  so 
iiard,  but  that  through  wisdom  it  may  be  mastered  aad 
subdued  ;  since  the  poet  saith,  that  "  the  wise  man 
siiall  rule  even  over  the  stars,"  much  more  over  the 
earth  :  Jiir  wcrf  it  not  the  part  of  a  desperate  physi- 
cian, to  wish  his  diseased   patient  dead,  rather  than 


to  apply  the  best  endeavour  of  his  skil'  for  his  reco 
very?  but  since  we  are  so  far  entered,  let  us,  I  pray 
you,  a  little  devise  of  those  evils,  by  which  that 
country  is  held  in  this  wretched  case,  that  it  cannot 
(as  you  say)  be  recured.  And  if  it  be  not  p-iinful 
to  you,  tell  us  what  things  during  your  late  con- 
tinuance there,  you  observed  to  be  most  offensive, 
and  greatest  impeachment  to  the  good  rule  ana 
government  thereof. 

Ihev. — Surely,  Kudoxus,theevi]s  which  you  desire 
to  be  recounted  are  very  many,  and  almost  countable 
with  those  which  were  hidden  in  the  basket  of  Pan- 
dora. But  since  vou  please,  I  will  out  of  that 
infinite  number,  reckon  but  some  that  a-e  most 
capital,  and  commonly  occurrent  both  in  the  life  and 
conditions  of  private  men  ;  as  also  in  the  managing 
of  public  affairs  and  policy,  the  which  vou  shall 
understand  to  be  of  divers  natures,  as  I  observed 
them  :  For  some  of  them  are  of  very  great  antiquity 
and  continuance;  others  more  late  and  of  less  in- 
durance  ;  others  daily  growing  and  increasing  con- 
tinually by  their  evil  occasions,  which  are  every  day 
offered. 

KuDox. — Tell  me,  then,  I  prav  vou,  in  the  same 
order  that  you  have  now  rehearsed  them ;  for  there 
can  be  no  better  method  than  this  which  the  very 
matter  itself  offereth.  And  when  vou  liave  reckoned 
all  the  evils,  let  us  hear  your  opinion  for  the  redres- 
sing of  them  :  after  which,  there  will  perhaps  of 
itself  appear  some  reasonable  way  to  settle  a  sound 
and  perfect  rule  of  government,  bv  shunning  the 
former  evils,  and  following  the  offered  good.  The 
which  method  we  may  learn  of  the  wise  ph\'si- 
cians,  which  first  require  that  the  malady  be  known 
thoroughly  and  discovered  ;  afterwards  to  teach  how 
to  cure  and  redress  it;  and,  lastly,  do  prescribe  a 
diet,  with  straight  rule  and  orders  to  be  daily  ob- 
served, for  fear  of  relapse  into  the  former  disease,  or 
falling  into  some  other  more  dangerous  than  it. 

Iren. — I  will  then,  according  to  your  advisement, 
begin  to  declare  the  evils  which  seem  to  me  most 
hurtful  to  the  commonweal  of  that  land  ;  anil,  first, 
those   (I  say)  which  were  most  ancient  and  long 


480 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STAl'E  OF  IRELAND, 


grown  -,  and  tlipv  also  are  of  three  sorts  :  the  first  in  tlie 
laws,  the  second  in  customs,  and  the  last  in  relig-ion. 

EcDOX. — Whv,  Ireneus,  can  there  be  anv  evil  in 
the  laws?  Can  thinn;s  which  are  ordained  for  the 
good  and  safety  of  all,  turn  to  the  evil  and  liurt  of 
.'.hem?  This  well  I  wot,  both  in  tlr.it  state  and  in  all 
Dther,  that  were  they  not  contained  in  duty  with 
fear  of  law,  which  restraineth  offences,  and  inflicteth 
sharp  punishment  to  niisdoers,no  man  should  enjoy 
anv  thino^;  every  man's  hand  would  be  against  ano- 
ther. I'herefore,  in  findir-g  fault  with  the  law;,  I 
doubt  me,  you  shall  much  over-shoot  yourself,  and 
make  me  the  more  dislike  your  other  dislikes  of  that 
government. 

Ire^j. — The  laws,  Eudoxus,  I  do  not  blame  for 
themselves,  knowing  right  well  that  all  laws  are 
ordained  for  the  good  t'f  the  commonweal,  and  for 
repressing  of  licentioiisness  and  vice.  But  it  fallelh 
out  in  laws,  no  otherwise  than  it  doth  in  physic, 
whicli  was  at  first  devised,  and  is  vet  daily  meant, 
and  ministered  for  the  health  of  the  patient.  But 
nevertheless,  we  often  see,  that  either  through  igno- 
rance of  the  disease,  or  through  unseasonableness 
of  the  time,  or  other  accidents  coming  between, 
instead  of  good,  it  worketh  hurt,  and  out  of  one  evil 
throweth  the  patient  into  many  miseries.  So  the 
laws  were  at  first  intended  for  the  reformation  of 
abuses,  and  jjeaceable  continuance  of  the  subject; 
but  are  sithence  either  disannulled,  or  quite  preva- 
ricated through  change  and  alteration  of  times,  yet 
are  they  good  still  in  themselves  :  but  in  that  com- 
monwealth which  is  ruled  by  them  they  work  not 
that  good  which  they  should,  and  sometimes  also  that 
evil  which  thev  would  not. 

EtDox. — \Vhether  do  you  mean  this  by  the  com- 
mon laws  (if  that  realm,  or  by  the  statute  laws,  and 
acts  of  parliaments  ? 

Ihen. — Surely,  by  them  both  ;  for  even  the  com- 
mon hnv,  being  that  which  William  of  Normandy 
brought  in  with  his  conquest,  and  laid  upon  the 
r.eck  of  England,  though  perhaps  it  fitted  well  with 
the  state  of  England  then  being,  and  was  readily 
obeyed  thiough  the  jiower  of  the  commander,  which 
had  before  subdued  the  people  unto  him,  and  made 
easy  way  to  the  settling  of  his  will  ;  yet  with  the 
state  of  Ireland,  peradventure,  it  doth  not  so  well 
agree,  being  a  people  very  stubborn  and  untamed  ; 
or  if  it  were  ever  tamed,  yet  now  lately  having  quite 
shooken  off  their  yoke,  and  broken  the  bonds  of  their 
bedience.  For  England  (before  tbe  entrance  of  the 
conqueror)  was  a  peaceable  kingdom,  and  but  lately 
inured  to  the  mild  and  goodly  government  of  Ed- 
ward, sirnamed  the  Confessor  ;  besides  now  lately 
grown  into  a  loathing  and  detestation  of  the  unjust 
and  tyrannous  rule  of  Harold,  an  usurper,  which 
made  them  the  more  willing  to  acce]it  of  any  reason- 
able conditions  and  order  of  the  new  victor,  thinking 
surely  that  it  could  be  no  worse  than  the  latter,  and 
hoping  well  it  would  be  as  good  as  the  former:  yet 
wliat  the  proof  of  first  bringing  in  and  establishing 
of  those  laws  wns,  was  to  many  full  bitterly  made 
known.  But  with  Ireland  it  is  far  otherwise,  for  it 
is  a  nation  ever  acquainted  with  wars,  though  but 
amongst  themselves,  and  in  their  own  kind  of  mili- 
tary discipline,  trained  up  ever  frotn  their  youths ; 
which  they  tiave  never  yet  been  taught  to  lay  aside, 
npr  made  to  learn  obedience  unto  laws,  scarcely  to 
know  the  name  of  law,  but  instead  thereof  have 
nlways  preserved  and  kept  their  own  law,  which  is 
the  Jjrehon  law. 


EuDox. — What  is  that  which  vou  call  the  Brehon 
law?  it  is  a  word  unto  us  altogether  unknown. 

IiiKN.— It  is  a  rule  of  right  unwritten,  but  deli- 
vered by  tradition  from  one  to  another,  in  which 
oftentimes  there  apjieareth  great  shew  of  equity,  in 
determining  the  right  between  party  and  party,  but 
in  many  things  repugning  quite  both  to  Goil's  law 
and  man's  :  as  for  example,  in  the  case  of  murder. 
Ihe  Hrehon,  that  is  their  judge,  will  compound  be- 
tween the  murderer  and  the  friends  of  the  part? 
nil  riijJid,  which  prosecute  the  action,  that  the  ma- 
lefac'.or  shall  give  unto  them,  or  to  the  child  or  wife 
of  him  that  is  slain,  a  recompense,  which  they  call 
an  Eriach  ;  by  which  vile  law  of  theirs,  manv  mur- 
ders amongst  them  are  made  up  and  smothered 
And  this  judi;e  being  (as  he  is  called)  the  Lord's 
Hrehon,  adjudgeth  for  tbe  nios^.  oart  a  better  share 
unto  his  lord,  that  is  the  Ion.  of  ^ae  soil,  or  the  head 
of  that  se])t,and  also  unto  himself,  for  his  judgment, 
a  greater  portion  than  unto  tbe  plaintiffs  or  jiarties 
aggi'ieved. 

EuDOX. — This  is  a  most  wicked  law  indeed  ;  but  I 
trust  It  is  not  now  used  in  Ireland  since  the  kings  of 
England  have  had  the  absolute  dominion  thereof,  and 
establish  their  own  laws  there. 

Irex. — Yes,  trulv,  for  there  be  manv  wide  coun- 
tries in  Ireland  which  the  laws  of  England  were 
never  established  in,  nor  any  acknowledgment  cf 
subjection  made;  and  also  even  in  those  which  are 
subdued,  and  seem  to  acknowledge  subjection,  yet 
the  same  biehon  law  is  practised  among  themselves, 
by  reason,  that  dwelling  as  they  do,  whole  nations 
and  septs  of  the  Irish  together,  without  any  l^iglish- 
man  among  them,  they  m.ay  do  what  they  list,  and 
compound  or  altogether  conceal  amongst  themselves 
their  own  crimes,  of  which  no  notice  can  be  had  by 
them  which  would  and  might  amend  the  same,  by 
the  rule  of  the  laws  of  England. 

EuDox. — What  is  this  which  you  say?  And  is 
there  any  part  of  that  realm  or  any  nation  therein, 
which  have  not  yet  been  subdued  to  the  crown  of 
England?  Did  not  the  whole  realm  universally  ac- 
cept and  acknowledge  our  late  prince  of  famous  me- 
mory, Henry  VIII.,  for  their  only  king  and  liege  lord? 

InEN. — Yes,  verily  :  in  a  Parliament  holden  in  the 
time  of  Sir  Anthony  Saint-Leger,  then  Lord  Deputy, 
all  the  Irish  lords  and  principal  men  came  in,  and 
being  by  fair  means  wrought  thereunto,  wknovv- 
ledged  King  Henry  for  their  sovereign  lord,  re- 
serving yet  (as  some  say)  unto  themselves  all  their 
own  former  privileges  and  seigniories  inviolate. 

EuDOX. — Then  by  that  acceptance  of  his  sove- 
reignty they  also  accepted  of  his  laws.  W  hy  then 
shoidd  any  other  laws  be  now  used  amongst  them? 

Iren. — True  it  is  that  thereby  they  bound  them- 
selves to  his  laws  and  obedience,  and  in  case  it  had 
been  followed  upon  them,  as  it  should  have  been, 
and  a  government  thereupon  settled  among  them 
agreeable  thereunto,  they  should  have  been  reduced 
to  perjietual  civility,  and  contained  in  continual 
tluty.  But  wliat  boots  it  to  break  a  colt  and  to  let 
him  straight  run  loose  at  random  !  So  were  thet^e 
people  at  first  well  handled,  and  wisely  brought  to 
acknowledge  allegiance  to  the  kings  of  England  . 
but  being  straight  left  unto  themselves  and  tlieir 
own  inordinate  life  and  manners,  they  eftsoons 
forgot  what  before  they  were  taught,  and  so  soon  as 
they  were  out  of  sight,  by  themsehes  shook  off  their 
bridles,  and  began  to  colt  anew,  more  licentiously 
than  before. 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


481 


EuDOX. — It  is  a  great  pity,  that  so  good  an  oppor- 
tunity was  omitted,  and  so  happy  an  occasion  fore- 
slacked,  that  might  have  been  the  eternal  good  of 
the  land.  But  do  they  not  still  acknowledge  tliat 
submission  ? 

Iren. — No,  they  do  not  :  for  now  the  heirs  and 
posterity  of  them  which  yielded  the  same,  are  (as 
they  say)  either  ignorant  thereof,  or  do  wilfully 
deny,  or  stedfastly  disavow  it. 

EuDOx. — How  can  they  so  do  justlv  1  Doth  not 
the  act  of  the  parent,  in  any  lawful  grant  or  convey- 
ance, bind  their  heirs  forever  thereunto  ?  Sith  then 
the  ancestors  of  those,  that  now  live,  yielded  them- 
selves then  subjects  and  liegemen,  shall  it  not  tie 
their  children  to  the  same  subjection  ? 

Iren. — They  say  no  :  for  their  ancestors  liad  no 
estate  in  any  their  lands,  seigniories,  or  heredita- 
ments, longer  than  during  their  own  lives,  as  they 
allege ;  for  all  the  Irish  do  hold  their  land  by  Taii- 
istry  ;  which  is  (say  they)  no  more  but  a  personal 
estate  for  his  life  time,  that  is,  Tuuist,  by  reason  that 
lie  is  admitted  thereunto  by  election  of  the  country. 

Ei'DOx. — What  is  this  which  you  call  Tanht  and 
Taniitry  ?  They  be  names  and  terms  never  heard  of 
nor  known  to  us. 

Iren. — It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish,  that 
presently  after  the  deatli  of  any  of  their  chief  lords 
or  taptams,  they  do  presently  assemble  themselves 
to  a  place  generally  appointed  and  known  unto  them, 
to  choose  another  in  his  stead,  where  they  do  nomi- 
nate and  elect,  for  the  most  part,  not  the  eldest  son. 
nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  deceased,  but 
the  next  to  him  of  blood,  tliat  is,  the  eldest  and 
worthiest;  as  commonly  the  next  brother  unto  him, 
if  be  have  any,  or  the  next  cousin,  or  so  forth,  as 
any  is  elder  in  that  kindred  or  sept :  and  then  next 
to  him  do  they  choose  the  next  of  the  blood  to  be 
Tanist,  who  shall  next  succeed  him  in  the  said  cap-  | 
tainry,  if  he  live  thereunto. 

EuDox. —  Do  they  not  use  any  ceremony  in  this 
election?  for  all  barbarous  nations  are  commonly 
great  observers  of  ceremonies  and  superstitious 
rites. 

Iren. — They  used  to  place  him  that  shall  be  their 
captain,  upon  a  stone  always  reserved  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  placed  commonly  upon  a  hill:  in  some  of 
which  I  have  seen  formed  and  engraven  a  foot, 
which  they  say  was  the  measure  of  their  first  cap- 
tain's foot,  whereon  he  standing,  received  an  oath 
to  preserve  all  the  ancient  former  customs  of  the 
country  inviolable,  and  to  deliver  up  the  succession 
peacaably  to  his  Tauisi ;  and  then  hath  a  wand  deli- 
vered unto  him  by  some  whose  proper  office  that 
is:  after  which,  descending  fioni  the  stone,  he 
turneth  himself  round,  thrice  forward,  and  thrice 
backward. 

EuDOX. — But  how  is  the  Taiiist  chosen? 

Iren. — They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon  the 
stone,  and  receiveth  the  like  oath  that  the  captain 
did. 

EuDox. — Have  you  ever  heard  what  was  the 
occasion  and  first  beginning  of  this  custom?  for  it 
is  good  to  know  the  same,  and  mav  perhaps  discover 
some  secret  meaning  and  intent  therein,  very  mate- 
rial to  the  state  of  that  government. 

Iren. — I  have  heard  that  the  beginning  and 
cause  of  this  ordinance  amongst  the  Irish,  was  spe- 
cially for  the  defence  and  maintenance  of  their  lands 
in  their  po'sterity,  and  for  excluding  all  innovation  or 
dlienatiou  thereof  unto  strangers,  and  sjiecially  to 


the  English.  For  when  their  captain  dieth,  if  the 
seigniorie  should  descend  to  his  child,  and  he  per- 
haps an  infant,  another,  peradventure,  would  step 
in  bt-tween,  or  thrust  him  out  by  strong  luind, 
being  then  unable  to  defend  his  right,  or  to  with- 
stand the  force  of  a  foreigner  ;  and  therefore  they 
do  appoint  the  eldest  of  the  kin  to  have  the  seignio- 
rie, for  that  he  commonly  is  a  man  of  stionger 
years,  and  better  exjierience  to  maintain  iheinheri'- 
ance,  and  to  defend  the  country,  either  agains-t  the 
next  bordering  lords,  which  use  commoid}'  to  en- 
croach one  upon  another,  as  one  is  stronger  ;  or 
against  the  English,  which  they  think  lie  still  in 
vvait  to  wipe  them  out  of  their  lands  and  territories. 
And  to  this  end,  the  Tanist  is  always  ready  known, 
if  it  should  happen  the  captain  suddenly  to  die,  or 
to  be  slain  in  battle,  or  to  be  out  of  the  country,  to 
defend  and  keep  it  from  all  such  doubts  and  dangers. 
For  which  cause  the  Taniit  hath  also  a  share  of  the 
country  allotted  unto  him,  and  certain  cuttings  and 
spendings  upon  all  the  inhabitants  under  the  lord. 

EuDOx. — When  I  heard  this  word  Tanist,  itbring- 
eth  to  my  remembrance  what  1  have  read  of  Tania, 
that  it  should  signify  a  province  or  seigniorie,  as 
Aquitania,  Lusitania,  and  Britannia,  the  which  some 
think  to  be  derived  of  Dania,  that  is,  trom  the 
Danes  ;  but,  1  think,  amiss.  But  sure  it  seemeth, 
that  it  came  anciently  from  those  barbarous  nations 
that  over-ran  the  world,  which  possessed  those  do- 
minions, whereof  they  are  now  so  called.  And  so 
it  may  well  be,  that  from  thence  the  first  original  of 
this  word  Tanist  and  Tauistry  came,  and  the  custom 
thereof  hath  sithence,  as  many  others  else,  been 
continued.  But  to  that  general  subjection  of  the 
land,  whereof  we  formerly  spake,  meseems  that 
this  custom  or  tenure  can  be  no  bar  nor  impeach- 
ment, seeing  that  in  open  parliament  by  their  said 
acknowledgment  they  waved  the  benefit  thereof,  and 
submitted  themselves  to  the  benefit  of  their  new 
sovereign. 

Iren. — Yea,  but  they  say,  as  I  erst  told  you,  that 
they  reserved  their  titles,  tenures,  and  seigniories 
whole  and  sound  to  themselves ;  and  for  ])roof 
allege,  that  they  have  ever  sithence  remained  to  them 
untouched,  so  as  now  to  alter  them,  ohould  (say 
they)  be  a  great  wrong. 

EuDOx. — What  remedy  is  there,  then,  or  means,  to 
avoid  this  inconveniency  ?  for,  without  first  cutting 
oflFthis  dangerous  custom,  it  seemeth  hard  to  plant 
any  sound  ordinance,  or  reduce  them  to  a  civil  go- 
vernment, since  all  their  ill  customs  are  permitted 
unto  them. 

InEN. — Surely  nothing  liard:  for  by  this  act  of 
parliament  whereof  we  speak,  nothing  was  given  to 
king  Henry  which  he  had  not  before  from  his  an- 
cestors, but  only  the  bare  name  of  a  king ;  for  all 
other  absolute  power  of  principality  he  had  in  him- 
self before  derived  from  many  former  kings,  his 
famous  progenitors  and  worthy  conquerors  of  that 
land.  The  which  sithence  they  first  con(juered  and 
by  force  subdued  unto  them,  what  needed  alter- 
wards  to  enter  into  any  such  idle  terms  with  them 
to  be  called  their  king,  when  it  is  in  the  power  of 
the  conqueror  to  take  upon  himself  what  title  he 
will,  over  his  dominions  conquered?  For  all  is  the 
conqueror's,  as  TuUy  to  Brutus  saith.  Therefore 
(meseems)  instead  ot  so  great  and  meritorious  a  ser- 
vice as  they  boast  they  performed  to  the  king,  in 
bringing  all  the  Irish  to  acknowledge  him  for  their 
liege,  they  did  great  hurt  unto  his  title,  and  have 


-iG? 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


left  a  perpetual  gall  in  the  mind  of  the  people  ;  who 
before  being  absolutely  bound  to  his  obedience,  are 
now  tied  but  with  terms  :  whereas  else  both  their 
lives,  their  lands,  and  their  liberties  were  in  his  free 
power,  to  a])point  what  tenures,  what  laws,  what 
conditions  he  would,  over  them,  which  were  all  bis  : 
against  which  there  could  be  no  rightful  resistance, 
or  if  there  were,  he  might  when  he  would  establish 
tbem  with  a  stronger  hand. 

EuDox. —  Yea,  but  perhaps  it  seemed  better  unto 
that  noble  king  to  bring  them  by  their  own  accord 
to  his  obedience,  and  to  plant  a  peaceable  govern- 
ment amongst  them,  than  by  such  violent  means  to 
pluck  them  under.  Neither  yet  bath  he  thereby  lost 
anything  that  he  formerly  had  ;  for  having  all  before 
absolutely  in  bis  power,  it  remaineth  so  still  unto 
Lim,  he  having  thereby  neither  forgiven  nor  foregone 
anything  thereby  unto  them,  but  having  received 
something  from  them,  that  is,  a  more  voluntary  and 
loyal  subjection.  So  as  her  majesty  may  yet,  when 
it  shall  please  her,  alter  anything  of  those  former 
ordinances,  or  appoint  other  laws,  that  may  be  more 
both  for  her  own  behoof,  and  for  the  good  of  that 
people. 

Iren. — Not  so  :  for  it  is  not  so  easy,  now  that 
things  are  grown  unto  an  habit,  and  have  their  cer- 
tain course,  to  cliange  the  channel,  and  turn  their 
streams  another  way  :  for  they  have  now  a  colourable 
pretence  to  withstand  innovations,  having  accepted 
of  other  laws  and  rules  already. 

EuDox. — But  you  say  they  do  not  accept  of  them, 
but  delight  rather  to  lean  to  their  old  customs  and 
Bi-ehini  laws,  though  they  be  more  unjust,  and  also 
more  inconvenient  for  the  common  people,  as  by 
vour  late  relation  of  them  I  have  gathered.  As  for 
the  laws  of  England,  they  are  surely  most  just  and 
most  agreeable,  both  with  the  goveinment  and  with 
the  nature  of  the  people.  How  falls  it  then  that 
you  seem  to  dislike  of  them,  as  not  so  meet  for  that 
realm  of  Ireland  ;  and  not  only  the  common  law,  but 
also  the  stiitutes  and  acts  of  parliament,  which  were 
specially  provided  and  intended  for  the  only  benefit 
thereof? 

Iren. — I  was  about  to  have  tob'  you  my  reason 
therein,  but  that  yourself  drew  me  away  with 
other  questions,  for  I  was  showing  you  by  what 
means  and  by  what  sort,  the  positive  laws  were  first 
brought  in  and  established  by  the  Norman  con- 
queror; which  were  not  by  him  devised,  nor  applied 
to  tLe  state  of  the  realm  then  being,  nor  as  yet 
mighi  best  be  (as  should  by  law-givers  principally 
be  regarded),  but  were  indeed  the  very  laws  of  his 
own  country  of  Normandy, — the  condition  whereof 
bow  far  it  differetb  from  this  of  England,  is  ajipa- 
rent  to  every  least  judgment.  But  to  transfer  the 
same  laws  lor  the  government  of  the  realm  of  Ire- 
land, was  luuch  more  inconvenient  and  unmeet  ; 
for  he  found  a  better  advantage  of  the  time,  than 
was  in  the  jilanting  of  them  in  Ireland,  and  followed 
the  execution  of  them  with  more  severity,  and  was 
also  I  resent  in  person  to  overlook  the  magistrates, 
and  to  overawe  these  subjects  with  the  terror  of  his 
sword  and  countenance  ol  his  majesty.  But  not  so 
in  Ireland,  for  they  were  otheiwise  affected,  and 
yet  do  .--o  remain;  so  as  the  same  laws  (meseems) 
can  ill  fit  with  their  disposition,  or  work  that  reform- 
ation that  is  wished.  For  laws  ought  to  be  fashioned 
'jnto  the  manners  and  conditions  of  the  people  to 
wnom  they  are  meant,  and  not  to  be  imposed  upon 
them  according  to  the  simple  rule  of  right ;  for  then 


(as  I  said)  instead  of  good  they  may  work  ill,  and  per- 
vert justice  to  extreme  injustice.  For  he  that  transfers 
the  laws  (f  the  Lacedemonians  to  the  people  of  Athens, 
should  find  a  great  absurdity  and  inconvenience. 
For  those  laws  of  Lacedemon  were  devised  by  Ly- 
curgus,  as  most  jiroper  and  best  agreeing  with  that 
people,  whom  be  knew  to  be  inclined  altogether  to 
wars  ;  and  therefore  wholly  trained  tbem  up  even 
from  their  cradles  in  arms  and  military  exercises, 
clean  contrary  to  the  institution  of  Solon,  who,  in  bis 
laws  to  the  Athenians,  laboured  by  all  means  to  temper 
their  warlike  courages  with  sweet  delights  of  learn- 
ing and  sciences  ;  so  that  as  much  as  the  one  ex- 
celled in  arms  the  other  exceeded  in  knowledge, 
i'lie  like  regard  and  moderation  ought  to  be  had  in 
tempering  and  managing  this  stubborn  nation  of  the 
Iri.sh,  to  bring  them  from  their  delight  of  licentious 
barbarism  unto  the  love  of  goodness  and  civility. 

EuDox. — I  cannot  see  how  that  may  better  be,  than 
by  the  discipline  of  the  laws  of  England  :  for  the 
English  were  at  first  as  stout  and  warlike  a  people 
as  ever  the  Irish,  and  yet  you  see  are  now  brought 
unto  that  civility,  that  no  nation  in  the  world  excel- 
leth  them  in  all  goodly  conversation  and  all  the  studies 
of  knowledge  and  humanity. 

Ihen. —  What  they  now  be,  both  you  and  I  see 
very  well  ;  but  by  how  many  thorny  and  hard  ways 
they  are  come  thereunto,  by  how  many  civil  broils, 
by  how  many  tumultuous  rebellions,  that  even 
hazarded  oftentimes  the  whole  safety  of  the  king- 
dom, may  easily  be  considered  :  all  which  they 
nevertheless  fairly  overcame,  by  reason  of  the 
continual  presence  of  their  king  ;  whose  only 
person  is  ofteniimes  instead  of  an  army,  to  contain 
the  unruly  people  from  a  thousand  evil  occasions, 
which  this  wretched  kingdom  for  want  thereof  is 
daily  carried  into.  The  which,  whensoever  they 
make  head,  no  laws,  no  penalties  can  restrain,  but 
that  they  do  in  the  violence  of  that  fury  tread  down 
and  trample  under  foot  all,  both  divine  and  human 
things  ;  and  the  laws  themselves  they  do  specially 
rage  at,  and  rend  in  pieces,  as  most  repugnant  to 
their  liberty  and  natural  freedom,  which  in  their 
madness  they  effect. 

Eurox. — It  is  then  a  very  unseasonable  time  to 
plead  law,  when  swords  are  in  the  bands  of  the 
vulgar,  or  to  think  to  retain  them  with  fear  of 
punishment,  when  they  look  after  liberty,  and  shake 
oft"  all  government. 

Iren. — Then  so  it  is  with  Ireland  continually, 
Exdoxus  ;  for  the  sword  was  never  yet  out  of  their 
hand :  but  when  they  are  weary  of  wars,  and 
brought  down  to  extreme  wretchedness,  then  they 
creep  a  little  perhaps,  and  sue  for  grace,  till  they 
have  gotten  new  breath,  and  recovered  their  strength 
again  ;  so  as  it  is  in  vain  to  speak  of  planting  laws, 
and  plotting  policy,  till  they  be  altogether  subdued. 

EuDOX. —  Were  they  not  so  at  the  first  con(juering 
of  them  by  Strongbow,  in  the  time  of  King  Henry 
the  Second  ]  Was  there  not  a  thorough  way  then 
made  by  the  sword,  Ibr  the  imjiosiiig  of  the  laws 
upon  them?  and  were  they  not  then  executed  with 
such  a  mighty  hand  as  you  said  was  used  by  the 
Norman  Conqueror?  What  odds  is  there  then  in 
this  case?  why  should  not  the  same  laws  take  as 
good  effect  on  that  people  as  they  did  here,  being  in 
like  sort  jirejiared  by  the  sword,  and  brought  under 
by  extremity?  And  why  should  they  not  continue 
in  as  good  force  and  vigour  for  the  containing  of 
the  people? 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


483 


Iren. — The  case  yet  is  not  like,  but  there  appear- 
eth  great  odds  between  them  ;  for  by  tlie  conquest 
of  Henry  II.,  true  it  is  that  the  Irish  were  utterly 
vanquished  and  subdued,  so  as  no  enemy  was  able 
to  liold  up  head  against  his  power :  in  which  their 
weakness  he  brought  in  his  laws,  and  settled  them 
as  now  they  there  remain,  like  as  William  the  Con- 
queror did ;  so  as  in  thus  much  they  agree,  but  in 
the  rest,  that  is  the  chiefest,  they  vary.  For  to 
whom  did  King  Henry  II.  oppose  those  laws?  not 
to  the  Irish,  for  the  most  part  of  them  fled  from  his 
power  into  desarts  and  mountains,  leaving  the  wide 
country  to  the  conqueror;  who  in  their  stead 
eftsoones  placed  Englishmen,  who  possessed  all 
their  lands,  and  did  quite  shut  out  the  Irish,  or  the 
most  part  of  them.  And  to  those  new  inhabitants 
and  colonies,  he  gave  his  laws,  to  wit,  the  same  law, 
under  which  they  were  born  and  bred  ;  the  which  it 
was  no  diiBculty  to  place  amongst  them,  being 
formerly  well  inured  thereunto,  unto  whom  after- 
wards there  repaired  divers  of  the  poor  distressed 
people  of  the  Irish  for  succour  and  relief:  of  whom, 
such  as  they  thought  fit  for  labour,  and  industriously 
disposed,  as  the  most  part  of  their  baser  sort  are, 
they  received  unto  them  as  their  vassals,  but 
scarcely  vouchsafed  to  impart  unto  them  the  benefit  of 
those  laws  under  which  themselves  lived,  but  every 
one  made  his  will  and  commandment  a  law  unto  his 
own  vassal.  Thus  was  not  the  law  of  England  ever 
properly  applied  unto  the  Irish  nation,  as  by  a  pur- 
posed plot  of  government,  but  as  they  could  insinuate 
and  steal  themselves  under  the  same,  by  their 
humble  carriage  and  submission. 

Ei'Dox. — How  comes  it  then  to  pass,  that  having 
been  once  so  low  brought,  and  thoroughly  subjected, 
they  afterwards  lifted  up  themselves  so  strongly 
again,  and  sithence,  do  stand  so  stiffly  against  all 
rule  and  government  ? 

Iren. — They  say  that  they  continued  in  that  low- 
liness, until  the  time  that  the  division  between  the 
two  houses  of  Lancaster  and  York  arose  for  the 
crown  of  England :  At  which  time  all  the  great 
English  lords  and  gentlemen,  which  had  great  pos- 
sessions in  Ireland,  repaired  over  hither  into  Eng- 
land, some  to  succour  their  friends  here,  and  to 
strengthen  their  party  for  to  obtain  the  crown  ; 
iithers  to  defend  their  lands  and  possessions  here 
ai;ainst  such  as  hovered  after  the  same,  upon  hope 
of  the  alteration  of  the  kingdom,  and  success  of  that 
side  which  ihev  favoured  and  affected.  Then  the 
Irish,  whom  before  they  had  banished  into  the 
mountains,  where  they  lived  only  upon  whitt  meats, 
as  it  is  recorded  ;  seeing  now  their  lands  so  dis- 
peopled and  weakened,  came  down  iuto  all  the  plains 
adjoining  ;  and  thence  expelling  those  few  English 
ihiit  remained,  repossessed  them  again  :  since  which 
they  have  remained  in  them,  and  growing  gieater, 
have  brought  under  them  many  of  the  English, 
which  were  before  their  lords.  This  was  one  of 
the  occasions  by  which  all  those  countries,  which 
lying  near  unto  any  mountains  or  Irish  deserts,  had 
been  plinted  with  English,  were  shortly  displanted 
and  lest, — as  namely  in  Alunster,  all  the  lands 
adjoining  unto  Slowlogher,  Arlo,  and  the  Bog  of 
Allon  ;  in  Connaught,  all  the  countries  bordering 
upon  the  Curlues,  IMointerolis,  and  O'  Rourke's  coun- 
try ;  iii  Leinster,  all  the  lands  bordering  unto  the 
mountains  of  Glanmalour,  unto  Sbillelab,  unto  the 
Brackenah,  and  Polmonte ;  in  Ulster,  all  the 
countries  near  unto  Tircounel,  Tyrone,  and  the  Scots. 


f-uDox. — Surely  this  was  a  great  violence  :  But 
yet  by  vour  speech  it  seemeth  that  only  the  countries 
and  valleys  near  adjoining  unto  those  mountains  and 
deserts  were  thus  recovered  by  the  Irish.  But  how 
comes  it  now  that  we  see  almost  all  that  realm 
repossessed  of  them  ?  Were  there  any  more  such  evil 
occasions  growing  by  the  troubles  of  England  !  Or 
did  the  Irisii,  out  of  those  places  so  by  them  gotten, 
break  further,  and  stretch  themselves  out  through 
the  whole  land  I  For  now,  for  ought  that  I  can 
understand,  there  is  no  part  but  the  bare  Englisli 
Pale,  in  which  the  Irish  have  not  the  greatest 
footing. 

ItiKX. — But  out  of  these  small  beginnings  by 
them  gotten  near  to  the  mountains,  did  thev  spread 
themselves  into  the  inland  ;  and  also,  to  their  further 
advantage,  there  did  other  like  unhappy  accidents 
happen  out  of  England,  which  gave  iieart  and  '^ocd 
opportunity  to  them  to  regain  their  old  possessions  : 
for  in  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth,  things 
remained  yet  in  the  same  state  that  they  were  alter 
the  late  breaking  out  of  the  Irish,  which  I  spake  of; 
and  that  noble  prince  began  to  cast  an  eye  unto 
Ireland,  and  to  mind  the  reformation  of  things  there 
run  amiss.  For  he  sent  over  his  brother,  the  wor- 
thy Duke  of  Clarence  ;  who  having  married  the  heir 
of  the  Earl  of  Ulster,  and  by  her  having  all  the 
earldom  of  Ulster,  and  much  in  Meatli  and  in  INInn- 
ster,  very  carefully  went  about  the  redressing  of  all 
those  late  evils  :  and  though  he  could  not  beat  out 
the  Irish  again,  by  reason  of  his  short  continuance, 
yet  he  did  shut  them  up  within  those  narrow  cor- 
ners and  glens,  under  the  mountain's  foot,  in  which 
they  lurked  ;  and  so  kept  them  from  breaking  any 
further,  by  building  strong  holds  upon  every  bor- 
der, and  fortifying  all  passages, — amongst  tiie 
which,  he  repaired  the  Castle  of  Clare  in  Thoniond, 
of  which  country  he  had  the  inheritance,  and  of 
JMortimer's  Lands  adjoining;  which  is  now  (by  the 
Irish)  called  Killala.  But  the  times  of  that  good 
king  growing  also  troublesome,  did  let  the  thorough 
reformation  of  all  things.  And  thereunto,  soon 
after,  was  added  another  fatal  mischief,  which 
wrought  a  greater  calamity  than  all  the  former.  For 
the  said  Duke  of  Clarence,  then  Lord  Lieutenant  of 
Ireland,  was  by  practice  of  evil  persons  about  the 
king  his  brother,  called  thence  away  ;  and  soon  after 
by  sinister  means,  was  clean  made  away  ;  presently 
after  whose  death,  all  the  i\orth  revolting,  did  set 
up  O'Neal  for  their  captain,  being  before  that  of 
small  power  and  regard  ;  and  there  arose  in  that 
part  of  I'liomond,  one  of  the  O'Briens,  called  .Mur- 
rogh  en  Ranagh  :  that  is,  iMorrice  of  the  Fern,  or 
waste  wild  places  ;  who,  gathering  unto  him  all  the 
reliques  of  the  discontented  Irish,  eftsoones  sur- 
prised the  said  castle  of  Clare,  burnt  and  spoiled  all 
the  English  there  dwelling  ;  and  in  short  S])ace, 
possessed  all  tliat  country,  beyond  river  of  Shannon, 
and  near  adjoining.  Whence  shortly  breaking  forth 
like  a  sudden  tempest,  he  overran  all  IMuUiter  and 
Connaught ;  breaking  down  all  the  holds  and  for- 
tresses of  the  Lnglish,  defacing  and  utterly  subvert- 
ing all  corporate  towns,  that  were  not  strongly 
walled  :  for  those,  he  had  no  means  nor  engines  to 
overthrow  ;  neither  indeed  would  he  stay  at  all  about 
them,  but  speedily  ran  forward,  counting  his  sudden- 
ness his  most  advantage,  that  he  might  overtake  the 
English  before  they  could  fortify  or  gather  them- 
selves together.  So  in  short  sj»ace  he  clean  wiped 
out  many  great  towns,  as  first  Incbequin,  then  Kil- 

•I  2 


484 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRKL AND. 


lala,  before  called  Clariford,  also  Thurlet,  Mourne, 
Buttevant,  and  many  olliers,  whose  names  I  cannot 
remember,  and  of  some  of  which  there  is  now  no 
memory  or  sign  remaining.  Upon  re])ort  whereof, 
there  tiocked  unto  him  all  the  scum  of  the  Irish  out 
of  all  places,  that  ere  long  he  had  a  mighty  army, 
and  thence  marched  forth  into  Leii>ster,  where  he 
wrought  great  outrages,  wasting  all  the  country 
where  he  went ;  for  it  was  bis  policy  to  leave  no 
hold  behind  him,  but  to  make  all  plain  and  waste. 
In  the  which  he  soon  after  created  himself  king, 
and  was  called  King  of  all  Ireland  ;  which  before 
nim  I  do  not  read  that  any  did  so  generally,  but  only 
Edward  le  Bruce. 

Eunox. — What !  was  there  ever  any  general  king 
of  all  Ireland  ?  I  never  beard  it  before,  but  that  it 
was  always  (whilst  it  was  under  the  Irish)  divided 
into  four,  and  sometimes  into  five  kingdoms  or  do- 
minions. But  this  Edward  le  Bruce,  what  was  be, 
that  could  make  himself  king  of  all  Ireland  ? 

Iren. — I  would  tell  you,  in  case  you  would  not 
challenge  me  anon  for  forgetting  the  matter  which  I 
had  in  band  ;  that  is,  the  inconvenience  and  unfit- 
ness which  I  supposed  to  be  in  the  law  of  the  land. 

EuDox. — No  surely,  I  have  no  cause,  for  neither 
is  this  impertinent  thereunto  ;  for  sithence  you  did 
set  your  course  (as  I  remember  in  your  first  ])art)  to 
treat  of  the  evils  which  hindered  the  peace  and  good- 
ordering  of  that  land  :  amongst  which,  that  of  the 
inconvenience  in  the  laws,  was  the  first  which  you 
had  in  band  ;  this  discourse  of  the  overrunning  and 
%vasting  of  the  realm,  is  very  material  thereunto,  for 
that  it  was  the  beginning  of  all  the  other  evils  which 
sitiience  liave  afflicted  that  land,  and  opened  a  way 
unto  the  Irish  to  recover  their  possession,  and  to 
beat  out  the  English  which  bad  formerly  won  the 
same.  And  besides,  it  will  give  a  great  light  both  unto 
the  second  and  third  part ;  wbicb  is,  the  redress- 
ing of  those  evils,  and  planting  of  some  good  form 
or  policy  therein,  by  renewing  tlie  remembrance  of 
these  occasions  and  accidents,  by  which  those  ruins 
Jiaj)|>ened  :  and  laying  before  us  the  ensamples  of 
those  times,  to  be  compared  to  ours,  and  to  be  warned 
by  those  which  shall  have  to  do  in  tJie  like.  Therefore 
I  pray  you  tell  them  unto  us;  aiid  as  for  the  point 
where  you  left,  I  will  noi  forget  afterwards  to 
call  you  back  again  thereunto. 

Iren. — This  Edward  le  Bruce  was  brother  of 
Robert  le  Bruce,  vvho  was  King  of  Scotland,  at 
such  time  as  King  Edward  the  Second  reigned  here 
in  England,  and  bare  a  most  malicious  and  spiteful 
mind  against  King  Edward, doing  him  all  the  scathe 
that  he  could,  and  annoying  his  territories  of  Eng- 
land, whilst  be  was  troubled  with  civil  vsars  of 
bis  barons  at  home.  He  also,  to  work  Inm  the  more 
Ini:^chief,  sent  over  his  said  brother  Edward  with  a 
power  of  Scots  and  red-shanks  into  Ireland  ;  where 
by  the  means  of  the  Lacies,  and  of  the  Irish,  with 
whom  they  combined,  they  got  footing  :  and  gather- 
ing unto  him  all  the  scatterlings  and  outlaws  out  of 
all  the  woods  and  mountains,  in  which  they  long 
bad  lurked,  marched  forth  into  the  English  pale, 
which  then  was  chiefly  in  the  nortli  from  the  point 
of  Donluce,  and  beyond  unto  Dublin  :  having  in 
the  midst  of  ber  Knockfergus,  Belfast,  Annagh,  and 
Carlingford ;  which  are  now  the  most  out-bounds 
and  abandoned  places  in  the  English  pale,  and  inileed 
not  counted  of  the  English  pale  at  all  ;  fir  it 
Stretcbeth  now  no  further  than  Duiidalk  towards 
•.he  north.     There  the  said  Edward  le  Bruce  spoiled 


I  and  burnt  all  the  old  English  pale  inhabitants,  and 
sacked  and  razed  all  cities  and  corporate  towns ;  no 
less  than  IMurrough  en  Ranagb,  of  whom  I  erst 
told  you  :  for  he  wasted  Belfast,  Gieen-Castle, 
Kelles,  Belturbut,  Castletown,  Newton,  and  many 
other  very  good  towns  and  strong  holds  :  be  rooted 
out  the  noble  families  of  the  Audlies,  Talbofs, 
Tuchets,  Chamberlains,  Maundevilles,  and  the 
Savages,  out  of  Ardes  ;  though  of  the  Lord  Savage 
there  remainetb  yet  an  heir,  that  is  now  a  poor  gen- 
tleman of  very  mean  condition,  yet  dwelling  in  the 
Ardes.  And  coming  lastly  to  Dundalk,  be  there 
made  himself  king,  and  reigned  the  space  of  one 
whole  year ;  until  that  Edward  King  of  England, 
having  some  quiet  in  his  affairs  at  home,  sent  over 
the  Lord  John  Birmingham  to  be  general  of  the 
wars  against  him  ;  who  encountering  him  near  to 
Dundalk,  overthrew  his  army,  and  slew  bim.  Also 
he  presently  followed  the  victory  so  hotly  upon  the 
Scots,  that  lie  suffered  them  not  to  breathe,  or  ga- 
ther themselves  together  again,  until  they  came  to 
the  sea  coast.  Notwithstanding,  all  the  wav  that 
they  fled,  for  very  rancour  and  despite,  in  their 
return,  they  utterly  consumed  and  wasted  whatsoever 
they  had  before  left  unspoiled  ;  so  as,  of  all  towns, 
castles,  forts,  bridges,  and  habitations,  they  left  not 
any  stick  standing,  nor  any  people  remaining:  for 
those  few  which  yet  survived,  fled  from  their  fury 
further  into  the  English  pale  that  now  is.  Thus 
was  all  that  goodly  country  utterly  wasted.  And 
sure  it  is  yet  a  most  beautiful  and  sweet  country  as 
any  is  under  Heaven,  being  stored  throughout  with 
many  goodly  rivers,  replenished  with  all  sorts  of 
fish  most  abundantly  ;  sprinkled  with  many  very 
sweet  islands  and  goodly  lakes,  like  little  inland 
seas,  that  will  carry  even  ships  upon  their  waters  ; 
adorned  with  goodly  woods,  even  fit  for  building  of 
houses  and  ships,  so  commodiously,  as  that  if  some 
princes  in  the  world  bad  them,  they  would  soon 
hope  to  be  lords  of  all  the  seas,  and  ere  long  of  all 
the  world  :  also  full  of  very  good  ports  and  havens 
opening  upon  England,  as  inviting  us  to  come  unto 
them,  to  see  what  excellent  commodities  that  coun- 
try can  afford  ;  besides  the  soil  itself  most  fertile, 
fit  to  yield  all  kind  of  fruit  that  shall  be  conimitted 
tliereunto  ;  and  lastly,  the  heavens  most  mild  and 
temperate,  though  somewhat  more  moist  than  the 
parts  towards  the  west. 

Eunox. — 'Truly,  Iren,  what  with  your  praises  of 
the  cr  uiitry,  and  what  with  your  discourse  of  the 
lamentable  desolation  thereof  made  by  those  Scots, 
you  have  filled  me  with  a  great  compassion  of  their 
calamities,  that  I  do  much  pity  that  sweet  land,  to 
be  subject  to  so  many  evils,  as  I  see  more  and  more 
to  be  hud  11)1011  her,  and  do  half  begin  to  think,  thai 
it  is  (as  you  said  at  tlu^  beginning)  her  fatal  misfor- 
tune, above  all  other  countries  that  I  know,  to  be 
thus  miserably  tossed  and  turmoiled  with  these 
variable  storms  of  affliction.  But  since  we  are  thus 
far  entered  into  the  consideration  of  her  mishaps, 
tell  me,  have  there  been  any  more  such  tempests  as 
you  term  them,  wherein  she  hath  thus  wretchedly 
been  w  z-ecked  '] 

IiiEN. — Many  more.  Got  wot,  have  there  been  ; 
in  which  principal  parts  have  been  rent  and  torn 
asunder,  but  none  (as  I  can  remember)  so  universal 
as  this.  And  yet  the  lebellion  of  Thomas  Fitz- 
Garret  did  well  nigh  stretch  itself  into  ail  parts  of 
Ireland,  liut  that  which  was  in  the  time  of  the 
government  of  the  Lord  Grey,  was  surely  no  less 


A   VIEW  OF  THE  STAIi:  OF   ]]\VA  AM). 


485 


general  than  :ill  those  ;  for  there  was  no  part  free 
from  the  conta<;i<in,  but  all  conspired  in  (me  to  cast 
off  tlleir^llbjection  to  the  i  rown  of  Enoland.  Never- 
theless, through  the  most  ^  ise  iitid  valiant  handling- 
of  that  right  noble  lord,  it  jjot  not  the  head  which 
the  former  evils  found;  for  in  them  the  realm  was 
left  like  a  ship  in  a  storm,  amidst  all  t!ie  raging 
surges,  unruled  and  undirected  of  any :  for  they  to 
whom  she  was  committed,  either  fainted  in  their 
labour,  or  forsook  their  charge.  But  he  (like  a 
most  wise  pilot)  kept  her  course  carefully,  and 
held  her  most  strongly  even  against  those  roaring 
billows,  that  he  safely  brought  her  out  of  all  ;  so  as 
long  after,  even  by  the  space  of  twelve  or  thirteen 
whole  years,  she  rode  at  peace,  through  his  only 
pains  and  excellent  endurance,  however  envy  list  to 
blatter  against  him.  But  of  this  we  shall  have  more 
occasion  to  speak  in  another  plaie.  Now  ( if  you 
please)  let  us  return  again  unto  our  first  course. 

EuDox. — Truly  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  your  judg- 
ment of  the  government  of  that  honounible  man  so 
soundly  ;  for  1  have  heard  it  oftentimes  maligned, 
and  his  doings  depraved  of  some,  who  (I  perceive) 
did  rather  of  malicious  mind,  or  private  grievance, 
seek  to  detract  from  the  honour  of  his  deeds  and 
counsels,  than  of  any  just  cause  :  but  he  was,  never- 
theless, in  the  judgments  of  all  gond  and  wise  men, 
defended  and  maintained.  And  now  iliat  he  is  dead. 
Lis  immortal  fame  survivetli,  and  flouiisheth  in  the 
mouths  of  all  people,  that  even  those  which  did 
backbite  him.  are  checked  with  their  own  venom, 
and  bienk  their  galls  to  hear  his  .'•o  honourable  re- 
port. But  let  him  rest  in  peace,  and  turn  we  to  our 
more  troublesome  matters  of  discourse,  of  which  1 
am  right  sorry  that  you  make  so  short  an  end,  and 
covet  to  pass  over  to  \our  former  purposes:  for 
there  he  many  other  parts  of  Ireland  which  1  have 
heard  have  been  no  less  vexed  with  the  like  storm.s, 
than  these  which  you  have  tn  aied  of;  as  the  coun- 
tries of  the  Birnes  and  Tooles,  near  Dublin,  with  the 
insolent  outrages  and  spoils  of  Feagh  mac  Hugh  ; 
the  countries  of  Catherlagh,  Wexford,  and  V\  ater- 
ford,  bv  the  Cavenaghs.  The  countries  of  Leix, 
Kilkenny,  and  Kildare,  by  the  O'Moores.  The 
countries  of  Ofaly  and  Longford,  by  the  Connors. 
'J'he  Countries  of  V\'estmeath,  Cavan,  and  Lowtli, 
by  the  O'Relyes,  the  Kellyes,  and  many  others. 
So  as  the  discoursing  of  them,  besides  the  pleasure 
which  would  redound  out  of  their  history,  be  also 
verv  profitable  for  matters  of  policy. 

IiiEN. — All  this  which  vou  have  named,  and  many 
more  besides,  oftentimes  have  I  right  well  known, 
and  yet  often  do  kindle  great  fires  of  tumultuous 
broils  in  the  countries  bordering  upon  them.  All 
which  to  rehearse,  should  rather  be  to  chronicle 
times,  than  to  search  into  reformation  of  abuses 
in  that  realm  ;  and  vet  very  needful  it  will  be  to 
consider  them,  and  the  evils  which  ibey  have  often 
stirred  up,  that  some  redress  thereof,  and  pretention 
of  the  evils  to  come,  may  thereby  rather  be  devised. 
But  I  suppose  we  shall  have  a  fitter  opportuniry  lor 
the  same,  when  we  shall  siieak  of  the  particular 
abuses  and  enormities  of  the  government,  which 
will  be  next  after  these  gene'al  defects  and  inconve- 
niences, which  1  said  were  in  the  laws,  ( ustoms,  ! 
and  religion.  \ 

Eddox. — Go  to  them,  a  God's  name,  and  Ibllow 
the  course  which  y.u  have  premised  to  yourselt  ; 
for  it  fiiteth  best,  J  must  confers,  with  the  jiurj.o.-se 
of  our  discourse.     Declare  \our  opinion,  as  yc  u  be- 


gan about  the  laws  of  the  realm,  what  incommodity 
\ou  have  conceived  to  he  them,  chii-fly  in  the  com- 
mon law,  which  1  would  have  thought  most  free  from 
all  such  dislike. 

Ihkn. — The  cnmmon  law  is  (as  I  said  before)  of 
itself  most  riiihtful  and  very  convenient  (I  suppose) 
for  the  kingdom,  for  w  hich  it  was  first  devised  :  for 
this  (  I  think;  as  it  seems  reasonable,  that  out  of 
your  manners  of  your  people  and  abuses  of  your 
country,  for  which  they  were  invented,  tliev  t;ike 
iheir  first  beginning,  or  else  they  should  bo  must 
unjust  ;  for  no  laws  of  man  (according  to  the  straight 
rule  of  riuht)  are  just,  but  as  in  rei;ard  of  the  evils 
which  they  prevent,  and  the  safety  of  the  common- 
weal, which  thev  provide  for.  As  for  example,  in 
your  true  balancing  of  justice,  it  is  a  flat  wrong  to 
punish  the  thought  or  purpose  of  any,  before  u  be 
enacted  ;  for  true  jus'ice  punisheth  nothing  but  the 
evil  act  or  wicked  word  :  but  bv  the  laws  of  all 
kingdoms  it  is  a  capital  crime  to  devise  or  purpose 
the  death  of  your  King;  the  reason  is,  for  that  when 
such  a  pur])ose  is  effected,  it  should  then  be  too  late 
to  devise  thereof,  and  should  turn  the  commonwealth 
to  mure  loss  b}'  the  death  of  their  prince,  than  such 
punishment  of  the  malefactors.  And  therefure  the 
law  in  that  case  jiunisheth  the  thought;  forbeileris 
a  mischief  than  an  inconvenience.  So  that, Jus  ]wli- 
ticiim,  though  it  he  not  of  itself  just,  yet  by  applica- 
tion, or  rather  necessity,  it  is  made  just:  and  this 
only  respect  maketh  a'l  laws  just.  Now  then,  if 
the>e  laws  of  Ireland  be  not  likewise  applied  and 
fitted  for  that  realm,  they  are  sure  verv  inconvenient. 
EuDOx.  \  ou  reason  strongly:  but  what  unfit- 
m  ss  do  you  find  m  them  for  that  realm!  Show  us 
some  particulars. 

lutN. —  Thn  common  lawappiinteth,  that  all  trials, 
as  well  of  crimes,  as  titles  and  right,  shall  be  made 
by  verdict  ot  a  jury,  chosen  out  of  the  honest  and 
most  ^ub■^tantial  Ireeholders.  Now,  most  of  the 
freeholders  of  that  realm  are  Irish,  which  when  the 
cause  shall  fall  betwixt  an  Englishman  and  an  Irish, 
or  between  the  queen  and  any  freeholder  of  that 
country,  they  make  no  more  scruple  to  pass  against 
an  i'.nglishman  and  the  queen.  thoui;h  it  he  to  strain 
their  oaths,  than  to  drink  milk  unstrained.  So  that 
beloie  the  jury  go  together,  it  is  all  to  nothing  what 
the  verdict  shall  be.  The  trial  have  I  so  often  seen, 
that  I  dare  confidently  avouch  the  abuse  thereof. 
Vet  is  the  law  c  f  itself  (as  I  said)  good,  and  the 
first  mstiiution  tl  ereof  being  given  to  all  English- 
men verv  rightfully  ;  but  now  that  the  Irish  have 
stepped  into  the  very  rooms  of  our  English,  we  are 
now  to  become  heediul  and  provident  of  our  juries. 

Euoox.— In  sooth,  Ireneus,  you  have  discovered 
a  point  worthy  consideration  :  for  hereby  not  only 
the  English  suliject  findeih  no  indifl'erency  in  de- 
cidiiiL'  of  his  cause,  be  it  never  so  just;  but  the 
queen,  as  well  in  all  pleas  of  the  crown,  as  al.so  in 
incjuiries  for  escherits,  lands  attainted,  wardsiiips, 
coiii  ealments,  and  all  such  like,  is  abused  and  ex- 
ceedingly damaged. 

lnEN — Vou  say  very  true  ;  for  I  dare  undertake, 
that  at  this  day  there  are  more  attainted  lands  con- 
cealed trom  her  majesty,  than  she  hath  now  posses- 
sions in  all  Ireland.  And  it  is  no  small  inconve- 
nience :  tor,  besides  that  she  1  seth  so  much  land  as 
shouhl  turn  to  her  greai  ])rofii,  she  besides  losetii  so 
many  good  subjects,  which  might  be  assured  unto 
h^r,  a^  hose  lan^s  would  yield  inhabitants  and 
livioi;  unto 


4Qf> 


A  VIEW  OF  TUK  STATK  OF  IRELAND. 


EuDOX. — But  doth  many  of  that,  people  (say  you) 
make  no  more  conscience  to  perjure  themselves  in 
their  verdicts,  and  damn  their  souls? 

IiiEN.  —  Not  only  so  in  their  verdicts,  but  also  in 
all  other  their  dealin<!;s,  especially  with  the  English, 
the}^  are  most  wilfully  bent  :  for  though  they  will 
not  seem  manifestly  to  do  it,  yet  will  some  one  or 
other  subtle-headed  fellow  amongst  them  jiut  some 
quirk,  or  devise  some  evasion,  wheieof  the  rest 
will  likely  take  hold,  and  suffer  themselves  ensily  to 
be  led  by  him  to  that  themselves  desired.  For  in 
tlie  most  apparent  matter  that  may  be,  the  lea^t 
question  or  doubt  that  may  be  moved,  will  make  a 
stop  unto  them,  and  put  them  (]uite  out  of  the  way. 
Kesides  that  of  themselves  (for  the  most  part)  they 
are  so  cautelous  and  wily-headed,  especially  being 
men  of  so  small  experience  and  practice  in  law- 
matters,  that  you  would  wonder  whence  they  borrow 
such  subtleties  and  slv  shifts. 

EuDOx. —  But  methinks  this  inconvenience  might 
be  much  helped  in  the  judges  and  chief  magistrates, 
which  have  the  choosing  and  nominating  of  those 
jurors,  if  they  would  have  dared  to  appoint  either 
most  Englishmen,  or  such  Irishmen  as  were  of  the 
soundest  judgment  and  disposition  ;  for  no  doubt 
but  some  there  be  incorruptible. 

Irev. — Some  there  be  indeed,  as  vou  say:  but 
then  would  the  Irish  partv  cry  out  of  partiality,  and 
complain  he  hath  no  justice,  he  is  not  used  as  a 
Subject,  he  is  not  suffered  to  have  the  free  benefit 
of  the  law  ;  and  these  outcries  the  magistrates  there 
do  much  shun,  as  they  have  cause,  since  thev  are 
readilv  hearketied  unto  heie:  neithercan  it  be,  indeed, 
although  the  Irish  party  would  be  so  contented  to  be 
so  compassed,  that  such  English  freeholders,  which 
are  but  few,  and  such  faithful  Irishmen,  which  are 
indeed  as  few,  shall  always  be  chosen  for  trials  ; 
for  being  so  few,  they  should  be  made  weary  of 
their  freeiiolds.  And,  therefore,  a  good  care  is  to 
be  had,  by  all  good  occasions,  to  increase  their 
number,  and  to  plant  more  bv  them.  15ut  were  it 
so,  that  the  jurors  could  be  picked  out  of  such  choice 
men,  as  you  desire,  this  would  nevertheless  be  as 
bad  a  corrujition  in  the  trial  ;  for  the  evidence  being 
brought  in  by  the  baser  Irish  ppoj)le,  will  be  as 
deceitful  as  the  verdict  :  for  they  care  much  less 
than  the  others  what  they  swear,  and  sure  their 
lords  may  compel  them  to  say  anything  ;  for  I  my- 
self have  heard,  when  one  of  the  baser  sort  (which 
they  call  churls)  beint;  challenged  and  reproved  for 
his  false  oath,  hath  answered  confidently,  that  his 
lord  commanded  him,  and  it  was  the  least  thing  that 
he  could  do  for  his  lord,  to  swear  for  him  :  So  un- 
conscionable are  these  common  people,  and  so  little 
feeling  have  they  of  God,  or  their  own  souls'  good. 

EuDox. — It  is  a  most  miserable  case;  but  what 
help  can  there  be  in  iW\>']  For  though  the  manner 
of  their  trials  should  be  altered,  yet  ilie  proof  of 
evervihing  must  needs  be  by  the  testimony  of  such 
persons  as  the  ]ianies  shall  |)ro(iuce  ;  which  if  they 
shall  be  conupt,  how  can  there  ever  any  light  of 
the  truth  appear  !  What  remedy  is  there  for  this 
evil,  but  to  make  heavy  laws  and  penalties  against 
jurors  ? 

IiiEN. —  I  think  sure  that  will  do  small  good  ;  for 
when  a  people  be  inclined  to  any  vice,  or  have  no 
touch  of  conscience,  nor  sense  of  their  evil  finings, 
it  is  bootless  to  think  to  restrain  I  hem  by  any  [)enal- 
ties  or  fear  of  punishment;  but  either  the  occasion 
is  to  be}  taken  away,  or  a  more  understanding  of  the 


right,  and  shame  of  the  fault,  to  be  itiipriiitel  For 
if  that  I^ycurgus  should  have  madeiluejtii  fri  the 
Lacedemonians  to  steal,  they  being  a  peoijle  v\  !'ich 
naturally  delighted  in  stealth  ;  or  it  sliould  lie  made 
a  capital  crime  for  the  Flemings  to  be  taken  in 
drunkenness  ;  there  should  have  been  few  I,acede- 
monians  then  left,  and  few  Flemings  now.  So  im- 
possible it  is  to  remove  any  fault  so  general  in  a 
people,  with  terror  of  laws  or  most  sharp  restraints. 

EuDox. — What  means  may  there  be  then  to  avoid 
this  inconvenience?  for  the  case  seems  very  hard. 

Iren. —  We  are  not  yet  come  to  the  ])oint  to  devis 
remedies  for  the  evils,  but  only  have  now  to  recoun 
them  ;  of  the  which,  this  which   I  have  told  you  is 
one  defect  in  the  common  law. 

EuDox. — Tell  us  then  (I  pray  you)  further,  liave 
you  any  more  of  this  sort  in  the  common  law? 

Iren. —  By  rehearsal  of  this,  I  remember  also  of 
another  like,  which  I  have  often  observed  in  trials, 
to  have  wrouglit  great  hurt  and  hindrance  ;  and  that 
is,  the  exceptions  which  the  common  law  alloweth 
a  felon  in  his  trial  :  for  he  may  have  (as  you  know) 
fifty-six  exceptions  peremptory  against  the  jurors, 
of  which  he  shall  show  no  cause.  By  whicli  shift 
there  being  (as  I  have  showed  you)  so  small  store 
of  honest  jury-men,  he  will  either  put  oft' his  trial,  or 
drive  it  to  such  men  as,  perhaps,  are  not  of  the 
soundest  sort  ;  by  whose  means,  if  lie  can  acquit 
himself  of  the  crime,  as  he  is  likely,  then  will  he 
plague  such  as  were  brought  first  to  be  of  his  jury, 
and  all  such  as  made  any  party  against  him  :  and 
when  he  comes  forth,  he  will  make  their  cows  and 
garrons  to  walk,  if  he  do  no  other  harm  to  their 
persons. 

EuDox. — This  is  a  sly  device,  but  I  think  might 
soon  be  remedied  ;  but  we  must  leave  it  a  while  to 
the  rest.  In  the  meanwhile,  do  you  go  forwards 
with  others. 

Iren. — There  is  another  no  less  inconvenience 
than  this,  which  is,  the  trial  of  accessories  to 
felony;  for  by  the  common  law,  the  accessories 
cannot  be  proceeded  against,  till  the  principal  have 
received  his  trial.  Now  to  the  case,  how  it  often 
I'alleth  out  in  Ireland,  that  a  stealth  being  made  by 
a  rebel,  or  an  ouilaw,  the  stolen  goods  are  conveyed 
to  some  husbandman  or  gentleman,  which  hath  well 
to  take  to,  and  yet  liveth  most  by  the  receipt  of  i-uch 
stealths,  where  they  are  found  by  theowner,and  han- 
dled :  whereupon  the  jiarty  is  perhaps  apprehended, 
and  committed  to  gaol,  or  put  upon  sureties,  till  the 
sessions  ;  at  which  time,  the  owner  jireferring  a  hill 
of  indictment,  proveth  sufficiently  the  stealth  to 
have  been  committed  ujion  him  by  such  an  outlaw, 
and  10  have  been  found  in  the  possession  of  the 
prisoner  ;  against  whom,  nevertheless,  no  course  of 
law  can  proceed,  nor  trial  can  be  had,  for  that  the 
princij.al  thief  is  not  to  be  gotten  ;  notwithstanding 
that  he  likewise,  standing  perhaps  indicted  at  once 
with  the  receiver,  being  in  rebellion, or  in  tiie  woods, 
where  peradventure  he  is  slain  before  he  can  be 
gotten,  and  so  the  receiver  clean  ac()uitted  and  dis- 
charged of  the  crime.  By  whicli  means  the  tiiieves 
are  greatly  encouraged  to  steal,  and  their  maintaineis 
emholdeiied  to  receive  their  stealihs,  knowing  how 
Lardlv  they  can  be  brought  to  any  trial  of  law. 

Im'dox. —  Truly  this  is  a  great  inconvenience,  and 
a  great  cause  (as  you  say)  of  the  inainteiiauce  of 
thieves,  knowing  their  receivers  always  ready  ;  for 
were  there  no  receivers,  there  would  be  no  ihieves. 
But  this  ^meseems)  might  easily   be  jirovuled  for 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRFLAND. 


487 


by  some  act  of  parliament,  that  the  receiver  being 
convicted  by  p;ood  proofs,  might  receive  his  trial 
without  the  principal. 

Iren. — You  say  very  well,  Eiidox,  but  that  is 
almost  impossible  to  be  compassed  :  and  herein  also 
you  discover  another  imperfection  in  tbe  course  of 
the  common  law,  and  first  ordinance  of  the  realm  : 
for  _vou  know  that  the  said  parliament  nuist  consist 
of  the  peers,  gentlemen,  freeholders,  and  burgesses 
of  that  realm  itself.  JSJow  these  being  j)erliaps 
themselves,  or  the  mo>t  part  of  them  (as  may  seem 
by  their  stiff  withstanding  of  this  act),  culjiable  of 
this  crime,  or  favourers  of  their  friends,  which  are 
such,  by  wliom  tlieir  kitchens  are  sometimes  amended, 
will  n(jt  suffer  any  such  statute  to  pass.  Yet  hath 
it  oftentimes  been  attempted,  and  in  the  time  of  Sir 
John  Parrott  very  earnestly  (I  remember)  laboured, 
but  could  bv  no  means  be  effected.  And  not  oidy 
this,  but  miiny  other  like,  which  are  as  needful  for 
the  reformation  of  that  realm. 

EuDos. — This  also  is  surely  a  great  defect,  hut 
wemav  not  talk  (you  say)  of  the  redressing  of  this, 
until  our  second  part  come,  which  is  purposely  ap- 
pointed thereunto.  Therefore  proceed  to  the 
recounting  of  more  such  evils,  if  at  least  you  have 
any  more. 

Iren. — Tliere  is  also  a  great  incorwvenience, 
which  hath  wrought  great  damage,  both  to  her  Ma- 
jesty, and  to  that  commonwealth,  through  close  and 
colounible  conveyances  of  the  lands  and  goods  of 
traitors,  felons,  and  fugitives.  As  when  one  of 
them  mindeth  to  go  into  rebellion,  he  will  convey  away 
allhis  lands  and  lordships  to  feoffees  in  trust,  where- 
by he  reservethto  himself  but  a  state  for  term  of  life  ; 
which  being  determined  eitlierby  the  sword  or  bj'the 
halter,  their  land  straight  cometh  to  their  heir,  and 
the  queen  is  defrauded  of  the  intent  of  tlie  law, 
which  laid  that  grievous  punishment  upon  traitors, 
to  forfeit  all  their  lands  to  the  prince,  to  the  end 
that  men  might  the  rather  be  terrified  from  commit- 
ting treasons  :  for  many  which  would  little  esteem 
of  their  own  lives,  yet  for  remorse  of  their  wives 
and  children  would  be  withheld  from  that  heinous 
crime.  This  appeared  plainly  iu  the  late  Earl  of 
Desmond.  For  before  his  breaking  forth  into  open 
rebellion,  he  had  conveyed  secretly  all  his  lands  to 
feoflVes  in  trust,  in  hope  to  have  cut  off  iier  majesty 
from  the  e>clieatof  his  lands. 

EuDOx. — Yea,  but  that  was  well  enough  avoided, 
for  the  act  of  parliament  which  gave  all  his  lands  to 
the  queen,  did  (as  1  have  heard)  cut  ofl'  and  frus- 
trate all  such  conveyances,  as  had  at  any  time  by  the 
space  of  twelve  years  before  his  rebellion,  been 
made  ;  within  the  compass  whereof,  the  fraudulent 
feoffment,  and  many  the  like  of  others  his  accom- 
plices and  fellow-traitors,  were  contained. 

Iren. — Very  true  ;  but  how  hardly  that  act  of 
parliament  was  wrought  out  of  them,  1  car  witness  ; 
and  were  it  to  be  passed  again,  I  dare  undertake  it 
would  never  be  compassed.  But  were  it  also  that 
such  acts  might  be  easily  bruught  to  pass  against 
traitors  and  felons,  yet  were  it  not  an  endh-ss  trouble 
that  no  traitor  nr  felon  should  be  attainted,  but  a 
parliament  must  be  called  for  bringing  of  liis  lands 
to  the  queen,  which  the  common  Idvv  givelli  her  1 

EuD0.\ Then    this  is   no  fault  of  the  common 

law,  but  of  the  persons  which  work  this  fraud  to  her 
luajestv'J 

liiEN. — Yes,  marry,  for  the  common  law  hath  left 
them  this  benefit,  whereof  they  make  advantage,  and 


I  wrest  It  to  their  bad  purposes  :  so  as  thereby  they 
are  the  bolder  to  enter  into  evil  actions,  knowing 
that  if  the  worst  befal  them,  they  shall  losenotUing 
but  themselves,  whereof  they  seem  surely  very 
careless. 

EuDox. — But  what  meant  you  of  fugitives  herein  ? 
Or  how  doth  this  concern  them  ? 

Ihen. — Yes,  very  greatly  ;  for  vou  shall  under- 
stand, that  there  be  many  ill-disposed  and  undutiful 
persons  of  that  realm,  like  as  in  this  point  there  are 
also  in  this  realm  of  England  too  many,  which  being 
men  of  good  inheritance,  are,  for  dislike  of  religion, 
or  danger  of  the  law,  into  which  they  are  run,  or 
discontent  of  the  present  government,  fled  beyond 
the  seas,  where  they  live  under  princes  which  are 
hermajestv's  professed  enemies  ;  and  converse,  and 
are  confederates  with  other  traitors  and  fugitives, 
which  are  there  abiding.  The  which,  nevertheless, 
have  the  benefits  and  profits  of  their  lands  heie,  by 
pretence  of  such  colourable  convevunces  thereof, 
formerly  made  by  them  unto  their  jiiivy  friends  here 
in  trust,  who  privily  do  send  over  unto  them  tlie  said 
revenues,  wherewith  they  are  there  raainiained  and 
enabled  against  her  majesty. 

EuDOx. — I  do  not  think  that  there  be  any  such 
fugitives  which  are  relieved  by  the  profit  of  their 
lands  in  England,  for  there  is  a  straighter  order  taken. 
And  if  there  be  any  such  in  Ireland,  it  were  good  it 
were  likewise  looked  unto,  for  this  evil  may  easily  be 
remedied.      But  proceed. 

Iren.  —  It  is  also  inconvenient  in  the  realm  of  Ire- 
land, that  the  wards  and  marriages  of  gentlemen's 
children  should  be  in  the  disposition  of  any  of  those 
Irish  Lords,  as  now  they  are,  by  reas  m  that  their 
lands  be  held  by  knights'  service  of  those  lords.  By 
which  means  it  comes  to  jjass,  that  those  gentlemen, 
being  thus  in  the  ward  of  those  lords,  are  not  only 
thereby  brought  up  lewdly  and  Irishlike,  but  also 
for  ever  after  so  bound  to  their  services,  that  they 
will  run  with  them  into  any  disloyal  action. 

EuDOX. —  This  grievance,  Ireneus,  is  also  complain- 
ed of  in  England,  but  how  can  it  be  remedied  I  since 
the  service  must  follow  the  tenure  of  the  lands,  and 
the  lands  were  given  away  by  the  kings  of  England 
to  those  lords,  when  they  first  conquered  that  realm  ; 
and  to  say  truth,  this  also  would  be  some  prejudice 
to  the  prince  in  her  wardships. 

IiiEN. — I  do  not  mean  this  by  the  prince's  wards, 
but  by  such  as  fall  into  the  iiands^f  Irish  lords  :  for 
I  could  wisli,  and  this  I  could  enforce,  that  all  those 
wardships  were  in  the  prince's  disposition  ;  for  then 
it  might  be  hoped  that  she,  for  the  uriiversal  reform- 
ation of  that  realm,  would  take  better  order  for 
bringing  up  those  wards  in  good  nurture,  and  not 
suffer  them  to  come  into  so  bad  hands.  And  al- 
thougli  these  things  be  already  passed  awav  by  her 
progenitors'  former  grants  unto  those  said  lords,  yet 
1  could  find  away  to  remedy  a  great  part  tl>ereof,  as 
hereafter,  when  fit  time  serves,  shall  appear.  And 
since  we  are  entered  into  speech  of  such  grants  of 
former  princes  to  sundry  persons  of  this  realm  of 
Ireland,  I  will  mention  unto  vou  some  other,  of  like 
nature  to  this,  and  of  like  inconvenience,  hv  which 
the  former  kings  of  F^ngland  passed  unto  them  a 
great  (lart  of  their  prerogatives;  which,  though  then 
it  was  well  intended,  and  perhaps  well  deserved  of 
them  which  received  the  same,  vet  now  such  a  gap 
of  mischief  lies  open  thereby,  that  1  could  wish  it 
were  well  s'opped.  Of  this  sort  are  the  grants  of 
counties  palatine   in  Ireland,  which,  though  at  firs* 


488 


A  VIEW  OF  TFiEsrArKop  irf-:lvvij 


were  granted  upon  good  consideration  when  thev 
were  first  conquered,  for  tliat  those  lands  lay  then  as 
a  very  border  to  the  wild  Irish,  subject  to  continual 
invasion,  so  as  it  was  needful  to  give  them  great 
privileges  for  the  defence  of  the  inhabitants  thereof ; 
yet  now  that  it  is  no  more  a  border  nor  frontiered 
with  enemies,  wliy  should  such  privileges  be  any 
more  continued  ? 

EuDOx. —  1  would  gladly  know  what  you  call  a 
county  palatine,  and  whence  it  is  so  called. 

Iren. — It  was  (I  suppose)  first  named  palatine  of 
a  pale,  as  it  were  a  pale  and  defence  to  their  inward 
lands,  so  as  it  is  called  the  English  Pale  ;  and  there- 
fore is  a  palsgrave  named  an  earl  palatine.  Others 
think  of  the  Latin  palure,  that  is,  to  forage  or  out- 
run ;  because  those  marchers  and  borderers  use 
commonly  so  to  do  ;  so  as  to  have  a  county  pala- 
tine is,  in  effect,  to  have  a  privilege  to  sjioil  the 
enemies'  borders  adjoining  And  surely  so  it  is  used 
at  this  day,  as  a  privilege  plare  of  spoils  and 
stealths  ;  for  the  county  of  Tipperarv,  which  is  now 
the  only  county  palatine  in  Ireland,  is  by  abuse  of 
some  bad  ones,  made  a  receptacle  to  rob  the  rest  of 
the  counties  about  it,  by  means  of  whose  privileges 
none  will  follow  their  stealths  :  so  as  it  being  situate 
in  the  very  lap  of  all  the  land,  is  made  now  a  border  ; 
which  how  inconvenient  if  is,  let  every  man  judiie. 
And  though  that  ri-lit  noble  man,  the  lord  of  the 
liberty,  do  pain  himself,  all  be  may,  to  yield  equal 
justice  unto  all,  yet  can  there  not  be  but  great  abuses 
lurk  in  so  inward  and  absolute  a  privilege,  the  con- 
sideration whereof  is  to  be  respected  carefully  for 
the  next  succession.  And  much  like  unto  this 
grant,  there  are  other  privileges  granted  unto  most  of 
the  corporations  there  ;  that  they  shall  not  be  bound 
to  any  other  government  than  their  own  ;  that  they 
shall  not  be  charged  with  garrisons  ;  that  they  shall 
not  be  travailed  forth  of  their  own  franchises  •,  that 
they  may  buy  and  sell  with  thieves  and  rebels  ;  that 
all  amercements  and  fines  that  shall  be  imposed  upon 
tliPin,  shall  come  unto  themselves.  All  which, 
though  at  the  time  of  their  first  grant  they  were 
tolerable,  and  perhaps  reasonable,  yet  now  are  most 
unreasonable  and  inconvenient;  but  all  these  will 
easily  be  cut  off  with  the  superior  power  of  her  ma- 
jesty's prerogative,  against  which  her  own  grants 
are  not  to  be  pleaded  or  enforced. 

EuDox.  —  Now,  truly  Ireneus,  you  have  (me- 
seems)  very  well  handled  this  point,  touching  in- 
con  veniencies  in  the  common  law  there,  by  you  ob- 
served ;  and  it  seemeth  that  you  have  had  a  inindful 
regard  unto  the  things  that  may  concern  the  good  of 
that  realm.  And  if  you  can  as  well  go  through 
with  the  statute  laws  of  that  land,  I  will  think  you 
have  not  lost  all  your  time  there.  Therefore  I  pray 
you,  now  take  them  in  hand,  and  tell  us  what  you 
think  to  be  amiss  in  them. 

Irkn. — The  statutes  of  that  realm  are  not  many, 
and,  therefore,  we  shall  the  sooner  run  through 
them  ;  and  yet  of  those  lew  there  are  impertinent 
and  unnecessary  :  the  which,  tiiough,  perhajis,  at  the 
time  of  the  making  of  them,  were  very  needful  ;  yet 
now,  through  change  of  time,  are  clean  antiquated, 
atid  altogether  idle:  as  that  which  forbiddeth  any  to 
wear  their  beards  all  on  the  U[)per  lip,  ami  none 
under  the  chin.  And  that  which  putteth  away  saf- 
fron shirts  and  smocks.  And  that  which  restraineth 
tie  use  of  gilt  bridles  and  petronels.  And  that 
which  is  appointed  for  the  recorders  and  clerks  of 
Dublin  and    Tredagh,    to    take  but  two- pence  for 


the  copy  of  a  pl.iinr.  And  that  which  commands 
bows  and  arrows.  AikI  that  which  makes,  that  all 
Irishmen  which  shall  converse  among  the  English, 
shall  be  taken  for  spies,  and  so  punished.  And  that 
which  forbids  persons  amenable  to  law,  to  enter 
and  distrain  in  the  lands  in  which  they  have  title; 
and  nianv  other  the  like  I  could  rehearse. 

EiTDox. — These  tuily,  which  ye  have  repeated, 
seem  very  frivolous  and  fruitless  ;  for  by  the  breach 
of  them,  little  damage  or  inconvenience  can  come  to 
the  commonwealth  :  neither,  indeed,  if  aiiv  traiisyress 
them,  shall  he  seem  worthy  of  punishment,  scarce  of 
blame  ;  savmg  but  for  that  they  abide  by  that  name 
of  laws.  But  laws  ought  to  be  such,  as  that  the 
keeping  of  them  should  be  greatly  for  the  behoof  of 
the  commonweal,  and  the  violating  of  them  should 
be  very  heinous,  and  sharply  punisliable.  But  tell 
us  of  some  more  weighty  dislikes  in  the  statutes 
than  these,  and  that  may  more  behooffully  import 
the  reformation  of  them. 

Iren. — There  is  one  or  two  statutes  which  make 
the  wrongful  distraining  of  any  man's  goods  against 
the  form  of  common  law,  to  be  felony.  The  which 
statutes  seem  surely  to  have  been  at  first  meant  for 
the  good  of  that  realm,  and  for  restraining  of  a  foul 
abuse,  which  then  reigned  commonly  amongst  that 
people,  and  yet  is  not  altogether  laid  aside  :  that 
when  anv  one  was  indebted  to  another,  he  would 
first  demand  his  de)  t ;  and  if  he  were  not  })aid, 
he  would  straight  go  and  take  a  distress  of  bis 
goods  or  cattle,  where  he  could  find  them,  to  the 
value  ;  which  he  would  keep  till  he  were  satisfied. 
And  this  the  simple  churl  (as  they  call  him)  doth 
commonly  use  to  do  :  yet  through  ignorance  of  his 
misdoing,  or  evil  use,  that  hath  long  settled  amongst 
them.  But  this,  though  it  be  sure  most  unlawful, 
yet  surely  (meseems)  too  hard  to  make  it  death, 
since  there  is  no  purpose  in  the  party  to  steal  the 
other's  goods,  or  lo  conceal  the  distress;  but  he 
doth  it  ojienly,  for  the  most  part,  before  witnesses. 
And  again,  the  same  statutes  are  so  slackly  penned 
(besides  the  latter  of  them  is  so  unsensibly  con- 
trived, that  it  scarcely  carrieth  any  reason  in  it)  that 
they  are  often  and  very  easily  wrested  to  the  fraud 
of  the  subject  :  as  if  one  going  to  distrain  upon 
his  own  land  or  tenement,  where  lawfully  he  may, 
yet  if  in  doing  thereof,  he  transgress  the  least  ]ioint 
of  the  common  law,  he  stiaight  committeth  felony. 
Or  if  one,  by  any  other  occasion,  take  anything 
from  another,  as  boys  use  sometimes  to  caj)  one 
another,  the  same  is  straight  felony.  This  is  a  very 
hard  law. 

EuDOX. — Nevertheless,  thatevil  use  of  distraining 
of  another  man's  goods,  ye  will  not  deny  but  it  is 
to  be  abolished  and  taken  away. 

Iren. — It  is  so,  but  not  by  taking  away  the  sub- 
ject withal,  for  that  is  too  violent  a  medicine  ;  espe- 
cially this  use  being  permitted,  and  made  lawful  to 
some,  and  to  other  some  death.  As  to  most  of  the 
cori)orate  towns  there,  it  is  granted  by  their  charter 
that  they  may,  every  man  by  himself,  without  an 
oflScer  (for  that  were  more  tolerable)  for  any  debt, 
to  distrain  the  goods  of  any  Irish  being  found 
within  their  liberty,  or  but  jiassing  through  their 
towns.  And  the  first  permission  of  this  was,  for 
that  in  those  times  when  that  grant  was  made,  the 
Irish  were  not  amenable  to  law;  so  as  it  was  not 
safety  fo»  the  townsman  to  go  to  him  forth  to  de- 
mand his  debt,  nor  possible  to  draw  him  into  law, 
so  that  hK  had  leave  lo  be  bis  own  bailiff,  to  arrest 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  SIAIE  OF  IRELAND. 


489 


his  said  debtors'  goods  within  his  own  franchise. 
The  which  the  Irisli  seeing,  thought  it  as  lawful  for 
them  to  distrain  the  townsman's  goods  in  the  coun- 
try where  thev  found  it.  And  so  by  ensample  of 
that  grant  to  townsmen,  they  thouglu  it  lawful,  and 
made  It  a  use,  to  distrain  one  another's  goods  for 
small  debts.  And  to  say  truth,  methinks  it  is  hard 
for  every  trifling  debt  of  two  or  three  shillings,  to 
be  driven  to  law,  which  is  so  far  from  tliem  some- 
times to  be  sought;  for  which  methinketh  it  too 
heavy  an  ordinance  to  give  death,  especially  to  a  rude 
man  that  is  ignorant  of  law,  and  thinketh,  that  a 
common  use  or  grant  to  other  men  is  a  law  for  him- 
self. 

EuDox. — Yea,  but  the  judge,  wlien  it  cometh  he- 
fore  him  to  trial,  may  easily  decide  this  doubt,  and 
lay  open  the  intent  of  the  law  by  his  better  dis- 
cretion. 

Iren. — Yea,  but  it  is  dangerous  to  leave  the  sense 
of  the  law  unto  the  reason  or  will  of  the  judges, 
who  are  men,  and  may  be  miscarried  by  affections, 
and  many  other  means.  But  the  laws  ought  to  be 
like  stony  tables,  plain,  stedfast,  and  unmovable. 
There  is  also  such  another  statute  or  two,  which 
made  Coigny  and  Livery  to  be  treason,  no  less  in- 
convenient than  the  former,  being  as  it  is  penned, 
however  the  first  purport  thereof  were  ex])edient ; 
for  thereby  now,  no  man  can  go  into  another  nuin's 
house  for  lodging,  nor  to  his  own  tenant's  house  to 
take  victualling  by  the  way,  notwithstanding  that 
there  is  no  other  means  for  him  to  have  lodging,  nor 
horse  meat,  nor  man's  meat,  there  being  no  inns, 
nor  none  otherwise  to  be  bought  for  money,  but 
that  he  is  endangered  by  tliat  statute  for  treason, 
■whensoever  he  shall  happen  to  fall  out  with  his 
tenant,  or  that  his  said  host  list  to  complain  of  grie- 
vance ;  as  oftentimes  I  have  seen  them  very  mali- 
ciously to  do,  through  the  least  provocation. 

EuDOX. — I  do  not  well  know,  but  by  guess,  what 
you  do  mean  by  these  terms  of  coigny  and  livery  ; 
therefore  I  pray  you  explain  them. 

Irev. — I  know  not  whether  the  words  be  English 
or  Iiish,  but  I  suppose  them  to  be  rather  ancient 
English;  for  the  Irishmen  can  make  no  derivation 
of  them.  What  livery  is,  we  by  common  use  in 
England  know  well  enough  ;  namely,  that  it  is  an 
allowance  of  horse-tneat,  as  they  commonly  use  the 
word  in  stabling,  as  to  keep  horses  at  livery  ;  the 
which  word,  I  gufss,  is  derived  of  livering  or  de- 
livering forth  their  nightly  food.  So  in  great  houses, 
the  livery  is  said  to  be  served  up  for  all  night ;  that 
is,  their  evening's  allowance  for  drink.  And  livery 
is  also  called  the  upper  weed  which  a  serving-man 
weareth  ;  so  tailed  (as  I  sui)pose)for  that  it  was  de- 
livered and  taken  from  him  at  pleasure.  So  it  is 
apparent,  that  by  the  word  Iheiy  is  there  meant 
horse-meat ;  like  as  by  the  word  coigny,  is  under- 
stood man's-meat:  but  whence  the  word  is  derived, 
is  hard  to  tell.  Some  say,  of  coin  ;  for  that  they 
used  commonly  in  their  coignies,  not  only  to  take 
meat,  but  coin  also  ;  and  that  taking  of  money  was 
specially  meant  to  be  prohibited  by  that  statute. 
But,  1  think  rather,  this  word  coigui/  is  derived  of 
the  Irish.  Tiie  which  is  a  common  use  among>t 
landlords  of  the  Irish,  to  have  a  common  spending 
upon  their  tenants  :  for  all  their  tenants  beir]<;  com- 
monly but  teiiants-at-will,  they  used  to  take  of  them 
what  victuids  they  list;  for  of  victuals  tlipy  weie 
wont  to  make  small  reckoning:  neither  in  this  was 
the  tenant  wronged,    for   it    was   an   ordinary  and 


known  custom,  and  his  lord  used  commonly  so  to 
covenant  with  him  ;  which,  if  at  any  time  the  tenant 
disliked,  he  might  freely  depart  at  his  ])Ieasure. 
But  now  by  this  statute,  the  said  Irish  lord  is 
wronged,  for  that  he  is  cut  oif  from  his  customary  ser- 
vices, of  the  which  this  was  one,  besides  inanv  other 
of  the  like  ;  as  cuddii,  coshery,  bnniiughi,  sincih, 
si>rehi}i,  and  such  oihers  ;  the  which  (I  think)  were 
customs  at  first  brought  in  bv  the  English  u])on  the 
Irish :  for  they  were  never  wont,  and  ve  are  loth  to 
yield  any  certain  rent,  but  only  spendings  :  for  their 
common  saying  is.  Spend  me,  and  defend  me. 

EuDDX. — Surely,  1  t;ike  it  as  you  sav,  that  therein 
the  Irish  lord  hath  wrong,  since  it  was  an  ancient 
custom  and  nothing  contrary  to  law  ;  for  to  the 
willing  there  is  no  wrong  done.  And  this  right 
well  I  wot  that  even  here  in  England  there  are  m 
many  jilaces  as  large  customs  and  privileges,  as  that 
of  co;o;nie  and  livery.  But  I  suppose  by  \our  speech, 
that  it  was  the  first  meaning  of  the  statute,  to  fbibid 
the  violent  taking  of  victuals  upon  other  men's  tenr 
ants  against  their  wills,  which  surely  is  a  great  out- 
rage ;  and  yet  not  so  great  (meseems)  as  that  it 
should  be  made  treason  :  for,  considering  that  the 
nature  of  treason  is  concerning  the  roval  estate  or 
person  of  the  prince,  or  practising  with  his  enemies, 
to  the  derogation  and  d  .nger  of  his  crown  and  dig- 
nity, it  is  hardly  wrested  to  make  this  treason,  liut 
(as  you  said)  better  a  mischief  than  an  inconve- 
nience, 

Iren. — .Another  statute  I  remember,  which  having 
been  an  ancient  Irish  custom,  is  now,  upon  advise- 
rnenr,  made  a  law  ;  and  that  is  called  the  custom 
of  Kincogish  :  which  is,  that  every  head  of  every 
sept,  and  every  chief  of  every  kindred  or  family, 
should  be  answerable  and  bound  to  bring  forth 
every  one  of  that  sept  and  kindred  under  it  at  all 
times  to  be  justified,  wlien  he  should  be  required, 
or  charged  with  any  treason,  felony,  or  other  heinous 
crime. 

EuDox. — Why,  surely,  this  seems  a  very  neces- 
sary law.  For,  consitlering  that  many  of  them  be 
such  losels  and  scatterliugs,  as  that  they  cannot 
easily,  by  any  sheriff",  constable,  bailiff",  or  other 
ordinary  officer,  be  gotten,  when  they  are  challenged 
for  any  such  fact;  this  is  a  very  good  means  to  get 
them  to  be  brought  in  by  him  that  is  the  head 
of  that  ^ept,  or  chief  of  that  house  :  wherefore  I 
wonder  what  just  exception  you  can  make  against 
the  same. 

Iren. — Truly,  Eudoxus,  in  the  pretence  of  the 
good  of  this  statute,  von  liave  nothing  erred  /or  it 
seemed  very  expedient  and  necessary  ;  but  the  hurt 
which  cometh  thereb\  is  greater  man  the  good. 
For  whilst  every  chief  of  a  sept  standeth  so 
bound  to  the  law,  lor  every  man  of  his  blood  or 
sept  that  is  under  him,  he  is  made  great  by  the 
commanding  of  them  all  :  for  if  be  may  not  com- 
mand them,  then  that  law  doth  wrong,  that  bimieth 
him  to  brini;-  them  for  b  to  be  justifieil.  .\iid  if 
he  may  command  them,  then  he  may  command 
them  as  well  to  ill  as  to  good.  Herel)y  the  lords 
and  captains  of  countries,  the  principals  and  heads 
of  sejits,  are  made  stronger,  whom  it  sh mid  he  a 
most  special  care  in  policy  to  weaken,  and  to  set  up 
and  strt-ngiheii  divers  of  his  underling.s  against 
him  ,  which,  whensoever  he  shall  swerve  from  "uty, 
may  be  able  to  beard  him  :  for  it  is  tlangerous  to 
leave  the  command  of  so  many,  as  some  se|)ts  are, 
being  live  or  six  thousand  persons,  to  the  will  o/ 


490 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


one  man  ;  ■who   may  lead  them   to  what  be  will,  as 
he  liiins;elf  shall  be  inclined. 

Euuox. — In  very  deed,  Ireneus.it  is  very  dangerous, 
seeing  the  disposition  of  those  people  is  not  always 
inclinable  to  the  best ;  and  therefore  I  hold  it  no 
wisdom  to  leave  unto  them  too  much  command  over 
their  kindred,  but  rather  to  withdraw  their  followers 
from  them  as  much  as  may  be,  and  to  gather  them 
under  the  command  of  law,  by  some  better  means 
than  this  custom  of  kin-cogish  ;  the  which  word  I 
would  be  glad  to  know  what  it  namely  signifieth, 
for  the  meaning  thereof  I  seem  to  understand  rea- 
sonably well. 

Idem. — It  is  a  word  mingled  of  English  and  Irish 
together,  so  as  lam  partly  led  to  think,  that  the  cus- 
tom tliereof  was  first  English,  and  afterwards  made 
Iiis'h  ;  for  such  another  law  they  had  here  in  Eng- 
land, as  I  remetaber,  made  by  King  Alured,  that 
every  gentleman  should  bring  forth  his  kmdred  and 
followers  to  the  law.  So  kin  is  Englisii,  and  con- 
ghh,  affinity,  in  Irish. 

EuDOX. — Since  then  we  have  thus  reasonably  han- 
dled the  inconveniences  in  the  law  ;  let  us  now  pass 
unto  the  second  part,  which  was,  1  remember,  of  the 
abuses  of  the  customs  ;  in  which,  meseems,  you 
have  a  fair  campaign  laid  open  unto  you,  in  which 
you  may  at  large  stretch  out  your  discourse  into 
many  sweet  remembrances  of  antiquities;  from 
whence  it  seemeth  that  the  customs  of  that  nation 
proceeded. 

iREN. — Indeed,  Eudoxus.you  say  very  true;  forall 
the  customs  of  the  Irish,  which  1  have  often  noted 
and  compared  with  that  1  have  read,  would  minister 
occasion  of  a  most  ample  discourse  of  the  original 
of  them,  and  the  antiquity  of  that  people  ;  which,  in 
truth,  I  think  to  be  more  ancient  than  most  that  I 
know  in  this  end  of  the  world  :  so  as  if  it  were  in 
the  handling  of  some  man  of  sound  judgment  and 
plentiful  reading,  it  would  be  most  pleasant  and 
profitable.  But,  it  may  be,  we  may,  at  some  other 
time  of  meeting,  take  occasion  to  treat  thereof  more 
at  large.  Here  only  it  shall  suffice,  to  touch  such 
customs  of  the  Irish  as  seem  offensive  and  repug- 
nant to  the  good  government  of  the  reidm. 

EuDOx. — Follow  then  your  own  course;  for  I  shall 
the  better  content  myself  to  forbear  my  desire  now, 
in  hope  that  you  will,  as  you  say,  some  other  time, 
more  abundantly  satisfy  it. 

I  HEN. — Before  we  enter  into  the  treaty  of  their  cus- 
toms, it  is  first  needful  to  consider  from  whence 
they  first  sprung;  for  from  the  sundry  manneis  of 
the  nations,  from  whence  that  people,  which  now  is 
called  Irish,  were  derived,  some  of  the  customs 
which  now  remain  amongst  them,  have  been  first 
fetched,  and  sithence  there  continued  amongst  them  : 
lor  not  of  one  nation  was  it  peopled,  as  it  is,  but  of 
sundry  people,  of  different  conditions  and  manners. 
But  the  chiefest  which  have  first  possessed  and  in- 
habited it,  I  suppose  to  be  Scythians. 

EuDOX. —  How  Cometh  it  then  topass,  that  the  Irish 
do  derive  themselves  from  Gathelus  tiie  Spaniard  ? 

Iren. — They  do  indeed,  but  (I  conceive)  without 
any  good  ground  :  for  if  there  were  any  such  nota- 
ble transmission  of  any  colony  hither  out  of  Spain, 
or  any  such  famous  conquest  of  this  kingdom  by 
Cjathel-is,  a  Sjianiard,  as  they  would  fain  believe; 
it  is  not  unlikely  but  the  very  Chronicles  of  Spain 
(had  Spain  then  been  in  so  high  regard  as  they  now 
Lave  it)  would  not  have  omitted  so  memorable  a  thing 
as  the  subduing  of  so  noble  a  realm  to  the  Spaniard, 


no  more  than  they  do  now  neglect  to  memo- 
rize their  conquest  of  the  Indians;  es])eciallv  in 
those  times  in  which  the  same  was  su|)])0sed,  beiiisj 
nearer  unto  the  flourishing  age  of  learning  and 
writers  under  the  Romans.  But  the  Irish  do  herein 
no  otherwise,  than  our  vaiu  Englishmen  do  in  the 
tale  of  Brutus,  whom  they  devise  to  have  first  con- 
quered and  inhabited  this  land  ;  it  being  as  impos- 
sible to  prove,  that  there  was  ever  any  such  Jjruius 
of  Albion,  or  England,  as  it  is  that  there  was  any 
such  Gathelus  of  Spain.  But  surely  the  Scvtlji^ms 
(of  whom  1  erst  spolse)  at  such  time  as  the  northern 
nations  overflowed  all  Christendom,  came  down  to 
the  sea-coast;  where  inquiring  for  other  countries 
abroad,  and  getting  intelligence  of  this  cnuntry  of 
Ireland,  finding  shipping  convenient,  passed  thither, 
and  arrived  in  the  north  part  thereof,  which  is  now- 
called  Ulster  ;  which  first  inhabiting,  and  afterwards 
stretching  themselves  forth  into  the  land,  as  tiieir 
numbers  increased,  named  it  all  of  themselves  Scut- 
tenland,  which  more  briefly  is  called  Scutland,  or 
Scotland. 

EuDOx. — I  wonder  (Ireneus)  whither  you  run  so 
far  astray  ;  for  whilst  we  talk  of  Ireland,  methinks 
you  rip  up  the  original  of  Scotland  ;  but  what  is 
that  to  this  ? 

Iren.  — Surely  very  much,  for  Scotland  and  Ire- 
land are  all  one  and  the  same. 

EuDOx. — That  seemeth  more  strange;  for  we  all 
know  right  well,  they  are  distinguished  by  a  great 
sea  running  between  them ;  or  else  there  are  two 
Scotlands. 

Iren. — Never  the  more  are  there  two  Scotlands  ; 
but  two  kinds  of  Scots  were  indeed  (as  you  may 
gather  out  of  Buchanan)  the  one  Iren,  or  Irish 
Scots,  the  other  Albin  Scots:  for  those  Scots  are 
Scythians,  arrived  (as  I  said)  in  the  north  parts  of 
Ireland ;  where  some  of  them  after  passed  into  the 
next  coast  of  Albine,  now  called  Scotland,  which, 
after  much  trouble,  they  possessed,  and  of  them- 
selves named  Scotland  :  but,  in  process  of  time,  as 
it  is  commonly  seen,  the  dominion  of  the  part  ])re- 
vaileth  in  the  whole  ;  for  the  Irish  Scots  putting 
away  the  name  of  Scots,  were  called  only  Irish  :  and 
the  Albine  Scots,  leaving  the  name  of  Albine,  wera 
called  only  Scots.  'Iherefore  it  cometh  thence,  that 
of  some  writers  Ireland  is  called  Scotia  Major,  and 
that  which  now  is  called  Scotland,  Scotia  iMinor. 

EuDOX. — I  do  now  well  understand  your  distin- 
guishing of  the  two  sorts  of  Scots,  and  two  Scot- 
lands  ;  how  that  this  which  now  is  called  Ireland, 
was  anciently  called  Erin,  and  afterwards  of  some 
written  Scotland  :  and  that  which  now  is  called  Scot- 
land, was  formerly  called  Albin,  before  tlie  coming 
of  the  Scythes  thither,  liut  what  other  nation  in- 
habited the  other  parts  of  Ireland  1 

Iren. — After  this  people  thus  planted  in  the 
north,  or  before,  for  the  ceitainty  of  things  in  times 
so  far  from  all  knowledge,  cannot  be  justly  avouch- 
ed, another  nation  coming  out  of  Spain,  arrived 
in  the  west  part  of  Ireland  ;  and  finding  it  waste,  or 
weakly  inhabited,  possessed  it :  who,  whether  they 
were  native  Spaniards,  or  Gauls,  or  Africans,  or 
Goths,  or  some  other  of  those  northern  i^ations 
which  did  overspread  all  Cliristendom,  it  is  I'lipps- 
sible  to  affirm  ;  only  some  naked  conjecturei;  ru.iv  be 
gathered  :  but  that  out  of  Spain  certainly  ibey 
came,  that  do  all  the  Irish  chronicles  agree. 

EuDox. —  You  do  very  boldly,  Ireneus,  adventure 
upon    the  histories  of  ancient  times,  and  lean  too 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


491 


confider.tlv  on  those  Irisli  chronicles,  which  are  most 
fahulous  and  forged,  in  that  out  of  them  you  dare 
take  ill  hand  to  lay  open  the  original  of  such  a  nation, 
so  antique  as  tbut  no  monument  remains  of  her  be- 
ginning and  first  inhabiting  ;  especially  having  been 
in  those  times  without  letters  ;  but  only  bare  tradi- 
tions of  limes  and  remembrances  of  bards,  which 
use  to  forge  and  falsify  every  thing  as  they  list,  to 
please  or  displease  any  man. 

Irkn. — Truly,  I  must  confess  I  do  so,  but  yet  not 
so  absolutely  as  you  suppose.  I  do  herein  rely  upon 
those  bards,  or  Irish  clironiclers,  though  the  Irish 
themselves,  through  their  ignorance  in  matters  of 
learning  and  deep  judgment,  do  most  constantly  be- 
lieve and  avouch  them  ;  but  unto  them  besides  I  add 
mine  own  reading  ;  and  out  of  them  botli  together, 
with  comparison  of  times,  likewise  of  manners  and 
customs,  affinity  of  words  and  names,  properties 
of  natures  and  uses,  resemblances  of  rites  and 
ceremonies,  monuments  of  churches  and  tombs,  and 
many  other  like  circumstances,  I  do  gatlier  a  likeli- 
iiood  of  truth,  not  certainly  affirming  any  thing,  but 
by  conferring  of  times,  language,  monuments,  and 
such  like,  I  do  hunt  out  a  probability  of  things,  which 
I  leave  to  vour  judgment  to  believe  or  refuse.  Ne- 
vertheless there  be  some  very  ancient  authors  that 
make  mention  of  these  things,  and  some  modern  ; 
which,  by  comparing  them  with  present  times,  expe- 
rience, and  their  own  reason,  do  open  a  window  of 
great  lii^ht  unto  the  rest  that  is  yet  unseen :  as 
namely,  of  the  elder  times,  Cesar,  Strabo,  Tacitus, 
Ptolomy,  Plinv,  Pomponius  Mela,  and  Berosus;  of 
the  later,  \'incentius,  ^neas  Sylvius,  Luidus,  Bu- 
tlianan  ;  for  that  he  himself  being  an  [rish,  Scot,  or 
Pict,  by  nation,  and  being  very  excellently  learned, 
and  industrious  to  seek  out  the  truth  of  all  things 
concerning  the  original  of  his  own  people,  hath  both 
set  down  the  testimony  of  the  ancients  truly,  and  his 
own  opinion  together,  withal  very  reasonably,  though 
in  sume  things  he  doth  somewhat  flatter.  Besides, 
the  baids  and  Irish  chroniclers  themselves,  though, 
through  desire  of  pleasing  too  much,  and  ignorances 
of  arts  and  purer  learning,  they  have  clouded  the 
truth  of  those  lines  ,  yet  there  appear  among  them 
some  relics  of  the  true  antiquity,  though  disguised, 
which  a  well-eyed  man  may  happily  discover  and 
find  out. 

EuDox. — How  can  there  be  any  truth  in  them  at 
all,  since  tlie  ancient  nations  which  first  inhabited 
Ireland,  were  altogether  destitute  of  letters,  much 
more  of  learning  ;  by  which  they  might  leave  the 
verity  of  things  written  ?  And  those  bards  coming 
also  so  many  hundred  vears  after,  could  not  know 
what  was  done  in  former  ages,  nor  deliver  certainty 
of  any  thing,  but  what  they  feigned  out  of  their  un- 
learned heads. 

lnEN. — Those  bards,  indeed,  Cesar  writeth,  de- 
livered no  certain  truth  of  any  thing,  neither  is  there 
any  certain  hold  to  be  taken  of  any  antiquity  which  is 
received  by  tradition,  since  all  men  be  liars,  and 
man>  lie  when  they  will;  yet  for  the  antiquities  of 
the  written  chronicles  of  Ireland,  give  me  leave  to 
say  something,  not  to  justify  them,  but  to  show  that 
some  of  them  might  say  truth.  For  where  you  say 
the  Irish  have  always  been  without  letters,  you  are 
therein  much  deceived  ;  i'or  it  is  certain,  that  Ireland 
hath  had  the  use  of  letters  very  anciently,  and  long 
before  England. 

EuDox. — Is  it  possible?  How  comes  it.  then, 
that  they  are  so  unlearned  still,  being  so  old  scho- 


lars? For  learning  (as  the  poet  saith)  EmcUit  mo- 
res, nee  ihiit  esse  feros.  Whence,  then,  1  pray  you, 
could  they  have  those  letters? 

I  REN. — It  is  hard  to  say  :  for  whether  they  at  their 
first  coming  into  the  laud,  or  afterwards  by  trading 
with  other  nations  which  had  letters,  learned  them 
of  them,  or  demised  them  amongst  themselves,  is 
very  doubtful ;  but  that  they  had  letters  anciently, 
is  nothing  doubtful,  for  the  Saxons  of  England  are 
said  to  have  their  letters,  and  learning,  and  leann-d 
men,  from  the  Irish  ;  and  that  also  appearetli  by  the 
likeness  of  the  character,  for  the  Saxons  character  is 
the  same  with  the  Irish.  Now  the  Scythians  never, 
as  I  can  read,  of  old,  had  letters  amongst  tliem, 
therefore  it  seemeth  that  they  had  them  from  tlie 
nation  which  came  out  of  Spain  ;  for  in  Spain  there 
were  (as  Strabo  writeth)  letters  anciently  used,* 
whether  brought  unto  them  by  the  Plienicians,  or 
the  Persians,  which  (as  it  appearetli  by  him)  had 
some  footing  there,  or  from  IMarsellis,  which  is  said 
to  have  been  inhabited  by  the  Greeks,  and  from 
them  to  have  had  the  f  jreek  character ;  of  which 
Marsiliiins  ii  is  said  that  the  Gauls  learned  them  first, 
and  used  them  only  for  the  furtherance  of  their 
trades  and  private  business.  For  the  Gauls  (as  is 
strongly  to  be  proved  by  many  ancient  and  authen- 
tical  writers)  did  first  inhabit  all  the  sea-coast  of 
Spain,  even  unto  Tales,  and  the  mouth  of  the  straits, 
and  peopled  also  a  great  part  of  Italy  ;  which  ap- 
peareth  by  sundry  havens  and  cities  in  Spain  called 
from  them,  as  Portugallia,  Gallecia,  Galduuum,  and 
also  by  sundry  nations  therein  dwelling,  which  vet 
have  received  their  own  names  of  the  Gauls;  as  the 
Rhegni,  Presamarci,  Tamari,  Cineri,  and  divers 
others.  All  which  Pomponius  Wela,  being  himself 
a  Spaniard,  yet  saith  to  have  descended  from  the 
Celts  of  Francf>  ;  whereby  it  is  to  be  gathered,  that 
that  nation  which  came  out  of  Spain  into  Ireland, 
were  ancientlv  Gauls,  and  that  they  brouuht  with 
them  those  letters  which  they  had  anciently  learnt 
in  Spain,  first  into  Ireland  ;  which  some  also  say, 
do  much  resemble  the  old  Phenician  character,  being 
likewise  distinguished  with  prick  and  accent,  as 
theirs  anciently :  but  the  further  enquiry  hereof 
needeth  a  place  of  longer  discourse  than  this  our 
short  conference. 

EuDox. — Surely  you  have  showed  a  great  proba- 
bility of  that  which  I  had  thought  impossible  to  have 
been  proved  ;  but  that  which  you  now  say,  that 
Ireland  should  have  been  peopled  with  Gauls, 
seemeth  much  more  strange  ;  for  all  the  Chro- 
nicles do  say,  that  the  west  and  south  was  pos- 
sessed and  inhabited  of  Spaniards ;  and  Cornelius 
i'acitus  doth  also  strongly  affirm  the  same  ;  all 
which  you  must  overthrow  and  falsify,  or  else  re- 
nounce your  opinion. 

IiJEN. — Neither  so,  nor  so;  for  the  Irish  Chro- 
nicles (as  I  showed  you)  bein^  made  by  unlearned 
men,  and  writing  things  according  to  the  appear- 
ance of  the  truth,  which  they  conceived,  do  err  in 
the  circumstances,  not  in  the  matter.  For  all  that 
came  out  Spain,  they  (being  no  diligent  searchers 
into  the  differences  of  the  nations)  supposed  to  be 
Spaniards,  and  so  called  them  ;  but  the  ground- 
work thereof  is  nevertheless  true  and  certain,  how- 
ever they  through  ignorance  disguise  the  same,  or 
throuoh  vanity,  whilst  they  would  not  seem  to  be 
ignorant,  do  thereupon  build  and  enlarge  many 
forged  histories  of  their  own  antiquity,  which  they 
deliver  to  fouls,  and  make  them  believe  for  true.  Aa 


492 


A  VIEW  OF  tut:  statf",  of  irkland. 


for  example,  that  first  of  one  Gatlielus,  the  son  of 
Ct'crops  or  Argos,  who  having  married  the  King 
of  Egypt's  daui^hter,  thence  sailed  vvitb  her  into 
Spain,  and  tiiere  inhabited  :  then  that  of  JVemedus 
and  his  sous,  who,  coining;  out  of  Scythia,  peo- 
pled Ireland,  and  inhabited  it  with  bis  sons  '^50 
years,  until  i;e  was  overcome  of  the  giants  dwelling 
then  in  Ireland,  and  at  the  la>t  quite  banished  and 
rooted  out.  Alter  whom  ifOO  vears,  the  sons  of  one 
Dehi,  being  Scythians,  arrived  there  again,  and  pos- 
sessed tile  whole  land  ;  of  which  the  youngest, 
called  Slanius,  in  the  end  made  himself  monarch. 
Lastly,  of  the  four  sons  of  iNJilesius,  king  of  Spain, 
whicii  conquered  the  land  from  tlie  Scythians,  and 
inhabited  it  with  Spaniards,  and  called  it  of  the  name 
of  the  youngest  Hiberus,  Hibernia.  All  which  -dve 
in  truth  fables,  and  very  Milesian  lies,  as  the  Latin 
proverb  is  ;  for  never  was  there  such  a  king  of 
Spain  called  Milesius,  nor  any  such  colony  seated 
with  his  sons,  as  they  feign,  that  can  ever  be  proved; 
but  yet  under  these  tales  you  may  in  a  manner  see 
the  truth  lurk.  For  Scythians  iiere  inhabiting,  they 
name  and  put  Spaniards,  whereby  appeareth  that 
both  these  nations  here  inhabited-,  but  whether  very 
Spaniards,  as  the  Irish  greatly  afiect,  is  no  ways  to 
be  ])roved. 

EuDOx. — Whence  cometh  it  then,  that  the  Irish 
do  so  gieatly  covet  to  fetch  themselves  from  the 
Spaniards,  since  the  old  (jauls  are  a  more  ancient 
and  much  more  honourable  nation  ? 

luEN. — Even  of  a  very  desire  of  new-fangleness 
and  vanity  ;  for  they  derive  themselves  from  the 
Sj)aniaids,  as  seeing  them  to  be  a  very  honourable 
people,  and  near  bordering  unto  them.  But  all  that 
is  most  vain  ;  for  from  the  Spaniards  that  now  are, 
or  tliat  people  that  now  inhabit  Spain,  they  no  ways 
can  prove  themselves  to  descend  :  neither  should  it 
be  greatly  glorious  unto  them,  for  the  Spaniard 
that  now  is,  is  come  from  as  rude  and  savage  nations 
as  they ;  there  being,  as  there  may  oe  gathered  by 
course  of  ages,  and  view  of  their  own  history 
(though  they  therein  labour  much  to  ennoble  them- 
selves; scarce  any  drop  of  the  old  Si)aiiish  blood 
left  in  them  :  for  all  Spain  was  first  con(|uered  by 
the  Romans,  and  filled  with  colonies  from  them, 
which  were  still  increased,  and  the  native  Spaniards 
still  cut  off.  Afterwards  the  Carthaj^enians  m  all  the 
long  I'unic  Wars  (having  spoiled  all  Sjiain,  and  in 
the  end  subdued  it  wholly  unto  themselves)  did,  as 
it  IS  likely,  root  out  all  that  were  atiected  to  the 
Romans.  And  lastly,  the  Romans  having  again  re- 
covered that  country,  and  beat  out  Hannibal,  did 
doubtless  cut  off  all  that  favoured  the  Carthagenians  ; 
so  that  betwixt  them  both,  to  and  fro,  there  was 
scarce  a  native  Spaniard  left,  but  all  inhabited  of 
Romans.  All  which  tempests  and  troubles  being 
over-blown,  there  long  aflerarose  a  new  storm,  more 
dreadful  than  all  the  former,  which  over-ran  all 
Spain,  and  made  an  infinite  confusion  of  all  things, 
that  was,  the  coming  down  of  the  Goths,  the 
Hunns,  and  the  Vandals  ;  and  lastly,  all  the  nations 
of  Scythia;  which,  like  a  mountain  flood,  did  over- 
flow all  S])ain,and  quite  drowned  and  washed  away 
whatsoever  reliques  there  was  left  of  the  land-bred 
people ;  yea,  and  of  all  the  Romans  too.  1  he 
which  noithern  nations  finding  the  nature  of  the 
soil,  and  the  vehement  heat  thereof  far  differing  from 
the.r  constitutions,  took  no  telicity  in  that  country, 
but  from  thence  jiassed  over,  and  did  si)read  them 
•elves  into   all   countries    of  Christendom  ;  of  all 


which  there  is  none  but  hath  some  mixture  or  sprink- 
ling, if  not  thoroughly  peopling  of  them.  And  yet 
after  all  these,  the  Moors  and  the  Barbarians  breaking 
over  out  of  Africa,  did  finally  ])Ossess  all  Spain,  or 
the  most  part  thereof,  and  did  tread  under  their 
heathenish  feet  whatever  little  they  found  yet  there 
standing.  The  which,  though  after  they  were 
beaten  out  by  Ferdinand  of  Arragou  and  Isabella 
his  wife,  yet  they  were  not  so  cleansed,  but  that 
through  marriages  which  they  had  made,  and  mix- 
ture with  the  people  of  the  land,  during  their  long 
continuance  there,  they  had  left  no  pure  drop  of 
Spanish  blood,  no  more  than  of  Roman  or  Scy- 
thian. So  that  of  all  nations  under  heaven  (I  sup- 
pose) the  Spaniard  is  the  most  mingled  and  most 
uncertain.  Wherefore  most  foolishly  do  the  Irish 
think  to  ennoble  themselves,  by  wresting  their  an- 
cientry from  the  Spaniard,  who  is  unable  to  derive 
himself  from  any  in  certain. 

EuDOx  — Vou  speak  very  sharply,  Ireneus,  in  dis- 
praise of  the  Spaniard,  whom  some  others  boast  to 
be  the  only  brave  nation  under  the  sky. 

InEN. — So  surely  he  is  a  very  brave  man,  neither 
is  that  anything  which  I  speak  to  his  derogation  : 
for  in  that  I  said  he  is  a  mingled  people,  it  is  no 
dispraise ;  for  I  think  there  is  no  nation  now  in 
Christendom,  nor  much  further,  but  is  mingled  and 
compounded  with  others.  For  it  was  a  singular 
providence  of  God,  and  a  most  admirable  purpose 
of  his  wisdom,  to  draw  those  northern  heathen  na- 
tions down  into  those  christian  parts,  where  they 
might  receive  Christianity,  and  to  mingle  nations  so 
remote  miraculously,  to  make,  as  it  were,  one  blood 
and  kindred  of  all  people,  and  each  to  have  know- 
ledge of  him. 

EuDox. — Neither  have  vou  sure  any  more  dis- 
honoured the  Irish,  for  you  have  brought  them  from 
ve/y  great  and  ancient  nations  as  any  were  in  the 
world,  however  fondly  they  afl'ect  the  Spanish.  For 
both  Scythians  and  Gauls  were  two  as  mighty  na- 
tions as  ever  the  world  brought  forth.  But  is  there 
any  token,  denomination,  or  moment  of  the  Gauls 
yet  remaining  in  Ireland,  as  there  is  of  the  Scy- 
thians ? 

Iken. — Yea  surely,  very  many  words  of  the  Gauls 
remaining,  and  yet    daily  used    in  common  speech. 

EuDox. — What  was  the  Gaulish  sjieech  ?  Is 
there  any  part  of  it  still  used  among  any  nation  ? 

liiEX. — The  Gaulish  speech  is  the  very  British, 
the  which  was  very  generally  used  here  in  all  Bri- 
tain, before  the  coming  of  the  Saxons;  and  yet  is 
retained  of  the  Welshmen,  Cornish-men,  and  the 
Bretons  of  France  :  though  time  working  the  alter- 
ation of  all  things,  and  the  trading  and  interdeal 
with  other  nations  round  about,  have  changed  and 
greatly  altered  the  dialect  thereof;  but  yet  the  ori- 
ginal words  a|i[iear  to  be  the  same,  as  who  hath  list 
to  read  in  Camden  and  Buchanan,  ma\  see  at  large. 
Besides,  there  be  many  places,  as  havens,  hills, 
to«n:-,  and  castles,  which  yet  bear  the  names  from 
the  Gauls;  of  the  which  Buchanan  rehearseth  above 
five  hundred  in  Scotland  and  I  can  (I  think)  re- 
count near  as  many  in  Ireland,  which  retain  the  old 
denomination  of  the  (iauls  ;  as  the  Menapii,  Cauci, 
Venti,  and  others.  By  all  which,  and  many  other 
reasonable  probabilities  (which  this  short  course  will 
not  sufler  to  be  laid  forih)  it  ajipeareth,  that  the 
chief  inhabitants  in  Ireland  were  Gauls;  coming 
tiiilher  first  out  of  Spain,  and  after  from  besides 
Taiiais,  wheie  the  Goths,  the  Hunns,  and  the  Gfltaa 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OT  IRELAND. 


491 


sat  down  ;  thev  also  being;  (as  ii  is  siiid  of  some) 
ancient  Gauls :  and  lastly,  passing  out  of  Gallia 
itself,  froiu  all  the  sea-coasts  of  Eelo^ia  and  Celtica, 
into  all  the  southern  coasts  of  Ireland,  which  they 
possessed  and  inhabited  ;  whereupon  it  is  at  this 
day,  amongst  the  Irish,  a  common  use,  to  call  an)' 
strang-HT,  inhabitant  there  amongst  them,  Gald :  that 
is,  descended  from  the  Gauls. 

EuDox. — This  is  very  likely,  for  even  so  did  those 
Gauls  anciently  possess  all  tlie  southern  coasts  of 
our  Britain,  which  yet  retain  their  old  names  ;  as 
the  Belgae  in  Somersetshire,  Wiltshire,  and  part  of 
Hampshire;  Attrebatiiin  Berkshire  ;  Ilegni  in  Sussex 
and  Surrey,  and  many  others.  Now  thus  far  then  I 
understand  your  opinion,  that  the  Scythiiins  planted 
in  the  north  part  of  Ireland,  the  Sjianiards  (for  so 
we  call  them,  whatever  they  were  that  came  from 
Spain)  in  the  west,  the  Gauls  in  the  south  ;  so  that 
there  now  remain  the  east  parts  towards  England, 
which  I  would  be  glad  to  understand  from  whence 
you  do  think  them  to  be  peopled. 

Iren. — Marry  I  think  of  the  Britons  themselves, 
of  which,  though  there  be  little  footing  now  remain- 
ing, by  reason  that  the  Saxons  afterwards,  and 
lastly  the  English,  driving  out  tiie  inhabitants 
thereof,  did  possess  and  people  it  themselves  :  yet 
amongst  tiie  Tooles,  the  Birns,  or  ]3rins,  the  Cave- 
naghs,  and  other  nations  in  Leinster,  there  is  some 
memory  of  tlie  Britons  remaining.  As  the  Tooles  are 
called  of  the  old  British  word  Tol,  that  is,  a  bdl  coun- 
try ;  the  Brins  of  the  British  word  Brin,  that  is, 
woods  ;  and  the  Cavenaghs  of  tlie  word  Caune,  that 
is,  strong  :  so  that  in  these  three  people,  the  very 
denomination  of  the  old  Britons  do  still  remain. 
Besides,  when  any  flietb  under  the  succour  and 
protection  of  any  against  an  enemy,  lie  crieth  unto 
him,  Comericke  ;  that  is,  in  the  British,  help  ;  for 
tlie  Briton  is  called  in  their  own  language  Comeroy. 
Furthermore,  to  prove  the  same,  Ireland  is,  by  Dio- 
dorus  Siculus,  and  by  Strabo,  called  Britannia,  and 
a  part  of  Great  Britain.  Finally  it  appeareth  by 
good  record  yet  extant,  that  King  Arthur,  and  before 
liim  Gurgunt,  had  all  that  island  under  their  alle- 
giance and  subjection.  Hereunto  I  could  add  many 
probabilities  of  the  names  of  places,  persons,  and 
speeches,  as  I  did  in  the  former  ;  but  they  should 
be  too  long  for  this,  and  I  reserve  them  fur  another. 
And  thus  you  have  had  my  opinion,  how  all  that 
realm  of  Ireland  was  first  peopled,  and  by  what 
nations.  After  all  which,  the  Saxons  succeeding, 
subdued  it  wholly  to  themselves.  For  first,  Egfrid 
King  of  Northumberland  did  utterly  waste  and 
subdue  it,  as  ap]jeareth  out  of  Beda's  complaints 
against  him  ;  and  after  him,  King  Edgar  brought  it 
under  his  obedience,  as  appeareth  by  an  ancient 
record,  in  which  it  is  found  written,  that  he  subdued 
all  the  islands  of  the  north  even  unto  Norway,  and 
brought  them  into  his  subjectit)n. 

EuDox. — This  ripping  of  ancestors  is  very  plea- 
sing unto  me,  and  indeed  savoureth  of  good  conceit, 
and  some  reading  withal.  I  see  hereby,  how  profit- 
able travel  and  experience  of  foreign  nations  is,  to 
him  that  will  apply  them  to  good  purpose,  Neither, 
indeed,  would  1  have  thought,  that  any  such  anti- 
quities could  have  been  avouched  for  the  Irish  ; 
that  maketh  me  the  more  to  long  to  see  some  other 
oi"  your  observations,  which  you  have  gathered  out 
of  that  country,  and  have  earst  half  promised  to  put 
torth.  And  sure  in  this  mingling  of  nations  ap- 
peareth (as  you  earst  well  noted)  a  wonderful  pro- 


vidence and  purpose  of  Almighty  Cod,  that  stirred 
up  the  people  in  the  further  ]iarts  of  the  world,  o 
seek  out  the  regions  so  remote  from  them  :  and  by 
that  means,  botli  to  restore  their  decayed  habitations, 
and  to  make  himself  known  to  the  lieathen.  But 
was  theie,  I  prav  you,  no  more  y;eneral  emplovino- 
of  that  island,  than  first  bv  the  Scythians,  wliich 
you  say  were  the  Scots,  and  afterwards  bv  the  Spa- 
niards, besides  the  Gauls,  Britons,  and  Saxons? 

Iren. — Yes,  there  was  another,  and  that  last  and 
greatest,  which  was  by  the  English,  when  the  E:irl 
Strongbow  having  conijuired  that  land,  delivered  up 
the  same  into  the  hands  of  Henry  the  Second,  then 
King  ;  who  sent  over  thither  a  great  store  of  gen- 
tlemen, and  other  warlike  people,  amongst  whom  he 
distributed  the  land,  and  settled  such  a  strong  co- 
lony therein,  as  never  since  could,  with  all  the  sub- 
tle practices  of  the  Irish,  be  rooted  out  ;  but  abide 
still  a  mighty  people,  of  so  many  as  remain  English 
of  them. 

EuDox. — What  is  this  that  you  say,  of  so  many 
as  remain  English  of  them  ?  Why,  are  not  they 
that  were  once  English,  English  still  ? 

Iren.— No,  for  some  of  them  are  degenerated,  and 
grown  mere  Irish  ;  yea,  and  more  malicious  to  the 
English,  than  the  Irish  themselves. 

EuDox.— What  heard  I  ?  And  is  it  possible  that 
an  Englisliman,  brought  up  in  such  sweet  civility  as 
England  affords,  should  find  such  liking  in  that  bar- 
barous rudeness,  that  he  should  foget  his  own  nature, 
and  forego  his  own  nation  ?  How  can  this  be  ?  oi 
what  (I  pray  you)  may  be  the  cause  thereof? 

Irfn. — Surely  nothing  but  the  first  evil  ordinance 
and  institution  of  that  commonwealth.  But  thereof 
here  is  no  fit  place  to  speak,  lest  by  the  occasija 
thereof,  offering  matter  of  a  long  discourse,  we 
might  be  drawn  from  this  that  we  have  in  hand  ; 
namely,  the  handling  of  abuses  in  the  customs  of 
Ireland. 

EuDOx. — In  truth,  Ireneus,  you  do  well  remem- 
ber the  plot  of  your  first  jiurpose;  but  yet  from  that 
(meseems)  ye  have  much  swerved  in  all  this  lono- 
discourse  of  the  first  inhabiting  of  Ireland  :  for  whal 
is  that  to  your  purpose  ? 

Iren. — Truly  very  material;  for  if  you  marked 
the  course  of  all  that  speech  well,  it  was  to  show  by 
what  means  the  customs  that  now  are  in  Ireland, 
being  some  of  them  indeed  very  strange,  and  almost 
heathenish,  were  first  brought  in  :  and  that  was,  as  I 
said,  by  those  nations  from  whom  that  country  was 
first  peopled  ;  for  the  difference  in  manners  and  cus- 
toms doth  follow  the  difference  of  nations  and  people. 
The  which  I  have  declared  to  you  to  have  been 
three  especially,  which  seated  themselves  here  :  To 
wit,  first,  the  Scythian  ;  then,  the  Gauls  ;  and  lastly, 
the  English.  Notwithstanding  that  I  am  not  igno- 
rant that  there  were  sundry  nations  which  oot 
footing  in  that  land,  of  the  which  there  yet  remain 
divers  great  ianiiliesand  steps,  of  whom  I  will  also 
in  their  proper  places  make  mention. 

EuDOx. —  You  bring  yourself,  Ireneus,  very  well 
into  the  way  again,  notwithstanding  that  it  seemeth 
that  you  were  never  out  of  the  way  ;  but  now  that 
you  have  passed  through  those  antiquities,  which  I 
could  have  wished  not  so  soon  ended,  begin  when 
you  please,  to  declare  what  customs  and  manners 
have  been  derived  from  those  nations  to  the  Irish, 
and  which  of  them  you  find  fault  withal. 

Iren. — I  will  begin  then  to  count  their  customs 
in  the   same  order  that  I  counted  their  nations,  and 


«94 


A    VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


first  with  the  Scytliian  or  Scottish  manners.  Of 
the  which,  there  is  one  use  amongst  them,  to  keep 
their  cattle,  and  to  live  themselves  the  most  part  of 
the  year  in  bi'olies  pasturing  upon  the  mountain 
and  waste  wild  places,  and  removing  still  to  fresh 
land,  as  they  have  depastured  the  former,  i  he 
which  appearelh  plain  to  he  the  manner  of  the  Scy- 
thians, as  you  may  read  in  Olaus  Magnus  and  Joh. 
Boemus,  and  yet  is  used  amongst  all  the  I  artarians, 
and  the  people  about  the  Caspian  Sea,  which  are  natu- 
rally Scythians,  to  live  in  herds,  as  they  call  them  ; 
heiiig  the  very  same  that  the  Irish  boolies  are,  dri- 
ving their  cattle  continually  with  them,  and  feeding 
onlv  on  their  milk  and  white-meats. 

Evnox. —  What  fault  can  you  find  with  this  cus- 
tom? for  though  it  be  an  old  Scythian  use,  yet  it  is 
very  behooveful  in  this  country  of  Ireland,  where 
there  are  ^reat  mountains,  and  waste  deserts  full  of 
grass,  that  the  same  should  be  eaten  down,  and 
nourish  many  thousands  of  cattle,  for  the  good  of 
the  whole  realm  ;  which  cannot  (methinks)  well  be 
anv  other  way,  than  by  keeping  those  boolies  there, 
as  ve  have  showed. 

IiiEN. — But  by  this  custom  of  booling,  there  grow 
in  the  mean  time  many  great  enormities  unto  that 
commonwealth.  For  first,  if  there  be  anv  out-laws, 
or  loose  people  (as  thev  are  never  without  some), 
which  live  upon  stealths  and  spoils,  they  are  ever- 
more succoured  and  find  relief  only  in  these  boolies, 
being  upon  the  waste  places ;  whereas  else  they 
should  be  driven  shortly  to  starve,  or  to  come  down 
to  the  towns  to  seek  relief,  where  by  one  means  or 
Other  they  would  soon  be  caught.  Besides,  such 
stealths  of  cattle  as  they  make,  they  bring  commonly 
to  those  boolies,  being  upon  those  waste  places, where 
they  are  readily  received,  and  the  thief  harboured 
from  d  anger  of  law,  or  such  officers  as  inight  light 
upon  him.  Moreover, the  people  that  thus  live  in  those 
boolies,  grow  thereby  Uie  more  barbarous,  and  live 
more  licentiously  than  they  could  in  towns,  using 
what  manners  they  list, and  practising  what  mischiefs 
and  villanies  they  will,  either  against  the  Govern- 
ment there  by  their  combinations,  er  against  private 
men,  whom  they  malign,  by  stealing  their  goods,  or 
murdering  themselves.  For  there  they  think  them- 
selves half  exempted  from  law  and  obedience,  and 
having  once  tasted  freedom,  do,  like  a  steer  tiiut  hath 
been  long  out  of  his  yoke,  grudge  and  repine  ever 
after,  to  come  under  rule  again. 

EuDox. — By  your  speech,  Ireneus,  I  perceive 
more  evil  comes  by  this  use  of  boolies,  than  good 
by  their  grazing  ;  and  therefore  it  may  well  be  re- 
formed :  but  that  must  be  in  its  due  course.  Do 
you  proceed  to  the  next. 

Iken. — They  have  another  custom  from  the  Scy- 
thians, that  is,  the  wearing  of  mantles  and  long 
glilihs,  which  is  a  thick  curled  bush  of  linir  hanf.ing 
down  over  their  eyes,  and  monstrously  disguising 
them  ;  whicli  are  both  very  bad  and  hurtful. 

EuDox. — Do  you  think  that  the  mantle  cometh 
from  the  Scythians?  I  would  surely  think  other- 
wise; for  by  that  which  I  have  read,  it  ap|ieareth, 
that  most  nations  of  the  world  anciently  used  the 
mantle.  For  the  Jews  used  it,  as  you  may  read  of 
Elias's  mantle,  Ike. ;  the  Chaldees  also  used  it,  as  ye 
may  read  in  Dioilorus;  the  Egyjitians  likewise  used 
it.  as  ye  may  read  in  Herodotus,  and  may  be  ga- 
thered by  the  descrijition  of  Berenice,  in  the  Greek 
commentary  upon  Callimachus.  The  Greeks  also 
used  it  anciently,  as  appeareth   by  Venus's   mantle 


lined   with    stars,  though  afterwards   they  changed 

the  form  thereof  into  their  cloaks,  called  pallia, 
as  some  of  the  Irish  also  use.  And  the  ancient 
Latins  and  Romans  used  it,  as  you  may  read  in 
Virgil,  who  was  a  very  great  antiyuary,  that  Evander, 
when  ^neas  came  to  him  at  his  feast,  did  entertain 
and  feast  him,  sitting  on  the  ground,  and  lying  on 
mantles  ;  insomuch  as  he  useth  the  very  word  man- 
tile  for  a  mantle. 

'• Ilumi  mantilia  sternunt." 

So  that  it  seemeth,  that  the  mantle  was  a  general 
habit  to  most  nations,  and  not  proper  to  the  Scy- 
thians only,  as  you  suppose. 

Ihen. — I  cannot  deny  but  that  anciently  it  was  com- 
mon to  most ;  and  yet  sith  thence  disused  and  laid 
away.  But  in  this  latter  age  of  the  world,  since  the 
decay  of  the  Roman  empire,  it  was  renewed  and 
brought  in  again  by  those  northern  nations,  when 
breaking  out  of  their  cold  caves  and  frozen  habita- 
tions, into  the  sweet  soil  of  Europe,  they  brought 
with  them  their  usual  weeds,  fit  to  shield  the  cold, 
and  that  continual  frost  to  which  they  had  at  Lome 
been  inured  ;  the  which  yet  they  left  not  off,  by 
reason  that  they  vs  ere  in  perpetual  wars  with  the 
nations  whom  they  had  invaded,  but  still  removing 
from  place  to  place,  carried  always  with  them  that 
weed,  as  their  house,  their  bed,  and  their  garment; 
and  coming  lastly  into  Ireland,  they  found  there 
more  special  use  thereof,  by  reason  of  the  raw  cold 
climate,  from  whom  it  is  now  grown  into  that  gene- 
ral use  in  w  ich  that  peojjlo  now  have  it.  After 
whom,  the  Gauls  succeeding,  yet  finding  the  like 
necessity  of  that  garment,  continued  the  like  use 
thereof. 

EuDox. — Since  then  the  necessity  thereof  is  so 
commodious,  a"!  you  allege,  that  it  is  instead  of 
housing,  bedding,  and  clothing;  what  reason  have 
you  then  to  wish  so  necessary  a  thing  cast  off? 

Irfn. — Becauselhecommodity  doth  not  countervail 
the  discommodity;  for  the  inconvetiiences  which 
thereby  do  arise,  are  much  more  many  ;  for  it  is  a 
fit  house  for  an  outlaw,  a  meet  bed  for  a  rebel,  iind 
an  apt  cloak  for  a  thief.  First,  the  outlaw,  being  t'm 
his  many  crimes  and  villanies  banished  from  ilie 
towns  and  houses  of  honest  men,  and  wandering  lu 
waste  j)laces,  far  from  danger  of  law,  maketli  his 
mantle  his  house,  andjjnderit  covereth  hinisell  troiu 
the  wrath  of  heaven,  from  the  offence  of  the  eaitli, 
and  trom  the  sight  of  men.  When  it  raineth,  it  is 
his  jient-house  ;  when  it  bloweth,  it  is  his  tent ;  u  lien 
it  freezeth,  it  is  his  tal)eriiacle.  In  summer,  he  can 
wear  it  loose;  in  winter  he  can  wrap  it  clo^e  ;  at  all 
times  he  can  use  it ;  never  heavy,  never  cumbersome. 
Likewise  for  a  rebel  it  is  as  serviceable  ;  for  in  this 
war  that  he  maketh  (if  at  least  it  deserve  the  name 
of  war),  when  he  still  ilieth  from  his  foe,  and  lurketh 
in  the  thick  woods  and  sirait  jrassages,  waiting  for 
advantages  ;  it  is  his  bed,  yea,  and  almost  his  house- 
hold stuff.  For  the  wood  is  his  house  against  all 
weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his  couch  to  sleep  in  ; 
therein  he  wrajipeth  himself  round,  and  couchetli 
himself  strongly  agaiii;)t  the  gnats,  which,  in  that 
country,  do  more  annoy  the  naked  rebels,  whilst 
they  keep  the  woods,  and  do  more  sharj)ly  wound 
them  than  all  their  uieniies'  swords  or  spears,  which 
can  seldom  come  nigh  them.  Yea,  and  ofientiiiies 
their  mantle  serveth  them  when  they  are  near  driven, 
being  wrapped  about  their  left  arm,  instead  of  a  tar- 
get ;  for  it  is  hard  to  cut  through  with  a  sword ; 
besides,  it  is  li''ht  to  bear,  light  to  throw  away,  and 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


<*95 


m  all.  Lastly,  for  a  thief,  it  is  so  handsome,  as  it 
being,  as  thev  commonly  are,  naked,  it  is  to  them  all 
may  seem  it  was  first  invented  for  hin> ;  for  under  it 
he  may  cleanly  convey  any  fit  pillaoe  that  cometh 
handsomely  in  his  way;  and  when  he  goeth  abroad 
in  the  niyht  in  free-booting,  it  is  his  best  and  surest 
friend  ;  for  lying,  as  they  often  do,  two  or  three 
nights  together  abroad,  to  watch  for  their  booty,  with 
that  they  can  prettily  shroud  themselves  under  a  bush 
or  a  bankside,  till  they  can  convenien  ly  do  their 
errand  ;  and  when  all  is  over,  he  can,  in  his  mantle, 
pass  through  any  town  or  company,  being  close 
hooded  over  his  head,  as  he  useth,  from  knowledge 
of  any  to  whom  he  is  endangered.  Besides  this,  he, 
or  any  man  else  that  is  disposed  to  mischief  or  vil- 
lany,  may,  under  his  mantle,  go  privily  armed, 
without  suspicion  of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his 
skean,  or  pistol,  if  he  please,  to  bo  always  in  readi- 
ness. Thus  necessary  and  fitting  is  a  mantle  for  a 
bad  man,  and  surely  for  a  bad  housewife  it  is  noless 
convenient  ■,  for  some  of  them  that  be  wandering- 
women,  called  of  them  Mnna-ShuU,  it  is  half  a  ward- 
robe, for  in  summer  you  shall  find  her  arrayed  com- 
monly but  in  her  smock  and  mantle,  to  be  more 
ready  for  her  light  services  ;  in  winter  and  in  her 
travel,  it  is  her  cloak  and  safeguard,  and  also  a  co- 
verlet for  her  lewd  exercise  ;  and  wlien  she  hath 
filled  her  vessel,  under  it  she  can  hide  boih  her  bur- 
den and  her  blame;  yea,  and  when  her  bastard  is 
bom,  it  serves  instead  of  swaddling  clouts.  And  as 
for  all  other  good  women  which  love  to  do  but  little 
■work,  how  handsome  it  is  to  lie  in  and  sleep,  or  to 
louse  themselves  in  the  sunshine,  they  that  have 
been  but  a  while  in  Ireland  can  well  witness.  Sure 
I  am  that  you  will  think  it  very  unfit  for  a  good 
housewife  to  stir  in,  or  to  busy  herself  about  her 
housewifery  in  such  sort  as  she  should.  These  be 
some  of  the  abuses  for  which  I  would  think  it  meet 
to  forbid  all  mantles. 

EuDox. — 0  evil-minded  man, that  having  reckoned 
up  so  many  uses  of  a  mantle,  will  yet  wish  it  to  be 
abandoned!  Sme,  I  think  Diogenes' dish  did  never 
serve  his  master  for  more  turns,  notwithstanding 
that  he  made  it  his  dish,  his  cup,  his  cap,  his  mea- 
sure, his  wafer])ot,  than  a  mantle  doth  an  Irishman. 
But  I  see  thev  be  most  to  bad  intents,  and  therefore 
I  will  join  with  vou  in  abolishing  it.  But  what  blame 
lay  you  to  the  glihh  1  Take  heed,  1  pray  you,  that  you 
be  nottoobusy  therewith,  for  fearofyour  own  blame, 
seeing  our  Englishmen  take  it  up  in  such  a  general 
fashion,  to  wear  their  hair  so  immeasurably  long,  that 
some  of  them  exceed  the  longest  Irish  glibbs. 

Iren. — I  fear  not  the  blame  of  any  undeserved  dis- 
likes ;  but  for  the  Irish  glibbs,  they  are  as  fit  masks 
as  a  mantle  is  for  a  thief;  for  whensoever  he  hath 
run  himself  into  that  peril  of  law  that  he  will  not  be 
known,  he  either  cutteth  off  liis  glibb  quite,  by 
which  he  becometh  nothing  like  himself,  or  pulleth 
it  so  low  down  over  his  eyes,  that  it  is  very  hard  to 
discern  his  thievish  countenance,  and  therefore  fit  to 
be  trussed  up  with  the  mantle. 

Ei'Dox. — Truly  these  three  Scythian  abuses,  I 
hold  most  fit  to  be  taken  away  with  sharp  penalties, 
and  sure  I  wonder  how  they  have  been  kept  thus 
long,  notwithstanding  so  many  good  provisions  and 
orders  as  have  .been  devised  for  that  people. 

Iben. — The  cause  thereof  shall  ayipear  to  you  here- 
after; but  let  us  now  go  forward  with  our  Scythian 
customs,  of  which  the  next  that  I  have  to  treat  of  is 
the  manner  of  laising  the  cry  in  their  conflicts,  and 


at  other  troublesome  times  of  uproar,  ihe  which  is 
very  natural  Scythian,  as  you  may  read  in  Diodorus 
Siculus,  and  in  Herodotus,  describing  the  manner 
of  the  Scythians  and  Parthians  coming  to  give  the 
charge  at  battles,  at  which  it  is  said  that  they  came 
running  with  a  terrible  yell,  as  if  heaven  and  earth 
would  have  gone  together,  which  is  the  very  image 
of  the  Irish  hubbub,  which  their  kern  use  at  their 
first  encounter.  Besides,  the  same  Herodotus 
writeth,  that  thev  used  in  their  battles  to  call  upon 
the  names  of  their  captains  or  generals,  and  some- 
times upon  their  greatest  kings  deceased,  as  in  that 
battle  of  Thomyris,  against  Cvrus,  which  cu^^tom, 
to  this  day,  manifestly  appeareth  amongst  the  Irish. 
For  at  their  joining  of  battle,  they  likewise  call  upon 
their  captain's  name,  or  the  word  of  his  ancestors. 
As  they,  under  Oneal,  cry  Laiindarg-aho,  that  is,  the 
Bloody  Hand,  which  is  OiieaVs  badge,  they  under 
O'Brien  call  Launlnider,  that  is,  the  Strong  Hand. 
And  to  their  ensample,  the  old  Englisli  also  which 
there  reniaineth,  have  gotten  u])  their  cries  Scythian- 
like, as  Crom-abo,  and  Butler-ahn.  And  here  also 
lieth  open  another  manifest  proof,  that  the  Irish  be 
Scythes  or  Scots,  for  in  all  their  encounters,  they 
use  one  very  common  word,  crying  ferragh,  fer- 
ra^h,  which  is  a  Scottish  word,  to  wit — tiie  name  of 
one  of  the  first  kings  of  Scotland,  called  Ferragus, 
or  Fergus,  which  fought  against  the  Picts,  as  you 
may  read  in  Buchanan,  De  Rebus  Scotiris  ;  but  as 
others  write,  it  was  long  before  that  the  name  of 
ehir  chief  captain  under  \^  hom  they  fought  against 
tlie  Africans,  the  which  was  then  so  fortunate  unto 
them,  that  ever  sithencf,  they  have  used  to  call 
upon  his  name  in  their  battles. 

EuDox. — Believe  me,  this  observation  of  yours, 
Ireneus,  is  very  good  and  delightful,  far  beyond 
the  blind  conceit  of  some,  who,  I  remember,  have 
upon  the  same  word,  ferrugh,  made  a  very  blunt 
conjecture,  as,  namely,  iMr.  Stanihurst,  who,  though 
he  be  the  same  countr\man  born,  that  should  search 
more  nearly  into  the  secret  of  these  things,  yet  hath 
strayed  from  the  truth  all  the  heavens  wide,  as  they 
say,  for  he  thereupon  groundeth  a  verv  gross  ima- 
gination, that  the  Irish  should  descend  from  the 
Egyptians  w  hich  came  into  that  island;  first  under 
the  leading  of  one  Scota,  the  daughter  of  Pharaoh; 
whereupon  they  use,  saifh  he,  in  all  their  battles,  to 
call  u)K)n  the  name  of  Pharaoh,  crying  Fenagh, 
Ferragh.  Surely  he  shoots  wide  on  the  bow-hand, 
and  very  far  from  the  mark.  For  I  would  first 
know  of  him  what  ancient  ground  of  auttiorily  he 
hath  for  such  a  senseless  fable,  and  if  he  I  ave  any 
of  the  rude  Irish  books,  as  it  may  be  he  haiii,  yet, 
meseems,  that  a  man  of  his  learning  should  not  so 
lightly  have  been  carried  away  with  old  wives'  tales, 
from  approvanceof  his  own  reason  ;  for  whether  it 
be  a  smack  of  any  learned  judgment  to  say  that 
Si  Ota  is  like  an  Egyptian  word,  let  the  learned 
judge.  But  his  Scota  rather  comes  of  the  Greek 
okotQ,  that  is,  darkness,  which  hath  not  let  him  see 
the  light  of  the  truth. 

Ihen. — You  know  not,  Eudoxus,  how  well  I\I. 
Stan,  could  see  in  the  dark  ;  perhajis  he  bath  ovi-ls 
or  cats'  eyes  ;  but  well  I  wot  he  seeth  not  well  tiie 
very  light  in  matters  of  more  weight.  But  as  for 
Ferragh,  i  have  told  my  conjecture  onlv,  and  yet 
thus  much  I  have  more  to  jirove  a  likelihood,  that 
there  be  yet  at  this  day  in  Ireland  manv  Irishmen, 
chiefly  in  the  northern  parts,  called  by  the  name  of 
Fenagh.     But  let  that  now  be ;  this  only  for  ihia 


496 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


plact'  srifficeih,  tir.it  it  is  a  word  used  in  their  com- 
mon liuhbuhs,  the  uhicli,  with  all  the  rest,  is  to  be 
abolished,  for  that  it  discnverelh  an  afl'ectation  to 
Irish  ciiptainry,  which  in  this  platform  I  endeavour 
speciallv  to  iieat  down.  There  be  other  sorts  of 
cries  also  used  amons:st  the  Irish,  which  savour 
greutlv  of  tlip  Scythian  b-.!' harism,  as  their  lamenta- 
tions at  their  biirials.  with  despairful  outcries  and 
immoderate  wailings,  the  which  Mr.  Stanihurst  might 
also  have  used  for  an  argument  to  prove  them 
Egvplians.  For  so  in  Scripture  it  is  mentioned, 
that  the  F.ijviitians  lamented  for  the  death  of  .loseidi. 
Others  think  this  custom  to  come  from  the  Spa- 
niards, for  that  they  do  immeasurably  likewise  be- 
wail their  dead  ;  but  the  same  is  not  proper  Spanish, 
but  idtogether  heathenish;  brought  in  thither,  first, 
either  by  the  Scythians,  or  the  Moors  that  were 
Africans,  and  long  possessed  that  country.  For  it  is 
the  manner  of  all  Pagans  and  Infidels  to  be  intem- 
perate in  their  wailinors  of  their  dead,  for  that  they 
had  no  faith  nor  hope  of  salvation.  And  this  ill  cus- 
tom also  is  specially  noted  by  Diodorus  Siculus,  to 
have  been  in  the  Scythians,  and  is  yet  amongst  the 
northern  Scots  at  this  day,  as  you  may  read  in  their 
cLronicles. 

EuDox. — This  is  sure  an  ill  custom  also,  but  yet 
doth  not  so  much  concern  civil  reformation,  as  abuses 
in  religion. 

Ipfn. — I  did  not  rehearse  it  as  one  of  the  abuses 
which  1  thought  most  worthy  of  reformation  ;  but 
having  miide  mention  of  Irish  cries,  I  thought  this 
manner  of  lewd  crying  and  howling,  not  imperti- 
nent to  be  noted,  as  uncivil  and  Scythian-like:  for 
bv  these  old  customs,  and  other  like  conjectural  cir- 
cumstances, the  descents  of  nations  can  only  be 
proved,  where  other  monuments  of  writings  are  not 
remaining. 

Euuox. — Then  (I  pray  you)  whensoever  in  your 
discourse  you  meet  with  them  by  the  way,  do  not 
shun,  but  boldly  touch  them  :  for  besides  their  great 
pleasure  and  delight  for  their  antiquity,  they  bring 
also  great  profit  and  help  unto  civility. 

luEN.  — Then  sith  you  will  have  it  so,  I  will  here 
take  occasion,  since  I  lately  spake  of  their  manner  of 
cries  in  joining  of  battle,  to  speak  also  somewhat  of 
the  manner  of  their  arms,  and  array  in  battle,  with 
other  customs  perhaps  worthy  the  noting.  And  first 
of  their  arms  and  weapons,  amongst  which  their 
broad-swords  are  proper  Scythian ;  for  such  the 
Scyths  used  commonlv,  as  you  may  read  in  Olaus 
Magnus;  and  the  same  also  the  old  Scots  used,  as 
you  may  read  in  Buchanan,  and  in  Solinus,  where 
the  pictures  of  them  are  in  the  same  form  expressed. 
Also  their  short  bows,  and  little  quivers,  with  short 
bearded  arrows,  are  very  Scythian,  as  you  may  read 
in  the  same  Olaus.  And  the  same  sort  both  of  bows, 
quivers,  and  arrows,  are  at  this  day  to  be  seen  com- 
monly amongst  the  Northern  Irish-Scots,  whose 
Scottish  bows  are  not  past  three  (juarters  of  a  yard 
long,  with  a  string  of  wreathed  hemp  slackly  bent, 
and  whose  arrows  are  not  much  above  half  an  ell 
loiii;,  tipped  with  steel  heads,  made  like  common 
broad  arrow-heads,  but  much  more  sharp  and  slen- 
der ;  that  they  enter  into  a  man  or  horse  most  cruelly, 
DOtwilhstanding  that  they  are  shot  forth  weakly. 
Moreover,  their  long  broad  shields,  made  up  with 
wicker  rods,  which  are  commonly  used  amongst  the 
said  Northern  Irisli,  but  especially  of  the  Scots,  are 
brought  from  the  Scvthians,  as  you  may  read  in  Olaus 
Magnus,  Roliuus,  and  others  :  likewise  their  goinjj 


to  battle  without  armour  on  their  bodies  oi  heads, 
but  trusting  to  the  thickness  of  their  glibs,  the  which 
ftliey  say)  wdl  sometimes  bear  oflf  a  good  stroke,  is 
mere  Scythian,  as  you  may  see  in  tlie  said  images  0/ 
the  old  Scythes  or  Scots,  set  forth  by  Herodianus 
and  others,  besides,  their  confused  kind  of  march, 
in  heaps,  without  any  order  or  array,  their  clashing 
of  swords  together,  their  fierce  running  upon  their 
enemies,  and  their  manner  of  fight,  resembleth  alto- 
gether that  which  is  read  in  histories  to  have  beei 
used  of  the  Scythians.  By  which  it  may  almost  in- 
fallibly be  gathered,  together  with  other  circum- 
stances, that  the  Irish  are  very  Scots  or  Scythes 
originally,  though  silhence  intermingled  with  many 
other  nations  rejiairini;  and  joining  unto  them.  And 
to  these  I  may  also  add  anoiher  strong  conjecture 
which  Cometh  to  my  mind,  that  I  have  often  ob- 
served there  amongst  them  ;  that  is,  certain  religious 
ceremonies,  which  are  very  superstitiously  yet  used 
amongst  them  ;  the  which  are  also  written  by  sundry 
authors,  to  have  been  observed  amongst  the  Scythians, 
by  which  it  may  very  vehemently  be  presumed  tliat, 
the  nations  were  anciently  all  one.  For  Plutarch  (as 
I  remember)  in  his  treatise  of  Homer,  endeavouring 
to  search  out  the  truth,  what  countryman  Homer 
was,  jirovelh  it  most  strongly  (as  he  thinketh)  that 
he  was  an  ^Eolian  born,  for  that  in  describing  n  sa- 
crifice of  the  Greeks,  he  omitted  the  loin,  the  which 
all  the  other  Grecians  (saving  the  ^"Eolians)  use  to 
burn  in  their  sacrifices  :  also  for  that  he  makes  the 
entrails  to  be  roasted  on  five  spits,  which  was  the 
proper  manner  of  the  .iEolians,  who  only,  of  all 
the  nations  of  Grecia,  used  to  sacrifice  in  that 
sort.  By  which  he  inferreth  necessarily,  that  Homer 
was  an  ^olian.  And  by  the  same  reason  may  I 
as  reasonably  conclude,  that  the  Irish  are  descended 
from  the  Scythians  ;  for  that  they  use  (even  to  this 
day)  some  of  the  same  ceremonies  which  the  Scjthians 
anciently  used.  As,  for  example,  you  may  read  in  ■ 
Lucian,  in  that  sweet  dialogue,  which  is  entitled 
Toxaris,  or  of  friendship,  that  the  common  oath  of  the 
Scythians  was  by  the  sword,  and  by  the  fire  ;  for  that 
they  accounted  those  two  special  Divine  Powers, 
which  should  work  vengeance  on  the  perjurers.  So 
do  the  Irish  at  this  day,  when  they  go  to  battle,  say 
certain  prayers  or  charms  to  their  swords,  making  a 
cross  therewith  upon  the  earth,  and  thrusting  the 
points  of  their  blades  into  the  ground,  thinking 
thereby  to  have  the  better  success  in  fight.  Also 
they  use  commonly  to  swear  by  their  swords.  Also 
the  Scythians  used,  when  they  would  bind  any  so- 
lemn vow  or  combination  amongst  them,  to  drink  a 
bowl  of  blood  together,  vowing  thereby  to  spend 
their  last  blood  in  that  (juarrel :  and  even  so  do 
the  wild  Scots,  as  you  may  read  in  Buchanan  ; 
and  some  of  the  Northern  Irish.  Likewise  at  the 
kindling  of  the  fire,  and  lighting  of  candles,  they 
say  certain  j)rayers,  and  use  some  other  stipersti- 
tious  rites,  which  show  that  they  honour  the  fire 
and  the  light:  for  all  those  northern  nations  having 
been  used  to  ho  annoyed  with  much  cold  and  dark- 
ness, are  wont  therefore  to  have  the  fire  and  tha 
sun  in  great  veneration  :  like  as  contrary  wise  the 
Moors  and  Egyptians,  which  are  much  offended 
and  grieved  with  extreme  heat  of  the  sun,  do  every 
morning  when  the  sun  ariseth,  fall  to  cursing  and 
banning  of  him  as  their  plague.  You  may  also 
read  in  the  same  book,  in  the  tale  of  Arsacoraas, 
that  it  was  the  manner  of  the  Scythians,  when  anv 
one  of  them  was  heavily  wronged,  and  would  at- 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


49; 


eemble  unto  him  any  forces  of  people  to  join  with 
him  in  his  revenge,  to  sit  in  some  public  place  for 
certain  days  upon  an  ox-hide,  to  which  there  would 
resort  all  such  persons  as,  being  disposed  to  take 
arms,  would  enter  into  his  pay,  or  join  with  him  in 
his  quarrel.  And  the  same  you  may  likewise  read 
to  have  been  the  ancient  manner  of  the  wild  Scots, 
which  are  indeed  the  very  natural  Irish.  More- 
over, the  Scythians  used  to  swear  by  their  king's 
hand,  as  Olaus  showeth.  And  so  do  the  Irish  use 
now  to  swear  by  their  lord's  hand  ;  and  to  forswear 
it,  hold  it  more  criminal  than  to  swear  by  God. 
Also  the  Scythians  said,  tliat  thev  were  once  a-year 
turned  into  wolves,  and  so  is  it  written  of  the  Irish, 
though  Master  Camden  in  a  better  sense  doth  sup- 
pose it  was  a  disease,  called  Lj'canthropia,  so  named 
of  the  wolf.  And  yet  some  of  the  Irish  do  use  to 
make  the  wolf  their  gossip.  The  Scythians  used 
also  to  seeth  the  flesh  in  tlie  hide;  and  so  do  the 
northern  Irish.  The  Scythians  used  to  draw  the 
blood  of  the  beast  living,  and  to  make  meat  thereof; 
and  so  do  the  Irish  in  the  north  still.  Many  such 
customs  I  could  recount  unto  you,  as  of  their  old 
manner  of  marrying,  of  burying,  of  dancing,  of 
singing,  of  feasting,  of  cursing,  though  Christians 
have  wiped  out  the  most  part  of  them  :  by  resem- 
blance whereof  it  might  plainly  appear  to  you,  that 
the  nations  are  the  same,  but  that  by  the  reckoning 
of  these  few,  which  I  have  told  unto  you,  I  find 
my  speech  drawn  out  to  a  greater  length  than  I 
purposed.  Thus  much  only  for  this  time,  I  hope, 
shall  suffice  you,  to  think  that  the  Irish  are  anciently 
deduced  from  the  Scythians. 

EuDox. — Surely,  Ireneus,  I  have  heard,  in  these 
few  words,  that  from  you  which  I  would  have 
thought  had  been  impossible  to  have  been  spoken 
of  times  so  remote,  and  customs  so  ancient :  with 
delight  whereof  I  was  all  that  while  as  it  were  en- 
tranced, and  carried  so  far  from  myself,  as  that  I  am 
now  right  sorry  that  you  ended  so  soon.  But  I 
marvel  much  how  it  cometh  to  pass,  that  in  so  long 
continuance  of  time,  and  so  many  ages  come  be- 
tween, yet  any  jot  of  those  old  rites  and  supersti- 
tious customs  should  remain  amongst  them. 

InEN. — It  is  no  cause  of  wonder  at  all,  for  it  is 
the  manner  of  many  nations  to  be  very  supersti- 
tious, and  diligent  observers  of  old  customs  and 
antiquities,  which  they  receive  by  continual  tradi- 
tions from  their  parents,  bv  recording  of  their  bards 
and  chronicles,  in  their  songs,  and  by  daily  use  and 
ensample  of  their  elders. 

EuDox. — But  have  you  (I  pray  you)  observed 
any  such  customs  amongst  them,  brought  likewise 
from  the  Spaniards  or  Gauls,  as  these  from  the 
Scythians  ?  that  may  sure  be  very  material  to  your 
first  purpose. 

Iren. — Some  perhaps  I  have,  and  who  that  will 
by  this  occasion  more  diligently  mark  and  compare 
their  customs,  shall  find  many  more.  But  there 
are  fewer  remaining  of  the  Gauls  or  Spaniards, 
than  of  the  Scythians,  by  reason  that  the  parts 
which  they  then  possessed,  lying  upon  the  coast 
of  the  western  and  southern  sea,  were  sithence 
visited  with  strangers  and  foreign  people,  repairing 
thither  for  traffic,  and  for  fishing,  which  is  very 
plentiful  upon  those  coasts  :  for  the  trade  and  in- 
tsrdeal  of  sea-coast  nations  one  with  another, 
worketh  more  civility  and  good  fashions  Call 
seamen  being  naturally  desirous  of  new  fashions), 
than  amongst  the    inland   folk,    which  are  seldom 


seen  of  foreigners  ;  yet  some  of  such  as  I  have 
noted,  I  will  recount  unto  you.  And  first  I  will 
for  the  better  credit  of  the  rest,  show  you  one, 
out  of  their  statutes,  among  which  it  is  enacted 
that  no  man  shall  wear  his  beard,  only  on  the  upper 
lip,  shaving  all  his  chin.  And  this  was  the  ancient 
manner  of  the  Spaniards,  as  yet  it  is  of  all  the  31a- 
hometans,  to  cut  ofi"all  their  beards  close,  save  only 
their  mustachios  which  they  wear  long.  And  the 
cause  of  this  use  was,  for  that  they  being  bred 
in  a  hot  country,  found  much  hair  on  their  faces  and 
other  parts,  to  be  noyous  unto  them  ;  for  which 
cause  thev  did  cut  it  most  away  :  like  as  (ontrarily 
all  other  nations  brought  up  in  cold  countries,  do  use 
to  nourish  their  hair,  to  keep  them  the  warmer  ;  which 
was  the  cause  that  the  Scythians  and  Scots  wore 
glibbs  (as  I  showed  you)  to  keep  their  heads  warm, 
and  long  beards,  to  defend  their  faces  from  cold. 
From  them  also  (I  think)  came  saflfron  shirts  and 
smocks,  which  were  devised  by  them  in  those  hot 
countries,  where  saffron  is  very  common  and  rife, 
for  avoiding  that  evil  which  cometh  by  much  sweat- 
ing, and  long  wearing  of  linen  :  also  the  woman 
amongst  the  old  Spaniards  had  the  charge  of  all 
household  affairs,  both  at  home  and  abroad  (as 
Boemus  writeth),  though  now  the  S])aniards  use  it 
quite  otherwise.  And  so  have  the  Irish  women  the 
trust  and  care  of  all  things,  both  at  home,  and  in  the 
field.  Likewise  round  leather  targets  is  tlie  Spanish 
fashion,  who  used  it  (for  the  most  part  )  painted, 
which  in  Ireland  they  use  also  in  many  places,  co- 
loured after  their  rude  fashion.  Moreover,  the 
manner  of  their  women's  riding  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  horse,  I  mean  with  their  faces  towards  the  right 
side,  as  the  Irish  use,  is  (as  they  say)  old  Spanish, 
and  some  say  African,  forso  amongst  them  the  women 
(they  say)  use  to  ride.  Also  the  deep  smock  sleeve, 
which  the  Irish  women  use,  they  say  was  old  Sjmnish, 
and  is  used  yet  in  Barbary  :  and  yet  that  should 
seem  rather  to  be  an  old  English  fashion  ;  for  in 
armory  the  fashion  of  the  Manche,  which  is  given 
in  arms,  by  many,  being  indeed  nothing  else  but  a 
sleeve,  is  fashioned  much  like  to  that  sleeve.  And 
that  knights  in  ancient  times  used  to  wear  their  mis- 
tresses or  loves'  sleeve  upon  their  arms  ;asappeareth 
by  that  which  is  written  of  Sir  Lcuncelot,  that  he 
wore  the  sleeve  of  the  fair  iMaid  of  Asteloth  in  a  tour- 
ney, whereat  Queen  Guenever  was  much  displeased. 

EuDox. — Your  conceit  is  good,  and  well  fitting 
for  things  so  far  grown  from  certainty  of  knowledge 
and  learning  only  upon  likelihoods  and  conjectures. 
But  have  you  any  customs  remaining  from  the  Gauls 
or  Britains? 

Iren. — I  have  observed  a  few  of  either  ;  and  who 
will  belter  search  into  them,  may  find  more  :  And 
first,  the  profession  of  their  bards  was  (as  Cesar 
writeth)  usual  amongst  the  Gauls,  and  the  same  was 
also  common  amongst  the  Britains,  and  is  not  vet 
altogether  left  off  with  the  Welsh.which  are  their 
posterity.  For  all  the  fashions  of  the  Gauls  and 
Britains,  as  he  testifieth,  were  much  like.  The  long 
darts  came  also  from  the  Gauls,  as  you  may  read  in 
the  same  Cffisar,  and  in  Jo.  Boemus.  Likewise  the 
said  Jo.  Boemus  writeth,  that  the  Gauls  used  swords 
a  handful  broad,  and  so  do  the  Irish  now.  Also 
they  used  long  wicker  shields  in  battle,  that  should 
cover  their  whole  bodies,  and  so  do  the  northern 
Irish.  But  I  have  not  seen  such  fashioned  targets 
used  in  the  southern  parts,  but  only  amongst  the 
northern  people,  and  Irish  Scots :  I  do  think  that 


498 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


they  were  brought  in  rather  by  the  Scythians  than 
by  the  Gauls.  Also  the  Gauls  used  to  drink  their 
enemies'  blood,  and  paint  themselves  therewith.  So 
also  they  write,  that  the  old  Irish  were  wont,  and 
so  have  I  seen  some  of  the  Irish  do,  but  not  their 
enemies',  but  friends'  blood  :  as  namely,  at  the  exe- 
cution of  a  notable  traitor  at  Limerick  called  Mur- 
rough  o'Brien,  I  saw  an  old  woman,  which  was  his 
foster-mother,  take  up  his  head,  whilst  he  was  quar- 
tered, and  suckedup  all  the  blood  that  ran  thereout, 
saying,  that  the  earth  was  not  worthy  to  drink  it ; 
and  therewith  also  steeped  her  face  and  breast,  and 
tore  her  hair,  crying  out  and  shrieking  most  ter- 
ribly. 

EuDox. — You  have  very  well  run  through  such 
customs  as  the  Irish  have  derived  from  the  lirst  old 
nations  which  inhabited  the  land ;  namely,  the 
Scythians,  the  Spaniards,  the  Gauls,  and  the 
Britains.  It  now  remaineth  that  you  take  in  hand 
the  customs  of  the  old  English  which  are  amongst 
the  Irish  ;  of  which  1  do  not  think  that  you  shall 
have  much  cause  to  find  fault  with,  considering  that 
by  the  English  most  of  the  old  bad  Irish  customs 
!\-ere  abolished,  and  more  civil  fashions  brought  in 
their  stead. 

Iren. — You  think  otherwise,  Eudoxus,  than  I  do  ; 
for  the  cbiefest  abuses  which  are  now  in  that  realm, 
atre  grown  from  the  English,  and  some  of  them  are 
now  much  more  lawless  and  licentious  than  the 
very  wild  Irish  !  so  that  as  much  care  as  was  by 
them  had  to  reform  the  Irish,  so  and  much  more 
must  now  be  used  to  reform  them ;  so  much  time 
doth  alter  the  manners  of  men. 

EuDox. — That  seemeth  very  strange  which  you 
say,  that  men  should  so  much  degenerate  from  their 
first  natures,  as  to  grow  wild. 

Iren. — So  much  can  liberty  and  ill  examples  do. 

EuDox. — What  liberty  had  the  English  there, 
more  than  they  had  here  at  home?  Were  not  the 
laws  planted  amongst  them  at  the  first,  and  had  they 
not  governors  to  curb  and  keep  them  still  in  awe 
and  obedience? 

luEN. —  They  had,  but  it  was  for  the  most  part 
such  as  did  more  hurt  than  good  ;  for  theyhad  gov- 
ernors for  the  most  part  of  themselves,  and  commonly 
out  of  the  two  families  of  the  Geraldines  and  But- 
lers, both  adversaries  and  co-rivals  one  against  the 
other  ;  who  though  for  the  most  part  they  were  but 
deputies  under  some  of  the  kings  of  England's  sons, 
brethren,  or  other  near  kinsmen,  who  were  the 
king's  lieutenants  ;  yet  they  swayed  so  much,  as 
ihey  had  all  the  rule,  and  the  others  but  the  title. 
Df  which  Butlers  and  Geraldines,  albeit  (I  must 
confess)  there  were  very  brave  and  worthy  men,  as 
also  of  other  the  peers  of  that  realm,  made  Lord 
Deputies  and  Lord  Justices,  at  sundry  times;  yet 
tijrough  greatness  of  their  late  conquests  and  seig- 
niories, they  grew  insolent,  and  bent  both  the  regal 
aulhorily  and  also  their  private  ])0vvers  one  against 
another,  to  the  utter  subversion  of  themselves,  and 
strengthening  of  the  Irish  again.  This  you  may 
read  plainly  discovered  by  a  letter  written  from  the 
citizens  ot  Cork,  out  of  Ireland,  to  the  Earl  of 
Shrewsbury,  then  in  England,  and  remaining  yet 
upon  record,  both  in  the  Tower  of  i^ondon,  and  also 
among  the  Chronicles  of  Ireland  ;  wherein  it  is  by 
them  complained,  that  the  English  lords  and  gentle- 
men, who  then  had  great  possessions  in  Ireland, 
began,  tiirough  pride  and  insoleiicy,  to  make  private 
wars  one  agaiust  another;  and  when  either  part  was 


weak,  they  would  wage  and  draw  in  the  Irish  to  take 
their  part,  by  which  means  thev  both  greatly  en- 
couraged and  enabled  the  Irish,  which  till  that  time 
had  been  shut  up  within  the  mountains  of  Slew- 
longer,  and  weakened  and  disabled  themselves,  in 
somuch  that  their  revenues  were  wonderfully  im- 
paired, and  some  of  them  which  are  there  reckoned 
to  have  been  able  to  have  spent  twelve  or  thirteen 
hundred  pounds  per  annum  of  old  rent  (that  I  may 
say  no  more)  besides  their  commodities  of  creeks  and 
havens,  were  now  scarce  able  to  dispend  the  third 
part,  from  which  disorder,  and  through  other  huge- 
calamities  which  have  come  upon  them  thereby, 
they  are  almost  now  grown  like  the  Irish — I  mean  of 
such  English  aswere  plantedabove  towards  the  west ; 
for  the  English  pale  hath  preserved  itself  through 
the  nearness  of  the  State,  in  reasonable  civility  ; 
but  the  rest  which  dwelt  in  Connaught  and  in  Mun- 
ster,  which  is  the  sweetest  soil  of  Ireland,  and  some 
in  Leinster  and  Ulster,  are  degenerate  ;  yea,  and  some 
of  them  have  quite  shaken  off  their  English  names, 
and  put  on  Irish,  that  they  might  be  altogether 
Irish.    ( 

Eitdox. — Is  it  possible  that  any  should  so  far  grow 
out  of  frame,  that  they  should,  in  so  short  space, 
quite  forget  their  country  and  their  own  name  .' 
1  hat  is  a  most  dangerous  lethargy,  much  worse  than 
that  of  ]Messala  Corvinus,  who  being  a  most  learned 
man,  through  sickness  forgot  his  own  name.  But 
can  you  count  us  any  of  this  kind  ? 

Iren. —  I  cannot,  but  by  report  of  the  Irish  them- 
selves, who  report,  that  the  Mac-mahons  in  the  North 
were  anciently  English  ;  to  wit,  descended  from  the 
Fitz-Ursulas,  which  was  a  noble  lamily  in  England  ; 
and  that  the  same  appeareth  by  the  signification  of 
their  Irish  names.  Likewise  that  the  Mac-swyoics, 
now  in  Ulster,  were  anciently  of  the  Veres  in  Eng- 
land ;  but  that  they  themselves  for  hatred  of  the 
English,  so  disguised  their  names. 

EuDox. —  Could  they  ever  conceive  anv  such  dis- 
like of  their  own  natural  countries,  as  that  they 
would  be  ashamed  of  their  name,  and  bite  at  the  dug 
from  which  they  sucked  life  ? 

Iren. — I  wot  well  there  should  be  none;  but 
proud  hearts  do  oftentimes  (like  wanton  colts)  kick 
at  their  mothers  :  as  we  read  Alcibiades  and  Themis- 
totles  did,  who  being  banished  out  of  Athens,  fled 
unto  the  kings  of  Asia,  and  there  stirred  them  up 
to  war  against  their  country,  in  which  wars  they 
themselves  were  chieftains.  So  they  say  did  these 
INlac-swynes  and  Wac-mahons,  or  rather  Veres  and 
Fitz-Ursulas,  for  private  despight,  turn  themselves 
against  England.  For  at  such  time  as  Robert  Vere 
Earl  of  Oxford  was,  in  the  barons'  wars  against 
King  Richard  the  Second,  through  the  malice  of  the 
peers,  banished  the  realm,  and  proscribed,  he  with 
his  kinsman  Fitz-Ursula  fled  into  Ireland;  where 
being  prosecuted,  and  afterwards  in  England  put  to 
deatli,  his  kinsman  there  remaining  behind  in  Ireland 
rebelled,  and  conspiring  with  the  lri,~h,  did  quite  cast 
oft"  both  their  English  name  and  allegiance  :  since 
which  time  they  have  so  remained  still,  and  have  since 
been  counted  mere  Irish.  The  very  like  is  also  re- 
ported of  the  Mac-swynes,  Mac-m.ihones,  and  IMac- 
shehies  of  Munster,  how  they  likewise  were  an- 
ciently English,  and  old  followers  to  the  Earl  of 
Desmond,  until  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the 
Fourth  :  at  v^'hich  time  the  Earl  of  Desmond  that 
then  was,  called  Ihomas,  being  through  false  subor- 
nation (as  they  say)  of  the  queen,  for  some  otfetce 


A   VIEW   OF  THE   STATE  OF  [RELAND. 


499 


by  her  against  bim  conceived,  brought  to  his  death 
at  Tredagh  most  unjustly,  notwithstanding  that  he 
was  a  very  good  and  sound  subject  to  the  king; 
thereupon  all  his  kinsmen  of  the  Geraldines,  which 
then  was  a  mighty  family  in  IMunster,  in  revenge  of 
that  huge  wrong,  rose  into  arms  against  tlie  king, 
and  utterly  renounced  and  forsook  all  obedience  to 
the  crown  of  England  ;  to  whom  the  said  Mac- 
swynes,  ]Mac-shehies,and  Mac-mahones,  being  then 
servants  and  followers,  did  the  like  and  have  ever 
sithence  so  continued.  And  with  them  (they  say) 
all  thepeopleofMunster  went  out,  and  many  other  of 
them  which  were  mere  English,  thenceforth  joined 
with  the  Irish  against  the  king,  and  termed  them- 
selves very  Irish,  taking  on  them  Irish  habits  and 
customs,  which  could  never  since  be  clean  wiped 
away  ;  but  the  contagion  hath  remained  still  amongst 
their  posterities.  Of  which  sort  (they  say)  be  most 
of  the  sirnames  which  end  in  an,  as  Hernan,  Shinan, 
IMungan,  &c.,  the  which  now  account  themselves 
natural  Irish.  Other  great  houses  there  be  of  the 
English  in  Ireland,  which  through  licentious  con- 
versing with  the  Irish,  or  marrying,  or  fostering 
with  them,  or  lack  of  meet  nurture,  or  other  such 
unhappy  occasions,  have  degenerated  from  their 
ancient  dignities,  and  are  now  grown  as  Irish  as 
O'Hanlon's  Breech,  as  the  proverb  there  is. 

EuDOx. — In  truth  this  which  you  tell  is  a  most 
shameful  hearing,  and  to  be  reformed  with  most 
sharp  censures  in  so  great  personages,  to  the  terror 
of  the  meaner;  for  if  the  lords  and  chief  men  dege- 
nerate, what  shall  be  hoped  of  the  peasants  and 
baser  people?  And  hereby  sure  you  have  made  a 
fair  way  unto  yourself,  to  lay  open  the  abuses  of 
their  evil  customs,  which  you  have  now  next  to  de- 
clare ;  the  which,  no  doubt,  but  are  very  bad,  being 
borrowed  from  the  Irish,  as  their  apparel,  their  lan- 
guage, their  ridmg,  and  many  other  the  like. 

Iren. — You  cannot  but  hold  them  sure  to  be  very 
uncivil ;  for  were  they  at  the  best  that  they  were  of 
old,  when  they  were  brought  in,  they  should  in  so 
long  an  alteration  of  time  seem  very  uncouth  and 
strange.  For  it  is  to  be  thought,  that  the  use  of  all 
England  was  (in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Second, 
when  Ireland  was  planted  with  English)  very  rude 
and  barbarous  ;  so  as  if  the  same  should  be  now 
used  in  England  by  any,  it  would  seem  worthy  of 
sharp  correction,  and  of  new  laws  for  reformation  ; 
for  it  is  but  even  the  other  day  since  England  grew 
civil.  Therefore  in  counting  the  evil  customs  of  the 
English  there,  I  will  not  have  regard,  whether  the 
beginning  thereof  were  Englih  or  Irish,  but  will 
have  respect  only  to  the  inconvenience  thereof. 
And  first  I  have  to  find  fault  with  the  abuse  of  lan- 
guage ;  that  is,  for  the  speaking  of  Irish  among  the 
English,  which,  as  It  is  unnatural  th;it  any  people 
should  love  another's  language  more  than  their  own, 
so  it  is  very  inconvenient,  and  the  cause  of  many 
Other  evils. 

EuDox. — It  seemeth  strange  to  me,  that  the  Eng- 
lish should  take  more  delight  to  speak  that  language 
than  their  own  ;  whereas  the)  should  (methinks) 
rather  take  scorn  to  inure  their  tongues  thereto.  For 
it  hath  ever  been  the  use  of  the  conqueror,  to  des- 
pise the  language  of  tlie  conquered,  and  to  force 
bim  by  all  means  to  learn  his  ;  so  did  the  Romans 
always  use,  insomuch  that  there  is  almost  no  nation 
in  the  world,  but  is  sprinkled  with  their  language. 
It  were  good  therefore  (meseems)  to  search  out  the 
original  cause  of  this  evil ;  for  the  same  being  dis- 


covered, a  redress  thereof  will  the  more  easily  be 
provided  :  for  I  think  it  very  strange,  that  the 
English  being  so  manv,  and  the  Irish  so  few  as  they 
then  were  left,  the  fewer  should  draw  the  more  unto 
their  use. 

Ihen. — I  suppose  that  the  chief  cause  of  bringing 
in  the  Irish  language  amongst  them,  vi-as  specially 
their  fostering  and  marrying  with  the  Irish,  the 
which  are  two  most  dangerous  infections  :  for  first, 
the  child  that  sucketh  the  milK  of  the  nurse,  must 
of  necessity  learn  his  first  speech  of  her  :  the  which 
being  the  first  inured  to  his  tongue,  is  ever  after 
most  pleasing  unto  him  :  insomuch,  as  though  he 
afterwards  he  taught  English,  yet  the  smack  of  the 
first  will  always  abide  with  him  ;  and  not  only  of 
the  speech,  but  also  of  the  manners  and  conditions. 
For  besides  that  young  children  be  like  apes,  which 
will  affect  and  imitate  what  they  see  done  before 
them,  especially  by  their  nurses,  whom  they  love  so 
well  :  they  moreover  draw  into  themselves,  toge- 
ther with  their  suck,  even  the  nature  and  disposition 
of  their  nurses  :  for  the  mind  followeth  much  the 
temperature  of  the  body,  and  also  the  words  are  the 
image  of  the  mind,  so  as  they  proceeding  from  the 
mind,  the  mind  must  needs  be  affected  with  the 
words :  so  that  the  speech  being  Irish,  the  heart 
must  needs  be  Irish  ;  for  out  of  the  abundance  of 
the  heart,  the  tongue  speaketh.  The  next  is,  the 
marrying  with  the  Irish,  which  how  dangerous  a 
thing  it  is  in  all  commonwealths,  appeareth  to  everv 
simplest  sense  ;  and  though  some  great  ones  have 
perhaps  used  such  matches  with  their  vassals,  and 
have  of  them  nevertheless  raised  worthy  issue,  as 
Telamon  did  with  Tecmessa,  Alexander  the  Great 
with  Roxana,  and  Julius  Caesar  with  Cleopatra;  yet 
the  example  is  so  perilous,  as  it  is  not  to  be  adven- 
tured :  for  instead  of  those  few  good,  I  could  count 
unto  them  infinite  many  evil.  And  indeed  how  can 
such  matching  succeed  well,  seeing  that  commonly 
the  child  taketh  most  of  his  nature  of  the  mother, 
besides  speech,  manners,  and  inclination,  which  are 
(for  the  most  part)  agreeably  to  the  conditions  of 
their  mothers?  for  by  them  they  are  first  framed 
and  fashioned,  so  as  what  they  receive  once  from 
them,  they  will  hardly  ever  after  forego.  Therefore 
are  these  evil  customs  of  fostering  and  marrying 
with  the  Irish,  most  carefully  to  be  restrained  :  for 
of  them  two,  the  third  evil,  that  is,  the  custom  of 
language  (which  I  spake  of),  cliiefiy  proceedeth. 

EuDox. — But  are  there  not  laws  already  provided 
for  avoiding  of  this  evil? 

Ihen.  — Yes,  I  think  there  be  ;  but  as  good  never 
a  whit  as  never  the  better:  for  what  do  statutes 
avail  without  penalties,  or  laws  without  charge  of 
execution  ?  For  so  there  is  another  like  law  enac- 
ted against  wearing  of  the  Irish  apparel,  but  ne- 
vertliemore  is  it  observed  by,  or  executed  by  thtm 
that  have  the  charge  ;  for  thev  in  their  private  dis- 
cretions think  it  not  fit  to  be  forced  upon  the  poor 
wretches  of  that  country,  which  are  not  worth  the 
price  of  F.nglish  apparrel,  nor  expedient  to  be  prac- 
tised against  the  abler  sort,  by  reason  that  the  coun- 
try (say  they)  doth  yield  no  better;  and  were  there 
better  to  be  had,  yet  these  were  fitter  to  be  used  :  as 
namely,  the  mantle  in  travelling  ;  because  there  be 
DO  inns  where  meet  bedding  may  be  had,  so  that  his 
mantle  serves  him  then  for  a  bed.  The  leather- 
quilted  Jack  in  journeying  and  in  camping,  for  that 
it  is  fittest  to  be  under  his  shirt  of  mail,  and  for  any 
occasion  of  sudden  service,  as  there  happen  many^ 


500 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


to  cover  his  trouse  on  liorseback.  The  great  linen- 
roll,  which  the  women  wear  to  keep  their  heads 
warm,  after  cutting  their  hair,  which  they  use  in  any 
sickness.  Besides  their  thick-foldi-d  linen  shirts, 
their  long-sleeved  smocks,  their  half  sleeved  coats, 
their  silken  fillets,  and  all  the  rest,  they  will  devise 
some  colour  for,  either  of  necessity,  or  of  antiquity, 
or  of  comeliness. 

EuDOX. — But  what  colour  soever  they  allege,  me- 
tbinks  it  not  expedient  that  the  execution  of  a  law 
once  ordained,  should  be  left  to  the  discretion  of 
the  judge,  or  officer;  but  that  without  partiality  or 
regard,  it  should  be  fulfilled  as  well  on  English  as 
Irish. 

Iren. — But  they  think  thispreciseness  in  reform- 
ation of  apparel,  not  to  be  so  material,  or  greatly 
pertinent. 

Etidox. — Yes  surely,  but  it  is  ;  for  men's  apparel 
is  commonly  made  according  to  their  conditions,  and 
their  conditions  are  oftentimes  governed  by  their 
garments  ;  for  the  person  that  is  gowned,  is  by  his 
gown  put  in  mind  of  gravity,  and  also  restrained 
from  lightness,  by  the  very  unaptness  of  his  weed. 
Therefore  it  is  written  by  Aristotle,  that  when  Cyrus 
had  overcome  the  Lydians,  that  were  a  warlike  na- 
tion, and  devised  to  bring  them  to  a  more  peaceable 
life,  he  changed  their  apparel  and  music,  and  instead 
of  their  short  warlike  coat,  clothed  them  in  long 
garments  like  women  :  and  instead  of  their  warlike 
music,  appointed  to  them  certain  lascivious  lays, 
and  loose  jigs ;  by  which,  in  short  space,  their 
minds  were  so  mollified  and  abated,  that  they 
forgot  their  former  fierceness,  and  became  most 
tender  and  effeminate.  Whereby  it  appearetb, 
that  there  is  not  a  little  in  the  garment  to  the 
fashioning  of  the  mind  and  conditions.  But  be 
these,  which  you  have  described,  the  fashions  of  the 
Irish  weeds? 

Iren. — No  :  all  these  which  I  have  rehearsed  to 
you  be  not  Irish  garments,  but  English ;  for  the 
quilted  leather-jack  is  old  English  ;  for  it  was  the 
proper  weed  of  the  horseman,  as  you  may  read  in 
Chaucer,  when  he  describeth  Sir  Thoj)as's  apparel 
and  armour,  as  he  went  to  fight  against  the  giant  in 
his  robe  of  shecklaton,  which  is  that  kind  of  gilded 
leather  with  which  they  use  to  embroider  their  Irish 
jackets.  And  there  likewise  by  all  that  description, 
you  may  see  the  very  fashion  and  manner  of  the 
Irish  horseman  most  truly  set  forth  in  his  long  hose, 
bis  riding  shoes  of  costly  cordwain,  his  hacqueton, 
and  his  habergeor,  with  all  the  rest  thereunto  be- 
longing. 

EuDOx. — I  surely  thought  that  the  manner  had 
been  Irish,  for  it  is  far  difTering  from  that  we  have 
now  ;  as  also  all  the  furniture  of  his  horse,  his  strong 
brass  bit,  his  sliding  reins,  his  shank  pillion  with- 
out stirrups,  his  manner  of  mounting,  his  fashion  of 
riding,  his  charging  of  bis  spear  aloft  above-head, 
the  form  of  his  spear. 

Irf.n. — No,  sure,  they  be  native  English,  and 
brought  in  by  the  Englishmen  first  into  Ire- 
land :  neither  is  the  same  accounted  an  uncomely 
manner  of  riding;  for  I  have  heard  some  great 
warriors  say,  that  in  all  the  services  whicli  they  had 
seen  abroad  in  foreign  countries,  they  never  saw  a 
more  comely  man  than  the  Irishman,  nor  that 
Cometh  on  more  bravely  in  his  charge  :  neither  is  his 
manner  of  mounting  unseemly,  though  he  lack 
stirrups,  but  more  ready  than  with  stirru])s  ;  for  in 
his  getting  up,  his  horse  is  still  going,  whereby  he 


gaineth  way  ;  and  therefore  the  stirrup  was  called 
so  in  scorn,  as  it  were  a  stay  to  get  up,  being  de- 
rived of  the  old  English  word  sty  ;  which  is,  to  get 
up,  or  mount. 

EuDOx. — It  seemeth  then  that  you  find  no  fault 
with  this  manner  of  riding :  why  then  would  you 
have  the  quilted-jack  laid  away? 

IiiEN. —  I  do  not  wi.sh  it  to  be  laid  away,  but  the 
abuse  thereof  to  be  put  away ;  for  being  used  to 
the  end  that  it  was  framed,  that  is,  to  be  worn  in 
war  under  a  shirt  of  mail,  it  is  allowable:  as  also 
the  shirt  of  mail,  and  all  his  other  furniture  :  but 
to  be  worn  daily  at  home,  and  in  towns  and  civil 
places,  is  a  rude  habit,  and  most  uncomely,  seeming 
like  a  player's  painted  coat. 

EuDox. — But  it  is  worn  (they  say)  likewise  of  Irish 
footmen  ;  how  do  you  allow  of  that  ?  for  I  should 
think  it  very  unseemly. 

Iren. — No,  not  as  it  is  used  in  war  ;  for  it  is 
worn  then  likewise  of  footmen  under  their  shirts  of 
mail,  the  which  footmen  they  call  gallowglasses; 
the  which  name  doth  discover  them  also  to  be  an- 
cient English ;  for  gallogla  signifies  an  English 
servitor  or  yeoman  ;  and  he  being  so  armed  in  a 
long  shirt  of  mail  down  to  the  calf  of  his  leg,  with  a 
long  broad  axe  in  his  hand,  was  then  Pedes  gravis 
armaiura  (and  was  instead  of  the  footman  that 
now  weareth  a  corslet)  before  the  corslet  was  used, 
or  almost  invented. 

EuDox. — Then  him,  belike,  you  likewise  allow  in 
your  strait  reformation  of  old  customs. 

Iren. — Both  him  and  the  kern  also  (whom  only 
I  take  to  be  the  proper  Irish  soldier)  can  I  allow,  so 
that  they  use  that  habit  and  custom  of  theirs  in  the 
wars  only,  when  they  are  led  forth  to  the  service  of 
their  prince,  and  not  usually  at  home,  and  in  civil 
places ;  and  besides,  do  lay  aside  the  evil  and  wild 
uses  which  the  galloglasse  and  kern  do  use  in 
their  common  trade  of  life. 

EuDOx. — What  be  those? 

Iren. — Marry,  those  be  the  most  barbarous  and 
loathly  conditions  of  any  people,  I  think,  under 
heaven  ;  for,  from  the  time  that  they  enter  into  that 
course,  they  do  use  all  the  beastly  behaviour  that 
may  be  :  they  oppress  all  men — they  spoil  as  well 
the  subject  as  the  enemy — they  steal — they  are 
cruel  and  bloody,  full  of  revenge,  and  delighting  in 
deadly  execution ;  licentious,  swearers,  and  blas- 
phemers, common  ravishers  of  women,  and  mur- 
derers of  children. 

EuDox. — These  be  most  villanous  conditions.  I 
marvel,  then,  that  they  be  ever  used  or  employed, 
or  almost  suffered  to  live.  What  good  can  there 
then  be  in  them  ? 

Iren. — Yet  sure  thev  are  very  valiant  and  hardy, 
for  the  most  jtart  great  endurers  of  cold,  labour, 
hunger,  and  all  hardiness,  very  active  and  strong  of 
hand,  very  swift  of  foot,  very  vigilant  and  circum- 
spect in  their  enterprises,  very  present  in  perils, 
very  great  scorners  of  death. 

KuDox. — Truly,  by  this  that  you  say,  it  seems 
that  the  Irishman  is  a  very  brave  soldier. 

Iren. — Yea,  surely,  in  that  rude  kind  of  service, 
he  bearetb  himself  very  courageously.  But  when 
he  cometh  to  experience  of  service  abroad,  or  is  put 
to  a  piece,  or  a  pike,  he  maketh  as  worthy  a  soldier 
as  any  nation  he  meeteth  with.  But  let  us,  1  pray 
you,  turn  again  to  our  discourse  of  evil  customs 
amongst  the  Irish. 

EvDox. — Methinks  all  this  which  you  speak  o* 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


601 


concerneth  the  customs  of  the  Irish  very  materially  ; 
for  tbeir  uses  in  war  are  of  no  small  importance  to 
be  considered,  as  well  to  reform  those  which  are 
evil,  as  to  confirm  and  continue  those  which  are 
good.  But  follow  you  your  own  course,  and  show 
what  other  their  customs  you  iiave  to  dislike  of. 

Iren. — I'here  is  amongst  the  Irish  a  certain  kind 
of  people  called  bards,  which  are  to  them  instead 
of  poets,  whose  profession  is  to  set  forth  the  praises 
or  dispraises  of  men  in  their  poems  or  rhythms,  the 
which  are  had  in  so  higl)  regard  and  estimation 
amongst  them,  that  none  dare  displease  them,  for 
fear  to  run  into  reproach  through  their  offence,  and 
to  be  made  infamous  in  the  mouths  of  all  men.  For 
their  verses  are  taken  up  with  a  general  applause, 
and  usually  sung  at  all  feasts  and  meetings  by  cer- 
tain other  persons,  whose  proper  function  that  is, 
who  also  receive  for  the  same  great  rewards  and  re- 
putation amongst  them. 

EuDox. — Do  you  blame  this  in  them,  which  I 
would  otherwise  have  thought  to  have  been  worthy 
of  good  account,  and  rather  to  have  been  maintained 
and  augmented  amongst  them,  than  to  have  been 
disliked  ;  for  I  have  read,  tliat  in  all  ages  poets  have 
been  had  in  special  reputation,  and  that,  methiiiks, 
not  without  great  cause  ;  for,  besides  their  sweet 
inventions  and  most  witty  lays,  they  have  always 
used  to  set  forth  the  praises  of  the  good  and  virtu- 
ous, and  to  beat  down  and  disgrace  the  bad  and 
vicious.  So  that  many  brave  young  minds  have 
oftentimes,  through  hearing  the  praises  and  famous 
eulogies  of  worthy  men  sung,  and  reported  unto 
them,  been  stirred  up  to  affect  the  like  commenda- 
tions, and  so  to  strive  to  the  like  deserts.  So  they 
say,  that  the  Lacedemonians  were  more  excited  to 
the  desire  of  honour  with  the  excellent  verses  of  the 
poet  Tirtaeus,  thun  with  all  the  exliortaiions  of  their 
captains,  or  authority  of  their  rulers  and  magis- 
trates. 

Ihen. — It  is  most  true,  that  such  poets  as  in  their 
writings  do  labour  to  better  the  manners  of  men, 
and  through  the  sweet  bait  of  their  numbers  to 
steal  into  the  young  spirits  a  desire  of  honour  and 
virtue,  are  worthy  to  be  h;id  in  great  respect.  But 
these  Irish  bards  are  for  the  most  part  of  another 
mind,  and  so  far  from  instructing  young  men  in 
moral  discipline,  that  they  themselves  do  more  de- 
serve to  be  sharply  disciplined  :  for  they  seldom 
use  to  choose  unto  themselves  the  doings  of  good 
meri  for  the  arguments  of  their  poems,  but  whom- 
soever they  find  to  be  most  licentious  of  life,  most 
bold  and  lawless  in  his  doings,  most  dangerous  and 
desperate  in  all  parts  of  disobedience  and  rebellious 
dispooition  ;  him  they  set  up  and  glorify  in  their 
rhymes  ;  him  they  praise  to  tlie  people,  and  to  young 
men  make  an  example  to  follow. 

EuDox. — I  marvel  what  kind  of  speeches  they 
can  find,  or  what  faces  they  can  put  on,  to  praise 
such  bad  persons,  as  live  so  lawlessly  and  licen- 
tiously upon  stealths  and  spoils,  as  most  of  them  do  ; 
or  how  can  they  think  that  any  good  mind  will 
applaud  or  approve  the  same? 

Iren. — There  is  none  so  bad,  Eudoxus,  but  shall 
find  some  to  favour  his  doings ;  but  such  licentious 
parts  as  these,  tending  for  the  most  part  to  the  hurt 
of  the  English,  or  maintenance  of  their  own  lewd 
liberty,  they  themselves  being  most  desirous  thereof, 
do  most  allow.  Besides  this,  evil  things  being 
decked  and  attired  with  the  gay  attire  of  goodly 
words,   may   easily  deceive,  and   carry   away  the 


affection  of  a  voung  mind,  that  is  not  well  stayed, 
but  desirous,  by  some  bold  adventures,  to  make  proof 
of  him-elf ;  for  being,  as  they  all  be,  brought  up 
idlv,  without  awe  of  parents,  without  precepts  of 
masters,  and  without  fear  of  offence  :  not  being  di- 
rected, nor  employed  in  any  course  of  life  which 
may  carry  them  to  virtue,  will  easily  be  drawn  to 
follow  such  as  any  shall  set  before  them  ;  for  a 
young  mind  cannot  rest;  if  he  be  not  still  busied  in 
some  goodness,  he  will  find  himself  such  busine.ss 
as  shall  soon  busy  all  about  him:  in  which,  if  he 
shall  find  any  to  praise  him,  and  to  give  him  encou- 
ragement, as  those  bards  and  rhymers  do  for  little 
reward,  or  a  share  of  a  stolen  cow  :  then  waxeth  he 
most  insolent  and  half  mad  with  the  love  of  himself 
and  his  own  lewd  deeds.  And  as  for  words  to  set 
forth  such  lewdness,  it  is  not  hard  for  them  to  give 
a  goodly  and  painted  show  thereunto,  borrowed  even 
from  the  praises  which  are  proper  to  virtue  itself. 
As  of  a  most  notorious  thief  and  wicked  outlaw, 
which  had  lived  all  his  life-time  of  spoils  and  rob- 
beries, one  of  their  bards  in  his  praise  will  say,  that 
he  was  none  of  the  idle  milk-sops  that  was  brought 
up  by  the  fire-side,  but  that  most  of  his  days  he 
spent  in  arms  and  valiant  enterprises  ;  that  he  did 
never  eat  his  meat  before  he  had  won  it  with  his 
sword  ;  that  he  lay  not  all  night  slugging  in  a  cabin 
under  his  mantle,  b'atused  commonly  to  keep  others 
waking  to  defend  their  lives,  and  did  light  his  can- 
dle at  the  flames  of  their  houses,  to  lead  him  in  the 
darkne.ss  ;  that  the  day  was  his  night,  and  the  night 
his  day  ;  that  he  loved  not  to  be  long  wooing  of 
wenches  to  yield  to  him,  but  where  he  came,  he 
took  by  force  the  spoil  of  other  men's  love,  and  left 
but  lamentation  to  their  lovers  ;  that  his  music  was 
not  the  harp,  nor  lays  of  love,  but  the  cries  of  peo- 
ple, and  clashing  of  armour  ;  and,  finally,  that  he 
died,  not  bewailed  of  many,  but  made  many  wail 
when  he  died,  that  dearly  bought  his  death.  Do 
you  not  think,  Eudoxus,  that  many  of  these  praises 
mignt  be  applied  to  men  of  best  deserts?  yet  are 
they  all  yielded  to  a  most  notable  traitor,  and 
amongst  some  of  the  Irish  not  smally  accounted  of. 
For  the  song,  when  it  was  first  made  and  sung  to  a 
person  of  high  degree  there,  was  bought,  as  their 
manner  is,  for  forty  crowns. 

EuDOX. — And  well  worthy,  sure.  But  tell  me,  1 
pray  you,  have  they  any  art  in  their  compositions,  or 
be  they  any  thing  witty  or  well  favoured,  as  poems 
should  be  ? 

Iren. —  Yea,  truly,  I  have  caused  divers  of  them 
to  be  translated  unto  me,  that  I  might  understand 
them,  and  surely  they  savoured  of  sweet  wit  and 
good  invention,  but  skilled  not  of  the  goodly  orna- 
ments of  poetry  ;  yet  were  they  sprmkled  with  some 
pretty  flowers  of  their  natural  device,  which  gave 
good  grace  and  comeliness  unto  them,  the  which  it 
is  great  pity  to  see  so  abused,  to  the  gracing  of 
wickedness  and  vice,  which  with  good  usage  would 
serve  to  adorn  and  beautify  virtue.  This  evil  cus- 
tom therefore  needeth  reformation.  And  now  next 
after  the  Irish  kern,  methinks  the  Irish  horse-boys 
would  come  well  in  order  ;  the  use  of  wliich,  though 
necessity  (as  times  now  be)  do  enforce,  yet  in  the 
thorougli  reformation  of  that  realm,  they  should  be 
cut  off.  For  the  cause  why  they  are  now  to  be  per- 
mitted, is  want  of  convenient  inns  for  lodging  ol 
triivellers  on  horseback,  and  of  hostlers  to  tend  theil 
horses  by  the  way.  But  when  things  shall  be  re- 
duced to  a  better  pass,  this  needeth  specially  to  be 


5C2 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


1 


ref.-^rmed.  For  out  of  the  fry  of  these  rake-hell 
borse-bovs,  growing  up  in  knavery  and  villany,  are 
their  ker'a  contiuually  supplied  and  maintained.  For 
havin°-  been  once  brought  up  an  idle  horse-bay,  he 
will  never  after  fall  to  labour,  but  is  only  made  fit 
for  the  halter.  And  these  also  (the  which  is  one 
foul  oversight)  are,  for  the  most  part,  bred  up 
amon<^st  the  Englishmen ;  of  whom  learning  to 
shoot  in  a  piece,  and  being  made  acquainted  with 
all  the  trades  of  the  English,  they  are  afterwards, 
when  thev  become  kern,  made  more  fit  to  cut  their 
throats.  Next  to  this,  there  is  another  much  like, 
but  much  more  lewd  and  dishonest,  and  that  is,  of 
their  carraus ;  which  is  a  kind  of  people  that  wan- 
der up  and  down  to  gentlemen's  houses,  living  only 
upon  cards  and  dice  ;  the  which,  though  they  have 
little  or  nothing  of  their  own,  yet  will  they  play  for 
much  monev  ;  which,  if  they  win,  they  waste  most 
lishtlv  ;  and  if  they  lose,  they  pay  as  slenderly,  but 
make  recompence  with  one  stealth  or  another ; 
whose  only  hurt  is,  not  that  they  themselves  are 
idle  lossel's,  but  that  through  gaming,  they  draw 
others  to  like  lewdness  and  idleness.  And  to  these 
may  be  added,  another  sort  of  like  loose  fellows, 
which  do  pass  up  and  down  amongst  gentlemen  by 
the  name  of  jesters,  but  are,  indeed,  notable  rogues, 
and  partakers  not  only  of  many  stealths,  by  setting 
forth  other  men's  goods  to  be  stolen,  but  also  privy 
to  many  traitorous  practices,  and  common  carriers 
of  news;  with  desire  whereof  you  would  wonder 
how  much  the  Irish  are  fed  ;  for  tliey  send  commonly 
up  and  down  to  know  news  ;  and  if  any  meet  with 
another,  his  second  word  is,  "  W  hat  news  ?"  inso- 
much that  hereof  is  told  a  pretty  jest  of  a  French- 
man, who  having  been  sometimes  in  Ireland,  where 
he  marked  their  great  inquiry  for  news  ;  and  meet- 
in'^  afterwards  in  France  an  Irishman,  whom  he 
knew  in  Ireland,  first  saluted  bim,  and  afterwards 
said  thus  merrily,  "  O,  sir,  I  pray  you  tell  me,  of 
courtesy,  liave  you  beard  anything  of  the  news  that 
you  so  much  inquired  for  in  your  couptry  ?" 

EuDOx. — This  argueth  sure  in  them  a  gp-eat  de- 
sire of  innovation,  and,  therefore,  these  occasions 
which  nourish  the  same  must  be  taken  away  -,  as 
namely,  those  jesters,  carrows,  mona-shutes,  and  all 
such  strai^^lers  ;  for  whom,  methinks,  the  short  rid- 
dance of  a  marshal  were  meeter.  than  an  ordinance 
or  prohibition  to  restrain  them.  I  herefore,  I  pray 
you,  leave  all  this  rabblement  of  runagates,  and 
pass  to  other  customs. 

Iii£v. — There  is  a  great  use  amongst  the  Irish,  to 
make  great  assemblies  together  upon  a  rath  or  hill, 
there  to  parley,  as  they  say,  about  matters  and 
wrongs  between  township  and  township,  or  one 
private  person  and  another.  But  well  I  wot,  and 
true  it  hath  been  oftentimes  proved,  that  in  their 
meetings  many  mischiefs  have  been  both  practised 
and  wrought ;  for  to  them  do  commonly  resort  all 
the  scum  of  the  people,  where  they  may  meet  and 
confer  of  what  they  list,  whicli  else  they  could  not 
do  without  suspicion  or  knowledje  of  others,  be- 
sides, at  these  meetings,  1  have  known  divers  times, 
that  many  Englishmen,  ai.d  good  Irish  subjects, 
have  been  villanously  murdered,  by  moving  one 
quarrel  or  another  against  them,  for  tlie  Irish 
never  come  to  those  raths  but  armed,  whether  on 
horse  or  on  foot ;  which  the  English  noihiug  sus- 
pecting, are  then  commonly  taken  at  advantage,  like 
sheep  in  the  pin- fold. 

EvDOx. — It  may  be  (Ireneus)  that  abuse  may  be 


in  those  meetings.  But  these  round  hills  and  square 
bawns  which  you  see  so  strongly  trenched  and 
thrown  up,  were  (they  say)  at  first  ordained  for  the 
same  purpose,  that  people  might  assemble  them- 
selves therein;  and  therefore  anciently  they  were 
called  folk-motes,  that  is,  a  place  of  people  to  meet 
or  talk  of  anything  that  concerned  any  difference 
between  parties  and  townships ;  which  seemeth  vet 
to  me  very  requisite. 

Irf.n. — You  sav   very   true,  Eudoxus  :  the    Erst 
making  of  these  high  hills  were  at   first  indeed   to 
very  good  purpose  for  people  to  meet  :  but  howso- 
ever the  times,  when  ihey   were   first  made,  might 
well  serve  to   good  occasions,  as  perhaps  thev  did 
then  in   England;  yet  things    being  siace  altered, 
and  now  Ireland  much   differing  from  the  state  of 
England,  the  good  use  that  then  was  of  them,  is  now 
turned  to  abuse :  for  those  hills  whereof  vou  speak, 
were,  as  you  may  gather  by  reading,  appointed  for 
two  special  uses,  and  built  by  two  several  nations; 
the  one  is  that  which  you  call  folk-motes,  which  were 
built  by  the   Saxons,  as  the  word   bewraieth,  for  it 
signifieth  in  Saxon  a  meeting  of  folk  :  and  these  are, 
for  the  most  part,   in  form   four  square,  well  in- 
trenched :  the  others,  that  were  round,  were  cast  up 
by  the  Danes,  as  the  name  of  them  doth    betoken ; 
for  tliey  are  called   Dane-rathes,  th  it  is.  hills  of  the 
Danes ;  the  which  were   by   them  devised,  not  for 
treaties  and  parleys,  but  appointed  as  forts  for  them 
to    gather    unto    in    troublesome    time,    wlien   any 
trouble  arose.     For  the  Danes   being  but  a  few  in 
comparison  of  the  Saxons,  in  England,  used  this  for 
their  safety  ;  they  made  those  small  round   hills  so 
strongly  fenced  in  every  quarter  of  the  hundied,  to 
the  end  that  if  in  t:.e  night,  or  any  other  time,  any 
troublous  cry  or  uproar  should  happen,  they  migh 
repair  with  all  speed  unto  their  own  fort,  which  was 
appointed  for  their  qjarter,  and  there  remain  safe,  til 
they  could  assemble  themselves  in  greater  strengtli 
for  they  were  made  so  strong,  with  one  small  en- 
trance, tiiat  whosoever  came  thither  first,  were  he 
one  or  two,  or  like  few.  he  or  they  might  there  rest 
safe,  and  defend  themselves  gainst  many,  till  more 
succour  came    unto    them :     and    when   they   were 
gathered  to  a  sufficient  number,  they  marched  to 
the  next  fort,  and  so  forward  till  they  met  with   the 
peril,  or  knew  the  occasions  thereof.     But  besides 
these  two  sorts  of  hills,  there  were  anciently  divers 
others  ;  for  some  were  raised  where  there  had  been 
a  great  battle  fought,  as  a  memory  or  tiophy  thereof : 
others,  as  monuments  of  burial  of  the  carcasses  of 
all  those  that  were  slain  in  any   field,   upon  whom 
they  did  throw  such  round  mounts,  as  memorials  of 
them  ;  and  sometimes  did  cast  up   great   heaps  of 
stones  (as  you  may  read  the  like  in  many  places  of 
the  scripture),  and  other  whiles,  they  did  throw  up 
many  round  heaps  of  earth   in  a  circle,  like  a  gar- 
land, or  pitch  mary  long  stones  on  end  in  compass, 
every  of  which,  they  say,  betokened  some  per->on  of 
note   there  slain  aud    buried :    for  this   was    their 
ancient  custom,  before  Christianity  came  lu  amongst 
the.TB,  that  church-yards  were  inclosed. 

Efuox. — You  have  very  well  de.  lared  the  origi- 
nal ot  their  mounts  and  gi-eii  stones  encompassed, 
whicli  some  vainly  term  the  Old  Giant->'  I  revetts  ; 
and  tliink  that  those  large  stones  would  not  eUe  be 
brought  into  order,  or  reared  up,  without  the 
strength  of  giants.  And  others  vainly  thii.k  they 
w»re  never  placed  there  by  man's  liands  or  art,  but 
only    remained    there    so    since  the  h^gmnui;^;  aud 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAXD, 


503 


were  afterwards  discovered  by  the  deluge,  and  laid 
open  as  then  by  the  washing  of  the  waters,  or  other 
like  casualty.  But  let  them  dreajii  tlieir  own  im- 
aginations, to  please  themselves  ;  you  have  sa'isfied 
me  much  better,  both  for  that  I  see  some  confirma- 
tion thereof  in  the  Holy  Writ,  and  also  remember 
that  I  have  read  in  many  histories  and  chronicles 
the  like  mounts  and  stones  oftentimes  mentioned. 

Iren. — There  be  many  great  authorities,  I  assure 
you,  to  prove  the  same  :  but  as  for  these  meetings 
on  hills,  whereof  we  were  speaking,  it  is  very  in- 
convenient that  anv  such  should  be  permitted. 

EuDox. — But  yet  it  is  very  needful,  methinks, 
for  many  other  purposes  ;  as  for  the  countries  to 
gather  together,  Avhen  there  is  any  imposition  to  be 
laid  upon  them,  to  the  which  they  then  mav  all  agree 
at  such  meetmgs,  to  divide  upon  themselves,  ac- 
cording to  their  holdings  and  abilities  :  so  as  if  at 
these  assemblies  there  be  anv  oflScers,  as  constables, 
bailiffs,  or  such  like  amongst  them,  there  can  be  no 
peril,  or  doubt  of  such  bad  practices. 

Ires. — Nevertheless,  dangerous  are  such  assem- 
blies, whether  for  cess  or  aught  else  ;  the  constab'es 
and  officers  being  also  of  the  Irish  ;  and  if  any  of 
the  English  happen  to  be  there,  even  to  them  they 
may  prove  perilous.  Therefore,  for  avoiding  of 
all  such  evil  occasions,  they  were  best  to  be  abo- 
lished. 

EvDOx  — But  what  is  that  which  you  call  cess  ?  it 
is  a  word,  sure,  unused  amongst  us  here  ;  therefore, 
I  pray  you,  expound  the  same. 

Iren. — Cess  is  none  other  than  that  which  you 
yourself  called  imposition,  but  is  in  a  kind  unac- 
quainted perhaps  unto  you  ;  for  there  are  cesses  of 
stindry  sorts:  one  is,  the  cessing  of  soldiers  upon 
the  country;  for  Ireland  being  a  country  of  war,  as 
it  is  handled,  and  always  full  of  soldiers,  they  which 
have  the  government,  whether  they  find  it  the  most 
ease  to  the  queen's  purse,  or  the  most  ready  means 
at  hand  for  victualling  of  the  soldier,  or  that  neces- 
sity enforceth  them  thereunto,  do  scatter  the  army 
abroad  in  the  country,  and  place  them  in  villages  to 
take  their  victuals  of  them ,  at  such  vacant  times  as  tbev 
lie  not  in  camp,  norare  otherwise  employed  in  service. 
Another  kind  of  cess  is,  the  imposing  of  provision 
for  the  governors'  housekeeping,  which,  though  it 
be  most  necessary,  and  be  also  (for  avoiding  of  all 
the  evils  formerly  therein  used)  lately  brought  to  a 
composition :  yet  it  is  not  without  great  incon- 
veniences, no  less  than  here  in  England,  or  rather 
much  more.  The  like  cess  is  also  charged  upon  the 
country  sometimes  forvictuallingofthe  soldiers, when 
they  lie  in  garrison,  at  such  times  as  there  is  none  re- 
maining in  the  queen's  store,  or  that  the  same  can- 
not be  conveniently  conveyed  to  their  place  of 
garrison.  But  these  two  are  not  easily  to  be  re- 
dressed, when  necessity  thereto  compelleth;  but  as 
the  former,  as  it  is  not  necessarv,  so  it  is  most  hurtful 
and  offf  nsive  to  the  poor  country,  and  nothing  con- 
venient for  the  soldiers  themselves,  who,  durino-  their 
lying  at  cess,  use  all  kind  of  outrageous  disorder 
and  villany,  both  towards  the  poor  men  which  victual 
and  lod^e  them,  as  also  to  all  the  country  round 
about  them,  whom  thev  abus^  oppress,  spoil,  and 
afflict  by  all  the  means  they  can  invent;  for  they 
will  not  only  not  content  themselves  with  such 
victuals  as  their  hosts,  nor  yet  as  the  place  perhaps 
affords,  but  they  will  Lave  other  meat  provided  for 
them,  and  aqua  titx  sent  for,  yea,  and  money  be- 
sxaea   laid  at  their  trenchers,  which,  if  they  want, 


then  about  the  house  thev  walk  with  the  wretched 
poor  man  and  his  silly  wife,  who  are  glad  to  purchase 
their  peace  with  anything.  By  which  vile  manner 
of  abuse,  the  country  people,  yea,  and  the  verv  Eng- 
lish which  dwell  abroad,  and  see,  and  sometimes  feel 
this  outrage,  grow  into  great  detestation  of  the  sol 
diers,  and  thereby  into  hatred  of  the  ver\-  govern 
ment  which  draweth  upon  them  such  evils  ;  and 
therefore  this  you  may  also  join  unto  the  former  evil 
customs,  which  we  have  to  reprove  in  Ireland. 

EuDox. — Trulv  this  is  one  not  the  least;  and 
though  the  persous  by  whom  it  is  used  he  of  better 
note  than  the  former  roguish  sort,  which  you  reck- 
oned, yet  the  fault,  methinks,  is  no  less  worthy  of  a 
marshal. 

Irfn. — That  were  a  harder  course,  Eudoxus,  to 
redress  every  abuse  by  a  marshal  ;  it  would  seem  to 
you  very  evil  surgery  to  cut  off  every  unsound  or 
sick  part  of  the  body,  wbich  being  b\'  other  due 
means  recovered,  might  afterwards  do  very  good 
service  to  the  body  again,  and  haply  help  to  save 
the  whole  ;  therefore  I  think  better  that  some  good 
salve  fur  the  redress  of  the  evil  be  sought  forth  than 
the  least  part  suffered  to  perish  ;  but  hereof  we  have 
to  speak  in  another  place.  Now  we  will  proceed  to 
other  like  defec's,  amongst  which  there  is  one  gene- 
ral inconvenience,  which  reigneth  almost  throughout 
all  Ireland  ;  that  is,  the  lords  of  land  and  freeholders 
do  not  there  use  to  set  out  their  land  in  farm,  or  for 
term  of  years,  to  their  tenants,  but  only  from  year 
to  year,  and  some  during  pleasure ;  neither  indeed 
will  the  Irish  tenant  or  husbandman  otherwise  take 
his  land,  than  so  long  as  he  list  himself  'i  he  rea- 
son hereof  in  the  tenant  is,  for  that  the  landlords 
there  use  most  shamefully  to  rack  their  tenants,  lay- 
ing upon  them  coignv  and  livery  at  pleasure,  and 
exacting  of  them,  besides  his  covenants,  what  he 
pleaseth.  So  that  the  poor  husbandman  either  dare 
not  bind  himself  to  him  for  longer  term,  or  thinketh 
by  his  continual  liberty  of  change,  to  keep  his  land- 
lord the  rather  in  awe  from  wionging  of  him.  And 
the  reason  why  the  landlord  will  no  longer  covenant 
with  him  is,  for  that  he  daily  looketh  after  change 
and  alteration,  and  hovereth  in  expectation  of  new- 
worlds. 

EuDox. — But  what  evil  cometh  hereby  to  the 
commonwealth,  or  what  reason  is  it  that  any  land- 
lord should  not  set,  nor  any  tenant  take  his  land,  as 
himself  list ! 

Iren. — JMarry,  the  evils  which  come  herebv  are 
great ;  for  bj-  this  means  both  the  landlord  thinketh 
that  he  hath  his  tenant  more  at  command,  to  follow 
him  into  what  action  soever  he  shall  enter,  and  also 
the  tenant  being  left  at  his  liberty,  is  fit  for  every 
occasion  of  change  that  shall  be  offered  by  time;  and 
so  much  also  the  more  ready  and  willing  is  he  to 
run  into  the  same;  for  that  he  hath  no  such  state  in 
any  his  holding,  no  such  building  upon  anv  farm,  uo 
such  cost  employed  in  fencing  or  husbanding  the 
same,  as  might  withhold  him  from  any  such  wilful 
course  as  his  lord's  cause,  or  his  own  lewd  disposi- 
tion may  carrj-  him  unto.  All  which  he  liaih  forborne, 
and  spared  so  much  expense;  f/r  that  he  had  no 
firm  estate  in  his  tenement,  but  was  onlv  a  tenant  at 
will,  or  little  more,  and  so  at  will  may  leave  it.  And 
this  inconvenience  may  be  reason  enough  to  ground 
any  ordinance  for  the  good  of  the  commonwealth, 
against  the  private  behoof  or  will  of  anv  landlord 
that  shall  refuse  to  grant  any  .^uch  term  or  estate  unto 
bis  tenant,  as  may  tend  to  the  good  of  the  whole  realm. 


.•!D4 


A  VIEW   OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAXD. 


EuDox. — Indeed,  methinks  it  is  a  great  wilfulness 
in  any  such  landlord    to    refuse  to  make  any  Ion g;er 
farms  unto  their  tenants,  ;is  may,   besides  the  gene- 
ral good  of  the  realm,   be  also  greatly  for  their  own 
profit  and  avail.     For  what  reasonable  man  will  not 
think  that  the  tenement  shall  be   made  much  better 
for  the  lord's  behoof,  if  the  tenant  may  by  suihgood 
means  be  drawn  to  build    himself  some    handsome 
habitation  thereon,  to  ditch  and  inclose   his  ground, 
to  manure  and  husband  it,  as  good  farmers  use  ?  for 
when  his  tenant's  term  shall  be  expired,  it  will  yield 
him  in  the  renewing  his  lease,  both  a  good   fine  and 
also  a  better  rent.     And  also  it  shall  be  for  the  good 
of  the  tenant  likewise,  who,  by  such   buildings  and 
enclosures,  shall  receive  many  benefits — first,  b)'  the 
handsomeness  of  his  house,  he  shall  take  more  com- 
fort of  his  life,  more  safe  dwelling,  and  a  delight  to 
keep  his  said  house    neat  and  cleanly  ;  which  now 
being,  as  they  commonly  are,  rather  swine-styes  than 
houses,  is  the  chiefest  cause  of  his  so  beastly  man- 
ner of  life,    and  savage  condition,  lying  and  living 
together  with  his  beast  in  one  house,  in  one   room, 
in  one  bed  ;  that  is,  clean  straw,    or   rather   a  foul 
dunghill.     And  to  all  these  other  commodities,  he 
shall,   in  short  time,  find  a  greater  added  ;  that  is, 
his  own  wealth  and  riches  increased,  and  wonderfully 
enlarged,  by  keeping  his  cattle  in  inclosures,  where 
they  shall  always  have  fresh  pasture,  that  now  is  all 
trampled  and  overrun  ;  warm  covert,  that  now  lieth 
open  to  all  weather  ;  safe  being,  that  now  are  con- 
tinually filched  and  stolen. 

Iren. — You  have,  Eudoxus,  well  accompted  the 
commodities  of  this  one  good  ordinance,  amongst 
which  this  that  you  named  last  is  not  the  least,  for 
all  the  other  being  most  beneficial  to  the  landlord 
and  tenant,  this  chiefly  redoundeth  to  the  good  of 
the  commonwealth,  to  have  the  land  thus  enclosed, 
and  well  fenced.  For  it  is  both  a  principal  bar  and 
impeachment  unto  thieves  from  stealing  of  cattle 
in  the  night,  and  also  a  gall,  against  all  rebels  and 
outlaws  that  shall  rise  up  in  any  numbers  against 
the  government ;  for  the  thief  thereby  shall  have 
much  ado,  first  to  bring  forth  and  afterwards  to 
drive  away  his  stolen  prey,  but  through  the  com- 
mon highways,  where  he  shall  soon  be  descried  and 
met  withal;  and  the  rebel  or  open  enemy,  if  any 
such  shall  happen,  either  at  home  or  from  abroad, 
shall  easily  be  found  when  he  cometh  forth,  and  also 
be  well  encountered  withal  by  a  few,  in  so  straight 
passages  and  stiong  inclosures.  This,  therefore, 
when  we  come  to  the  reforming  of  all  those  evil 
customs  before  mentioned,  is  needful  to  be  remem- 
bered ;  but  now  by  this  time,  methinks,  1  have  well 
run  through  the  evil  uses  which  I  have  observed  in 
Ireland.  Nevertheless,  I  well  note,  that  there  be 
many  more,  and  infinitely  many  more  in  the  private 
abuses  of  men.  But  these  that  are  most  general, 
and  tending  to  the  hurt  of  the  commonweal  (as  they 
have  come  to  my  remembrance),  I  have,  as  briefly 
as  I  could,  rehearsed  unto  you.  And  therefore  now 
1  think  best  that  we  pass  unto  our  third  part,  in 
which  we  noted  the  inconveniences  thiit  are  in  leligion. 
Ei'Dox. — Surely  you  have  very  well  handled  tliese 
two  former-,  and  if  ye  shall  as  well  go  through  the 
third  likewise,  you  shall  merit  a  very  good  meed. 

litKN. — Little  have  I  to  say  of  religion,  both  be- 
cause the  parts  thereof  be  not  many  (itself  being 
but  one),  and  myself  have  not  much  been  conver- 
sant in  that  calling  ;  but  as  lightly  passing  by  I  have 
seen  or  heard  :  therefore   the   fault  which  1  find  in 


religion  is  but  one  ;  but  the  same  is  universal 
throughout  all  that  country ;  that  is,  that  they  be  all 
Jiapists  by  their  profession,  but  in  the  same  so 
blindly  and  brutishly  informed  (for  the  most  ])art), 
tliat  not  one  amongst  a  hundred  knoweth  any  ground 
of  religion,  or  any  article  of  his  faith  ;  but  can  per- 
haps say  his  Paternoster,  or  his  Ave-Maria,  without 
any  knowledge  or  understanding  what  one  word 
thereof  meaneth. 

EuDox. — Is  it  not  then  a  little  blot  to  them  that 
now  hold  the  place  of  government,  that  they  which 
now  are  in  the  light  themselves,  suffer  a  people 
under  their  charge,  to  wallow  in  such  deadly  darkness? 
Iren. — That  which  you  blame,  Eudoxus,  is  not 
(I  suppose)  any  fault  of  will  in  those  godly  fathers 
which  have  charge  thereof;  but  the  inconvenience 
of  the  time  and  troublous  occasions,  wherewith  'hat 
wretched  realm  hath  continually  been  turmoiled. 
For  instruction  in  religion  needeth  quiet  times  ; 
and  e'er  we  seek  to  settle  a  sound  discipline  in  the 
clergy,  we  must  purchase  peace  unto  the  laity  :  for 
it  is  ill  time  to  preach  among  swords;  and  most  hard, 
or  rather  impossible,  it  is  to  settle  a  good  opinion  in 
the  minds  of  men,  for  matters  of  religion  doubtful, 
which  have  doubtless  an  evil  opinion  of  us.  For 
e'er  a  new  be  brought  in,  the  old  must  be  removed. 

EuDox. — Then  belike  it  is  meet  that  some  fitter 
time  be  attended,  that  Gcd  send  peace  and  quietness 
there  in  civil  matters,  before  it  be  atiemplea  in  ec- 
clesiastical. I  would  rather  have  thought  that  (as 
it  is  said)  correction  must  first  be^in  at  the  house  of 
God,  and  that  the  care  of  the  soul  should  have  been 
preferred  before  the  care  of  the  body. 

Iren. — Most  true,  Eudoxus,  the  care  of  the  soul 
and  soul  matters,  is  to  be  jireferred  before  the  care 
of  the  body,  in  consideration  of  the  worthiness 
thereof;  but  not  till  ihe  time  of  Reformation.  For 
if  you  should  know  a  wicked  person  dangerously 
sick,  having  now  both  soul  and  body  greatly  dis- 
eased, yet  both  recoverable;  would  you  n(jt  think  it 
evil  advertisement  to  bring  tne  preacher  before  the 
physician?  For  if  his  body  were  neglected,  it  is 
like  that  his  languishing  soul  being  disquieted  by 
his  diseaseful  body,  would  utterly  refuse  and  loath 
all  spiritual  comfort  ;  but  if  his  body  were  first 
secured  and  brought  to  good  frame,  should  there 
not  tben  be  found  best  time  to  recover  the  soul  also? 
8o  it  is  in  the  state  of  a  realm  :  therefore  (as  I  said) 
it  is  expedient,  first  to  settle  such  a  course  of  go- 
vernment there,  as  thereby  both  civil  disorders  and 
ecclesiastical  abuses  may  be  reformed  and  amended  ; 
whereto  needeth  not  any  such  great  distance  of 
times,  as  you  suppose  :  I  require  but  one  joint  reso- 
lution for  both,  that  each  might  second  and  confirm 
the  other. 

EuDOX. — That  we  shall  see  when  we  come  there- 
unto ;  in  the  meantime  1  conceive  thus  much,  as  you 
have  delivered,  touching  the  general  fault,  which 
you  suppose  in  religion,  to  wit,  that  it  is  popish  : 
but  do  you  find  no  particular  abuses  therein,  nor  in 
the  ministers  thereof? 

Iren. —  Yes,  verily,  for  whatever  disorders  yoa 
see  in  the  Church  of  England,  ye  may  find  there, 
and  many  more:  namely,  gross  simony,  greedy  co- 
vetousness,  fleshly  incontinency,  careless  sloth,  and 
generally  all  disordered  life  in  the  common  clergy- 
men. And  besides  all  these,  they  have  their  par- 
titular  enormities  :  for  all  Irish  priests,  which 
now  enjoy  the  church-livings,  th"y  are  in  a  manner 
mere   laymen,   saving  that  tl'fiy    have  taken    holy 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


505 


orders;  but  otherwise  thev  do  go,  and  live  like 
laymen,  follow  all  kind  of  husbandry,  and  otlier 
worldly  atFairs,  as  other  Irislimen  do.  They  neither 
read  scriptures,  nor  preach  to  the  people,  nor  admi- 
nister the  communion  ;  but  baptism  they  do  :  for 
they  christen  yet  after  the  popisii  fashion,  only  they 
take  the  tithes  and  offerings,  and  gather  what  fruit 
else  they  may  of  their  livings,  the  which  they  con- 
vert as  badly  ;  and  some  of  them  (they  say)  pay  as 
due  tributes  and  shares  of  their  livings  to  their 
bishops  ( I  speak  of  those  which  are  Irish)  as  they 
receive  them  duly. 

EuDox. — But  is  that  suff"ered  amongst  them?  It 
is  wonder,  but  that  the  governors  do  redress  such 
shameful  abuses. 

Iren. — How  can  they,  since  they  know  them  not? 
for  the  Irish  bishops  have  tiieir  clergy  in  sucii  awe 
and  subjection  under  them,  that  they  dare  noi  com- 
plain of  them  ;  so  as  they  may  do  to  them  what 
they  please  :  for  they  knowing  their  own  unwor- 
thiness  and  incapacity,  and  that  they  are  therefore 
still  removable  at  their  bishop's  will,  yield  what 
pleaseth  him,  and  he  taketh  what  helisteth  :  yea,  and 
some  of  them  whose  dioceses  are  in  remote  parts, 
somewhat  out  of  the  world's  eye,  do  not  at  all  be- 
stow the  benefices  which  are  in  their  own  donation 
upon  any,  but  keep  them  in  their  own  hands,  and 
set  their  own  servants  and  horseboys  to  take  up  the 
tithes  and  fruits  of  them,  with  the  which  some  of 
them  purchase  great  lands,  and  build  fair  castles 
upon  the  same.  Of  which  abuse,  if  any  question 
be  moved,  they  have  a  very  seemly  colour  and  ex- 
cuse, that  they  have  no  worthy  ministers  to  bestow 
them  upon,  but  keep  them  so  bestowed  for  any  such 
sufficient  person  as  any  shall  bring  unto  them. 

EuDox. — But  is  there  no  law  nor  ordinance  to 
meet  with  this  mischief?  nor  hath  it  never  before 
been  looked  into  ? 

Ire\. —  Ves,  it  seems  it  hath  ;  for  there  is  a  sta- 
tute tiiere  enacted  in  Ireland,  which  seems  to  have 
been  grounded  upon  a  good  meaning,  that  whatso- 
ever Eiiglisiiman,  of  good  conversation  and  suffi- 
ciency, shall  be  brought  unto  any  of  the  bishops, 
and  nominated  unto  any  living  within  their  diocese 
that  is  presently  void,  that  he  shall  (without  contra- 
diction) be  admitted  thereunto  before  any  Irish. 

EuDox. — This  is  surely  a  very  good  law,  and  well 
provided  for  this  evil,  whereof  you  speak  ;  but  why 
is  not  the  same  observed  ? 

Iren. — I  think  it  is  well  observed,  and  that  none 
of  the  bishojis  transgress  the  same  ;  but  yet  it  work- 
eth  no  reformation  thereof,  for  many  defects.  First. 
there  are  no  such  sufficient  English  ministers  sent 
over,  as  might  be  presented  to  any  bishop  for  any 
living  ;  hut  the  most  part  of  such  English  as  come 
over  thither  of  themselves,  are  either  unlearned,  or 
men  of  some  bad  note,  for  which  they  have  for- 
saken England  :  so  as  the  bishop  to  whom  they 
shall  be  presented  may  justly  rnjf-ct  them  as  inca- 
pable and  insufficient.  Secondly,  the  bishop  him- 
self IS  perhaps  an  Irishman,  who  being  made  judge 
by  that  law  of  the  sufficiency  of  the  ministers,  may, 
at  his  own  will,  dislike  of  the  Englishmen,  as  un- 
worthy in  his  opinion,  and  admit  of  any  Irish,  \\\u>m 
he  shall  think  more  for  his  turn,  And  if  he  shall 
at  the  mstajice  of  any  Englishman  of  counteuance 
there,  whom  he  will  not  displease,  accept  of  any 
such  Eni;lish  minister  as  shall  be  tendered  ui:;o 
him,  yet  tie  will  underhand  cany  such  a  hard  hand 
over  him  ;  or  by  his  officers  wring  him  so  sore,  that 


he  will  soon  make  him  weary  of  his  poor  living. 
Lastly,  the  benefices  themselves  are  so  mean,  and 
of  so  small  profit  in  those  Irish  countries,  through 
the  ill  husbandry  of  the  Irish  people  which  do  inha- 
bit them,  that  they  will  not  yield  any  competent 
maintenance  for  any  hinest  minister  to  live  upin, 
scarcely  to  buy  him  a  gown.  And  were  all  this  re- 
dressed (as  happily  it  might  be)  yet  wli.it  good 
should  any  English  minister  do  amongst  them,  by 
teaching  or  preaching  to  them,  which  either  cannot 
understand  him,  or  will  not  hear  Liin  ?  or  what  com- 
fort of  life  shall  he  have,  where  his  parishioners 
are  so  insatiable,  so  intractable,  so  ill-aft'ected  to 
him,  as  they  usually  be  to  all  the  English  ?  Or 
finally,  how  dare  almost  any  honest  minister,  that 
are  peaceable  civil  men,  commit  his  safety  to  the 
hands  of  such  neighbours,  as  the  boldest  captains 
dare  scarcely  dwell  by  ? 

EuDox. — Little  good  then  (I  see)  was  by  that 
statute  wrouglit,  however  well  intended  ;  but  the 
reformation  thereof  must  grow  higher,  and  he 
brought  from  a  stronger  ordinance  than  the  com- 
mandment or  penalty  of  a  law,  which  none  dare 
inform  or  complain  of,  when  it  is  broken.  But  have 
you  any  more  of  those  aliuses  in  the  clergy  ? 

Irex. — 1  could  perhaps  reckon  more,  but  I  per- 
ceive my  speech  to  grow  too  long,  and  these  may 
suffice  to  judge  of  the  general  disorders  which 
reign  amongst  them  ;  as  for  the  particulars,  they 
are  too  many  to  be  reckoned.  For  the  clergy  there 
(excepting  the  grave  fathers  which  are  in  high 
place  about  the  state,  and  some  few  others  which 
are  lately  planted  in  their  new  college)  are  generally 
bad,  licentious,  and  most  disordered. 

EuDox. —  You  have  then  (as  I  suppose)  gone 
through  these  three  fit. st  puts  which  you  proposed 
unto  yourself;  to  wit,  the  inconveniences  which 
you  observed  in  the  laws,  in  the  customs,  and  in 
the  religion  of  that  land.  The  wliich  (methinks) 
you  have  so  thoroughly  touched,  as  that  nothing 
more  remaineth  to  be  spoken  thereof. 

IiiEN. —  Not  so  thoroughly  as  you  suppose,  that 
nothing  can  remain,  but  so  generally  as  I  purposed  ; 
that  is,  to  lay  open  the  general  evils  of  that  realm, 
which  do  hinder  the  good  reformation  thereof.  For 
to  count  the  particular  faults  of  private  men,  should 
be  a  work  to  >  infinite  ;  yet  some  there  be  of  that 
nature,  that  though  they  be  in  private  men,  yet 
their  evil  rea  heth  to  a  general  hurt :  as  the  extor- 
tion of  sheriff's,  and  their  sub-sheriff's,  and  bailiff's  j 
the  corruption  of  victuallers,  cessors,  and  purvey- 
ors ;  the  disorders  of  seneschals,  captains,  and  their 
soldiers;  and  many  such  like.  All  which  I  will 
only  name  here,  that  their  reformation  may  be 
mended  in  place  where  it  most  concerneih.  But 
there  is  one  very  foul  abuse,  which,  by  the  way,  I 
may  not  omit ;  and  that  is  in  capt.iins,  who,  not- 
withstanding that  thev  are  specially  employeil  to 
make  peace,  through  strong  execution  of  war,  vet 
they  do  so  dandle  their  doings,  and  dally  in  the  ser- 
vice to  them  committed,  as  if  they  would  not  have 
the  enemy  subdued,  or  utterly  beaten  down;  for 
fe  If,  lest  afterwards  they  should  need  emiiioyment, 
and  so  he  discharged  ol  pay  ;  for  which  cause  some 
of  them  that  are  laid  in  garrison,  do  so  h.nulle  the 
m.itter  that  they  will  do  nogreat  hurt  to  the  enemies  ; 
yet,  for  colour  sake,  some  men  they  will  kill,  even 
half  with  the  consent  of  tiie  enemy,  being  persons 
either  of  base  regard,  or  enemies  to  the  eneiiiy; 
whose  heads  efstoous  they  send  to  the  governor  for 


506 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


a  commendation  of  their  great  endea\-our,  telling 
how  weighty  a  service  they  performed,  by  cutting 
off  such  and  such  dangerous  rebels. 

EuDox.-  -Truly  this  is  a  pretty  mockery,  and  not 
to  be  permitted  by  the  governors. 

Iren. — 15ut  how  can  the  governor  know  readily 
what  persons  those  were,  and  what  the  purpose  of 
their  killing  was  ;  yea,  and  what  will  you  say,  if  the 
captains  do  justify  this  their  course  by  ensample  of 
some  of  their  governors,  which  (under  benedicite  I 
do  tell  it  to  you)  do  practise  the  like  sleiglit  in  their 
governments  ? 

Eunox. — Is  it  possible?  Take  heed  what  you 
say,  Ireneus. 

InEN. — To  you  only,  Eudoxus,  I  do  tell  it,  and 
that  even  with  great  heart's  grief,  and  inward  trouble 
of  mind,  to  see  her  majesty  so  much  abused  by 
some  who  are  put  in  special  trust  of  those  great 
affairs  :  of  which,  some  being  martial  men,  will  not 
do  always  what  they  may  for  quieting  of  things, 
but  will  rather  wink  at  some  faults,  and  will  suffer 
them  unpunished,  lest  that  (having  put  all  things  in 
that  assurance  of  peace  that  they  might  J  they  should 
seem  afterwards  not  to  be  needed,  nor  contmued  in 
their  governments  with  so  great  a  charge  to  her 
majesty.  And  therefore  they  do  cunningly  carry 
their  course  of  government,  and  from  one  hand  to 
another  do  bandy  the  service  like  a  tennis-ball, 
which  they  will  never  strike  quite  away,  for  fear 
lest  afterwards  they  should  want. 

EuDox. — Do  you  speak  of  under  magistrates, 
Ireneus,  or  principal  governors  ? 

Iren. — I  do  speak  of  no  particulars;  but  the 
truth  may  be  found  out  by  trial  and  reasonable  in- 
sight into  some  of  their  doings.  And  if  I  should 
say,  there  is  some  blame  thereof  in  the  principal 
governors,  I  think  I  might  also  show  some  reason- 
able proof  of  my  speech.  As  for  example,  some 
of  them  seeing  the  end  of  their  government  to 
draw  nigh,  and  some  mischiefs  and  troublous  prac- 
tice growing  up,  which  afterwards  may  work  trouble 
to  the  next  succeeding  governor,  will  not  attempt 
the  redress  or  cutting  off  thereof,  either  for  fear 
they  should  leave  the  realm  unquiet  at  the  end  of 
their  government, or  that  the  next  that  cometh  should 
receive  the  same  too  quiet,  and  so  haply  win  more 
praise  thereof  than  they  before.  And  therefore  they 
will  not  (as  I  said)  seek  at  all  to  repress  that  evil, 
but  will  either  by  granting  protection  for  a  time,  or 
holding  some  emparlance  with  the  rebel,  or  by 
treaty  of  commissioners,  or  by  other  like  devices, 
only  smother  and  keep  down  the  flame  of  the  mis- 
chief, so  as  it  may  not  break  out  in  their  time  of  go- 
vernment i  what  comes  afterwards,  they  care  not, 
or  rather  wish  the  worst.  This  course  hath  been 
noted  in  some  governors. 

EuDox. — Surely,  Ireneus,  this,  if  it  were  true, 
should  be  worthy  of  an  heavy  judgment ;  but  it  is 
hardly  to  be  thought,  that  any  governor  should  so 
much  either  envy  the  good  of  that  realm  which  ia 
put  into  his  band,  er  defraud  her  majesty,  who 
trust!  h  him  so  much,  or  malign  his  successor  which 
shall  possess  his  place,  as  to  suffer  an  evil  to  grow 
up,  which  he  might  timely  have  kept  under;  or 
perhaps  to  nourish  it  with  coloured  countenance,  or 
such  sinister  means. 

Iren. — I  do  not  certainly  avouch  so  much,  Eu- 
doxus, but  the  sequel  of  things  doth  in  a  manner 
prove,  and  phunly  sjieak  so  much,  that  the  go- 
vernors usually  are  envious  one  of  another's  greater 


glory  ;  which  if  they  would  seek  to  excel  by  better 
governing,  it  should  be  a  most  laudable  emulation; 
but  they  do  quite  otherwise.  For  this,  as  you  may 
mark,  is  the  common  order  of  them,  that  who 
cometh  next  in  place  will  not  follow  that  course  of 
government,  however  good,  which  his  predecessors 
held,  either  for  disdain  of  himself,  or  doubt  to  have 
his  doings  drowned  in  another  man's  praise  ;  but 
will  straight  take  away  quite  contrary  to  the  former: 
as  if  the  former  thought,  by  keeping  under  the 
Irish,  to  reform  them ;  the  next,  by  discounte- 
nancing the  English,  will  curry  favour  with  the 
Irish,  and  so  make  his  government  seem  plausible, 
as  having  all  the  Irish  at  his  command  :  but  he  that 
comes  after,  will  perhaps  follow  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other,  but  will  dandle  the  one  and  the  other  in 
such  sort,  as  he  will  suck  sweet  out  of  them  both, 
and  leave  bitterness  to  the  poor  country;  which 
if  he  that  comes  after  shall  seek  to  redress,  he  shall 
perhaps  find  such  crosses  as  he  shall  hardly  be  able 
to  bear,  or  do  any  good  that  niiuht  work  the  disgrace 
of  his  predecessors.  Examples  you  may  see  hereof  in 
the  governors  oflate  times  sufficiently,  and  in  others 
of  former  times  more  manifestly,  when  the  govern- 
ment of  that  realm  was  committed  sometimes  to  the 
Geraldines,  as  when  the  House  of  '^'ork  hxl  the 
crown  of  England;  sometimes  to  the  Butlers,  as 
when  the  House  of  Lancaster  got  the  same.  And 
other  whiles,  when  an  English  governor  was  ajj- 
pointed,  he  perhaps  found  enemies  of  both. 

KuDox. — I  am  sorry  to  hear  so  much  as  you  re- 
port, and  now  I  begin  to  conceive  somewhat  more 
of  the  cause  of  her  continual  wretchedness,  than 
heretofore  I  found,  and  wish  that  this  inconvenience 
were  well  looked  into  ;  for  sure,  methinks,  it  is 
more  weighty  than  all  the  former,  and  more  hardly 
to  be  redressed  in  the  governor  than  in  the  go- 
verned ;  as  a  malady  in  a  vital  part  is  more  incu- 
rable than  in  an  external. 

Irf.n. — You  say  very  true  :  but  now  that  we  have 
thus  ended  all  the  abuses  and  inconveniences  of 
that  government,  which  was  our  first  part ;  it  fol- 
loweth  now,  that  we  pass  unto  the  second  part, 
which  was,  of  the  means  to  cure  and  redress  the 
same  :  which  we  must  labour  to  reduce  to  the  first 
beginning  thereof. 

EuDox. —  Right  so,  Ireneus  ;  for  by  that  which  I 
have  noted  in  all  this  your  discourse,  you  suppose, 
that  the  whole  ordinance  and  institution  of  that 
realm's  government,  was  both  at  first,  when  it  was 
placed,  evil  plotted  ;  and  also  sithence,  through 
other  oversights,  came  more  out  of  square  to  that 
disorder  which  it  is  now  come  unto  :  like  as  two 
indirect  lines,  the  further  that  they  are  drawn  out, 
the  further  they  go  asunder. 

Iren. — I  do  see,  J^udoxus,  and,  as  you  say,  so 
think,  that  the  longer  that  government  thus  con- 
tinueth,  in  the  worse  course  will  the  realm  he;  for 
it  is  all  in  vain  that  they  now  strive  and  endeavour 
by  fair  means  and  peaceable  j)lots,  to  redress  the 
same,  without  first  removing  all  those  inconveni- 
ences, and  new-framing  (as  it  were)  in  the  forge, 
all  that  is  worn  out  of  fashion.  For  all  other  means 
will  be  but  as  lost  labour,  by  patching  up  one  hole 
to  make  many.  For  the  Irish  do  strongly  hate  and 
abhor  all  reformation  and  subjection  to  the  English, 
by  reason,  that  having  been  once  subdued  by  them, 
they  were  thrust  out  of  all  their  )iossessiniis.  So  as 
now  they  fear,  that  if  they  were  again  brought 
under,  they  should  likewise  be  expelled  out  of  all. 


A  VI KW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


507 


which  is  the  cause  that  they  liate  the  English  Go- 
vernment, according  to  the  saying,  Quern  metuunt 
oiieiiint.  Therefore  the  reformation  must  now  be 
the  strength  of  a  greater  power. 

EuDox. —  But  (methinks)  that  might  be  by  mak- 
ing of  good  laws,  and  establishing  of  new  statutes, 
with  sharp  penalties  and  punishments,  for  amending 
of  all  that  is  presently  amiss,  and  not  (as  you  sup- 
pose) to  begin  all  as  it  were  anew,  and  to  alter  the 
whole  form  of  the  Government  :  which  how  dan- 
gerous a  thing  it  is  to  attempt,  you  yourself  must 
needs  confess  ;  and  they  which  have  the  managing 
of  the  realm's  whole  policy,  cannot,  without  great 
cause,  fear  and  refrain  ;  for  all  innovation  is  peril- 
ous, insomuch,  as  though  it  be  meant  for  the  better, 
yet  so  many  accidents  and  fearful  events  may  come 
between,  as  that  it  may  hazard  the  loss  of  the  whole. 
Irkn. — Very  true,  Eudoxus  ;  all  change  is  to  be 
shunned,  where  the  affairs  stand  in  such  sort,  as  that 
they  may  continue  in  quietnees,  or  be  assured  at  all 
to  abide  as  thev  are,  but  that  in  the  re;dm  of  Ire- 
land we  see  much  otherwise  ;  for  every  day  we  fier- 
ceive  the  troubles  growing  more  upon  us,  and  one 
evil  growing  upon  another  ;  insomuch,  as  there  is 
no  part  now  found  or  ascertained,  but  all  have  their 
ears  upright,  waiting  when  the  watch-wurd  shall 
come,  that  they  should  all  arise  generally  into  rebel- 
lion, and  cast  away  the  English  subjection.  'J'o 
which  there  now  little  wanteth  ;  for  I  think  the 
word  be  already  given,  and  there  wanteth  nothing 
but  opportunity  ;  which  truly  is  the  death  of  one 
noble  person,  who  being  himself  most  stedfast  to 
his  sovereign  queen  and  his  country,  coasting  upon 
the  South-Sea,  stoppelh  tlie  in-gate  of  all  that  evil 
which  is  looked  for,  and  holdeth  in  all  those  which 
are  at  his  beck,  with  the  terror  of  his  greatness,  and 
the  assurance  of  his  most  immovable  loy<ilty.  And 
therefore  where  3'ou  think  that  good  and  sound  laws 
might  amend  and  reform  things  there  amiss,  \ou 
think  surtlv  amiss,  for  it  is  vain  to  [irescribe  laws, 
where  no  man  careth  for  keeji'ng  of  them,  nor  fear- 
eth  the  danger  for  breaking  of  tln,m.  But  all  the 
realm  is  first  to  be  reformed,  and  laws  are  afterwards 
to  he  made,  for  keeping  and  continuing  it  in  that  re- 
formed estate. 

EuDox. —  How  then  do  you  think  is  there  formation 
thereof  to  be  begun,  if  not  by  laws  and  ordinances? 
Iren. — Even  by  the  sword;  for  all  these  evils 
must  first  be  cut  away  by  a  strong  hand,  before  any 
good  can  be  planted  :  like  as  the  corrupt  branches 
and  unwholesome  boughs  are  first  to  be  pruned,  and 
the  foul  moss  cleansed  and  scraped  away,  before  the 
tree  can  bring  forth  any  good  fruit. 

EvDox.— Did  you  blame  me  even  now  for  wish- 
ing of  kern  horse-boys  and  carrows  to  be  clean  cut 
ofiF,  as  too  violent  a  means;  and  do  you  yourself 
now  prescribe  the  same  medicine  ?  Is  not  the  sword 
the  most  violent  redress  that  may  be  used  for  any 
evil  ? 

Irev. —  It  is  so  ;  but  where  no  other  remedy  may 
be  devised,  nor  hope  of  recovery  had,  there  must 
needs  this  violent  means  be  used.  As  for  the  loose 
kind  of  people  which  you  would  have  cut  off,  I 
blamed  it  ;  for  that  they  might  otherwise  perhaps  be 
brought  to  good,  as  namely,  by  this  way  which  1  set 
before  you. 

Euuox. —  Is  not  your  way  all  one  with  the  former 
m  eft'ect,  which  you  found  fault  with  ;  save  only  in 
this  odds, — that  1  said  b\  the  halter,  and  you  say  by 
ibe  sword  :  what  difference  is  there  t 


IiiLN. — There  is  surely  great,  when  you  shall 
understand  it ;  for  by  the  sword  which  I  named,  I 
did  not  mean  the  cutting  off  all  that  uation  with  the 
sword  ;  which  far  be  it  from  me  that  I  should  ever 
think  so  desperately,  or  wish  so  uncharitably  ;  but 
by  the  sword,  J  mean,  the  royal  |)Ower  of  the  prince, 
which  ought  to  stretch  itself  forth  in  the  chiefest 
strength,  to  the  redressing  and  cutting  off  those 
evils  which  I  before  blamed,  and  not  of  the  people 
which  are  evil.  For  evil  people,  by  good  ordinances 
and  government,  may  be  made  good  ;  but  the  evil 
that  is  of  itself  evil,  will  never  become  good. 

EuDox. — I  pray  you  then  declare  your  mind  at 
large,  how  you  would  wish  that  sword,  which  you 
mean  to  be  used  to  the  reformation  of  all  these 
evils. 

Iren.  — The  first  thing  must  be,  to  send  over  into 
that  realm  such  a  strong  power  of  men,  as  should 
perforce  bring  in  all  that  rebellious  rout  and  loose 
people,  which  either  do  now  stand  out  in  open  arms, 
or  wandering  in  companies,  do  keep  the  woods, 
spoiling  the  good  subjects. 

EuDox. — You  speak  now,  Ireneus,  of  an  infinite 
charge  to  her  Majesty,  to  send  over  such  an  army  as 
should  tread  down  all  that  standeth  before  them  on 
foot,  and  lay  on  the  ground  all  the  stiff-necked 
people  of  that  land  :  for  there  is  now  but  one  out- 
law of  any  great  reckoning,  to  wit,  the  Earl  of  Ty- 
rone, abroad  in  arms  ;  against  whom,  you  see,  what 
huge  charges  she  hath  been  at  this  last  year,  in 
sending  of  men,  providing  of  victuals,  and  making 
head  against  liim;  yet  there  is  little  or  nothing  at 
all  done,  but  the  queen's  treasure  spent,  her  people 
wasted,  the  ])oor  country  troubled,  and  the  enemy 
nevertiieless  brought  into  no  more  subjection  than 
he  was,  or  list  outwardly  to  show,  which  in  effect  is 
none,  hut  rather  a  scorn  of  her  power,  and  embolden- 
ing of  a  prouil  rebel,  and  an  encouragement  to  all 
like  lewdly-disposed  traitors,  that  shall  dare  to  lift 
up  their  heel  against  their  sovereign  lady.  There- 
fore it  were  hard  counsel  tu  draw  such  an  exceeding 
great  charge  upon  her,  whose  event  should  be  so 
uncertain. 

Iren. — True,  indeed,  if  the  event  should  be  un- 
certain ;  but  the  certainty  of  the  effect  hereof  shall 
be  so  infallible,  as  that  no  reason  can  gainsavit; 
neither  shall  the  ihar^e  of  all  this  army  (the  which 
1  demand)  be  much  greater,  than  so  much  as  in 
these  last  two  years'  wars  hath  vainly  been  ex- 
pended. For  I  dare  undertake  tliat  it  hath  cost  the 
queen  above  ^00,000  pounds  already  ;  and  for  the 
present  charge  which  she  is  at  there,  amounteth  to 
very  near  12,000  pounds  a  month,  whereof  cast  you 
the  account ;  yet  nothing  is  done.  The  which  sum, 
had  it  been  employed  as  it  should  be,  would  have 
effected  all  this  which  now  1  go  about. 

EuDox. — How  mean  you  to  have  it  employed, 
but  to  be  spent  in  the  pay  of  so'diers  and  provision 
of  victuals? 

Iren. — Right  so  ;  but  it  is  now  not  disbursed  at 
once,  as  it  might  be,  but  drawn  out  into  a  long 
length,  by  sending  over  now  20,000  pounds  and 
next  half  year  10,000  pounds  ;  so  as  the  soldier,  in 
the  mean  time,  tor  want  of  due  jirovision  of  victual, 
and  good  payment  of  his  due,  is  starved  and  con- 
sumed ;  that  of  lOOo  which  came  over  luity  able 
men,  in  half  a  year  there  are  not  left  500.  And  yet 
is  the  queen's  charge  never  a  whit  the  less ;  but  what 
is  not  paid  in  present  money  is  accounted  in  debt, 
which  will  not  be  long  unpaid  ;  for  the  captain.balf 


508 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


of  wbose  soldiers  are  dead,  and  the  other  quarter 
never  mastered,  nor  seen,  comes  shortly  to  dem-.ind 
payment  of  his  whole  account;  where  by  good 
means  of  some  great  ones,  and  privy  sharings  with 
the  officers  and  servants  of  other  some,  he  receiveth 
his  debt,  much  less  perhaps  than  was  due,  yet  much 
more  indeed  than  he  justly  deserved. 

EuDOS. — I  tiike  this,  sure,  to  be  no  good  hus- 
bandry ;  for  what  must  needs  be  spent,  as  good 
spend  it  at  once,  where  is  enough,  as  to  have  it  drawn 
out  into  long  delays,  seeing  that  thereby  both  the 
service  is  much  hindered,  and  yet  nothing  saved. 
But  it  may  be,  Ireneus,  that  the  queen's  treasure  in 
so  great  occasions  of  disbursements  (as  it  is  well 
known  she  hath  been  at  lately)  is  not  always  so 
ready,  nor  so  jilentiful,  as  it  can  spare  s-o  great  a 
sum  together  ;  but  being  paid  as  it  is,  now  some, 
and  then  some,  it  is  no  great  burden  unto  her,  nor 
any  great  impoverishment  to  her  coffers  ;  seeing  by 
such  delay  of  time,  it  daily  coraeth  in  as  fast  as  she 
parteth  it  out. 

InEV. — It  may  be  as  you  say;  but  for  the  going 
throuj;h  of  so  honourable  a  course,  I  doubt  not  but 
if  the  queen's  coffers  be  not  so  well  stored,  which 
we  are  not  to  look  into,  but  that  the  whole  realm, 
which  now,  as  things  are  used,  do  feel  a  continual 
burden  of  that  wretched  realm  hanging  upon  their 
backs,  would ,  for  a  small  riddance  of  all  that  trouble, 
be  once  troubled  for  all,  and  put  to  all  their  shoul- 
ders, and  helping  hands,  and  hearts  also,  to  the  de- 
fraying of  that  charge  most  gladfully  and  willingly. 
And  surely  the  charge,  in  effect,  is  nothing  to  the 
infinite  great  good  which  should  come  thereby,  both 
to  the  queen  and  all  this  realm  generally,  as,  when 
time  serveth,  shall  be  showed. 

EuDOX. — How  many  men  would  you  require  to 
the  furnishing  of  this  which  ye  take  in  hand  !  And 
how  long  space  would  you  have  them  entertained  ? 

Iren. — Verily, not  above  ten  thousand  footmen  and 
one  thousand  horse,  and  all  these  not  above  the 
space  of  a  year  and  a  half;  for  I  would  still,  as  the 
heat  of  the  service  abateth,  abate  the  number  in  pay, 
and  make  other  provision  for  them,  as  1  will  show. 

EtDox,— Surely  it  seemeth  not  much  which  you 
require,  nor  no  long  time  ;  but  how  would  you 
Lave  them  used  ]  Would  you  lead  forth  your  army 
against  the  enemy,  and  seek  him  where  be  is  to  fight  ? 

Iken. — No,  Eudoxus,  that  would  not  be;  for  it 
is  well  known  that  he  is  a  flying  enemy,  hiding 
bimselt  in  woods  and  bogs,  from  whence  he  will 
not  draw  forth,  but  into  some  strait  passage,  or  peril- 
ous ford,  where  be  knows  the  army  must  needs 
pass  ;  there  wmH  he  lie  in  wait,  and  if  he  find  advan- 
tage fit,  will  dangerously  hazard  the  troubled  soldier. 
Therefore,  to  seek  him  out  that  still  fiittetb,  and  fol- 
low him  that  can  hardly  be  found,  were  vain  and 
bootless.  But  I  would  divide  my  men  in  garrison 
upon  his  country,  in  such  places  as  1  should  think 
might  most  annoy  him. 

EuDOX. — But  how  can  that  be,  Ireneus,  with  so 
few  men  ?  For  the  enemy,  as  you  may  see,  is  not  all 
in  one  country,  but  some  in  Ulster,  some  in  Con- 
naught,  and  others  in  Leinster.  So  as  to  plant 
strong  garrisons  in  all  those  places  should  need 
many  more  men  than  you  speak  of,  or  to  j)lant  all  in 
one  and  to  leave  the  rest  naked,  sliould  be  but  to 
leave  them  to  the  sj)oil. 

Iren. — I  would  wish  the  chief  power  of  th^  army 
to  be  garrisoned  in  one  country  that  is  strongest, 
«nd  the  other  upon  the  rest  that  is  weakest.     As  for  | 


example  :  the  Earl  of  Tyrone  is  now  acco«inted  the 
strongest ;  upon  him  would  I  lay  eight  thousand 
men  in  garrison  ;  one  thousand  upon  Pheagh  Mach- 
Hugh  and  the  Cavanaghes,  and  one  thousand  upon 
some  parts  of  Connaught,  to  be  at  the  direction  of 
the  governor. 

EuDOx. — I  see  now  all  your  men  bestowed  ;  but 
what  places  would  vou  set  their  garrisons,  that  they 
might  rise  out  most  conveniently  to  service  ?  And 
though,  perhaj'S,  1  am  ii;norant  of  the  places,  yet  I 
will  take  the  map  of  Ireland,  and  lay  it  before  me, 
and  make  mine  eyes,  in  the  mean  time,  my  school- 
masters, to  guide  my  understanding  to  judge  of  your 
plot. 

Iren. — Those  eight  thousand  in  Ulster  I  would 
divide  likewise  into  four  parts,  so  as  there  should  be 
two  thousand  footmen  in  every  gairison,  the  which 
I  would  thus  place:  upon  the  Blackvvater,  m  some 
convenient  place,  as  high  upon  the  river  as  might 
be,  I  would  lay  one  garrison  ;  another  would  I  put 
at  Cas-tle-Liffer,  or  thereabouts,  so  as  they  should 
have  all  the  passages  upon  the  river  to  Logh-foyle ; 
the  third  I  would  place  about  Fermanagh,  or  Bun- 
droise,  so  as  they  might  lie  between  Connaught  and 
Ulster,  to  serve  upon  both  sides,  as  occasion  shall 
be  offered ;  and  this,  therefore,  would  I  have 
stronger  than  any  of  the  rest,  because  it  should  be 
most  enforced  and  most  employed,  and  that  they 
might  put  wards  at  Balls-shannon,  and  Belick,  and 
all  those  passages.  The  last  would  I  set  about 
IMonaghan  or  Balturbut,  so  that  it  should  front  both 
upon  the  enemy  that  way,  and  also  keep  the  coun- 
tries of  Cavan  and  Meath  in  awe,  from  passage  of 
stragglers  from  those  parts,  whence  they  used  to 
come  forth,  and  oftentimes  use  to  work  much  mis- 
chief. And  to  every  of  these  garrisons  of  two  thou- 
sand footmen,  I  would  have  two  hundred  horsemen 
added,  for  the  one  without  the  other  can  do  but 
little  service.  The  four  garrisons  thus  being  placed, 
I  would  have  to  be  victualled  before-hand  for  half  a 
year,  which  you  will  say  to  be  hard,  considering 
the  corruption  and  usual  waste  of  victuals.  But 
why  should  not  they  be  as  well  victualled  for  so 
long  time,  as  the  ship;  are  usually  for  a  year,  and 
sometimes  two,  seeing  it  is  easier  to  keep  victuals 
on  land  than  water  ?  Their  bread  I  would  have  in 
flour,  so  that  it  might  be  baked  still  to  serve  their 
necessary  want.  Their  beer  there  also  brewed 
within  tliem,  from  time  to  time,  and  their  beef  be- 
forehand barrelled,  the  which  may  be  used  but  as  it 
is  needed  ;  for,  I  make  no  doubt.'but  fresh  victuals 
they  will  sometimes  purvey  for  themselves  amongst 
their  enemies.  Hereunto,  likewise,  would  1  have 
them  have  a  store  of  hose  and  shoes,  with  such  other 
necessaries  as  may  be  needful  for  soldiers,  so  as 
they  should  have  no  occasion  to  look  for  relief  from 
abroad,  or  occasion  of  such  trouble  for  their  conti- 
nual supply,  as  I  see,  and  have  often  proved  in  Ire- 
land, to  be  more  cumbrous  to  the  de])uty,  and 
dangerous  to  them  that  relieve  them,  than  half  the 
leading  of  an  army ;  for  the  enemy,  knowing  the 
ordinary  ways  through  the  which  their  relief  must 
be  brought  them,  useih  commonly  to  draw  himself 
into  the  straight  passages  thitherward,  and  often- 
times doth  dangerously  distress  them.  Besides, 
the  pay  of  such  force  as  should  be  sent  for  their 
convoy,  the  charge  of  the  caniages,  the  exactions  ot 
the  country  shall  be  sjiared.  I5ut  only  every  halt 
year  the  supply,  brought  by  the  deputy  himself  and 
his   power,  who  shall    then   visit  and  OTerlook  ail 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


509 


tbose  garrisons,  to  see  what  is  needful  to  change, 
wLat  is  expedient,  and  to  direct  what  he  shall  best 
advise.  And  those  four  <;arrisons  issuing  forth,  at 
such  convenient  times  as  they  sliall  have  intelligence 
or  espial  upon  the  enemy,  will  so  drive  him  from 
one  side  to  another,  and  tennis  him  amongst  them, 
that  he  shall  find  no  where  safe  to  keep  his  creet  in, 
nor  hide  himself,  but,  flying  from  the  lire,  shall  fall 
into  the  water,  and  out  of  one  danger  into  another, 
that,  in  short  space  his  creet,  which  is  his  chief  sus- 
tenance, shall  be  wasted  with  jireying,  or  killed 
with  driving,  or  starved  for  want  of  pasture  in  the 
woods,  and  he  himself  brought  so  low,  that  he  shall 
have  no  heart  nor  abilit3'  to  endure  his  wretched- 
ness, the  which  will  surely  come  to  pass  in  very 
short  time,  for  one  winter  well  followed  upon  him 
will  so  pluck  him  on  bis  knees,  that  he  will  never 
be  able  to  stand  up  again. 

EuDOX. — Do  you  then  think  the  wimertime  fittest 
for  the  services  of  Ireland  ?  How  falls  it  then  that 
our  most  employments  be  in  summer,  and  the  armies 
then  led  commonly  forth  1 

Iren. — It  is  surely  misconceived ;  for  it  is  not 
with  Ireland  as  it  is  with  other  countries,  where  the 
wars  flame  most  in  summer,  and  the  helmets  glister 
brightest  in  the  fairest  sunshine  ;  but  in  Ireland,  the 
winter  yieldeth  best  services  ;  for  then  the  trees  are 
bare  and  naked,  which  use  both  to  clothe  and  house 
the  kern  ;  the  ground  is  cold  and  wet,  which  useth 
to  be  his  bedding ;  the  air  is  sharp  and  bitter,  to 
blow  through  his  naked  sides  and  legs  ;  the  kyne  are 
barren  and  without  milk,  which  useth  to  be  his  only 
food ;  neither  if  he  kill  them,  will  they  yield  him 
flesh,  nor  if  he  keep  them  will  they  give  him  food  : 
besides,  being  all  with  calf,  for  the  most  part,  they 
will,  through  much  chasing  and  driving,  cast  all  their 
calves,  and  lose  their  milk,  which  should  relieve 
him  the  next  summer. 

EuDox. — I  do  well  understand  your  reason;  but  by 
your  leave,  I  have  heard  it  otherwise  said  of  some  that 
were  outlaws  ;  that  in  summer  they  kept  themselves 
quiet,  but  in  winter  they  would  play  their  parts,  and 
when  the  nights  were  longest,  then  burn  and  spoil 
most,  so  that  they  might  safely  return  before  day. 

Ihen. — I  have  likewise  heard  and  also  seen  proof 
thereof  true  ;  but  that  was  of  such  outlaws  as  were 
either  abiding  in  well  inhabited  countries,  as  in 
Munster,  or  bordering  on  the  English  pale,asFeagh 
Machugh,  the  Cavanaghes,  the  Moors,  the  Demp- 
sies,  or  such  like ;  for,  for  them  the  winter  indeed 
is  the  fittest  time  for  spoiling  and  robbing,  because 
the  nights  are  then,  as  you  said,  longest  and  darkest, 
and  also  the  countries  round  about  are  then  most  full- 
est of  corn,  and  good  provision  to  be  gotten  every- 
where by  them  ;  but  it  is  far  otherwise  with  a  strong 
peopled  enemy,  that  possess  a  whole  country  ;  for 
the  other  being  but  a  tew,  and  indeed  privily'  lodged, 
and  kept  in  out-villages,  and  corners  nigh  to  the 
woods  and  mountains,  by  some  of  their  privy  friends, 
to  whom  they  bring  their  spoils  and  stealths,  and  of 
whom  they  continually  receive  secret  relief;  but  the 
open  enemy  havmg  all  his  country  wasted,  what  by 
himself,  and  what  by  the  soldiers,  findeth  them  suc- 
cour in  no  place.  Towns  there  are  none,  of  which 
he  may  get  spoil,  they  are  all  burnt  ;  bread  he  hath 
none,  he  ploughetb  not  in  summer  ;  flesh  he  hath,  but 
if  he  kill  it  in  winter,  he  shall  want  milk  in  summer, 
and  shortly  want  life  ;  therefore,  if  they  be  well  fol- 
lowed but  one  winter,  you  shall  have  little  work  with 
Uiem  the  next  summer. 


EuDOx. — I  do  now  well  perceive  the  difference, 
and  do  verily  think  that  the  winter  time  is  their 
fittest  for  service  ;  withal  1  conceive  the  manner  of 
your  handling  of  the  service,  by  drawing  sudden 
draughts  upon  the  enemy,  when  he  looKeth  not  for 
y')U,  and  to  watch  advantages  upon  him  as  he  doth 
upon  you,  by  which  straight  keeping  of  them  in,  and 
not  suflering  them  at  any  time  long  to  rest,  I  must 
needs  think  that  they  will  soon  be  brought  low, 
and  driven  to  great  extremities.  All  which  when 
you  have  performed,  and  brought  them  to  the  very 
last  cast,  suppose  that  they  will  offer  either  to  come 
to  you  and  submit  themselves,  or  that  some  of  tbein 
will  seek  to  withdraw  themselves ;  what  is  your 
advice  to  do?      Will  you  have  them  received  ? 

Iren. — No  ;  but  at  the  beginning  of  those  wars, 
and  when  the  garrisons  are  well  planted  and  fortified, 
I  would  wish  a  proclamation  were  made  generally  to 
come  to  their  knowledge,  that  what  persons  soever 
would  within  twenty  days  absolutely  submit  them- 
selves (excepting  only  the  very  principals  and  ring- 
leaders), should  find  grace.  I  doubt  not  but  upon 
the  settling  of  these  garrisons,  such  a  terror  and  near 
consideration  of  their  perilous  state,  would  be 
strucken  into  most  of  them,  that  they  will  covet  to 
draw  away  from  their  leaders.  And  again,  1  well 
know  that  the  rebels  themselves  (as  I  saw  by  proof 
in  Desmond's  wars)  will  turn  away  all  their  rascal 
people,  whom  they  think  unserviceable;  as  old  men, 
women,  children,  and  hinds  (which  they  call  churls), 
which  would  only  waste  their  victuals,  and  yield 
them  no  aid,  but,  their  cattle  they  will  surely  keep 
away.  These,  therefore,  though  policy  would  turn 
them  back  again,  that  they  might  the  rather  consume 
and  afflict  the  other  rebels  ;  yet  in  a  pitiful  commi- 
seration I  would  wish  them  to  be  received;  the 
rather,  for  that  this  sort  of  base  people  doth  not  for 
the  most  part  rebel  of  themselves,  having  no  heart 
thereunto,  but  are  by  force  drawn  by  the  grand  re- 
bels into  their  action,  and  carried  away  with  the  vio- 
lence of  the  stream,  else  they  should  be  sure  to  lose 
all  thai  they  have,  and  perhaps  their  lives  too,  the 
which  they  now  carry  unto  them,  in  hope  to  enjoy 
them  there,  but  they  are  there  by  the  strong  rebels 
themselves  soon  turned  out  of  all,  so  that  the  con- 
straint hereof  may  in  them  deserve  pardon.  Like, 
wise,  if  any  of  their  able  men  or  gentlemen  shall  then 
offer  to  come  away,  and  to  bring  their  cattle  with 
them,  as  some  no  doubt  may  steal  them  away  pri- 
vily ;  I  wish  them  also  to  be  received,  for  the  dis- 
abling of  the  enemy,  but  withal,  that  good  assurance 
may  be  taken  for  their  true  behaviour  and  absolute 
submission  ;  and  that  then  they  be  not  suffered  to 
remain  any  longer  in  those  parts,  no  nor  about  the 
garrisons,  but  sent  away  into  the  inner  parts  of  the 
realm,  and  dispersed  in  such  sort  as  they  may  not 
come  together,  nor  easily  return  if  th  y  would  ;  for 
if  they  might  be  suflered  to  remain  about  the  garri- 
sons, and  there  inhabit,  as  they  will  offer  to  till  the 
ground,  and  yield  a  great  part  of  the  profit  thereof, 
and  of  their  cattle,  to  the  coronel,  wherewith  they 
have  heretofore  tempted  many ;  they  would,  as  I 
have  by  experience  known,  be  ever  after  such  a 
gall  and  inconvenience  to  them,  as  that  theii  profit 
shall  not  recompense  their  hurt  ;  for  they  will  pri- 
vily relieve  their  friends  that  are  foith,  they  will 
send  the  enemy  secret  advertisements  of  all  their 
purposes  and  journeys,  which  they  mean  to  make 
upon  them,  they  will  not  also  stick  to  draw  the 
enemy  privily  upon   them;  yea   and   to  betray  the 


510 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


fort  itself,  by  discovery  of  all  her  defects  and  disad- 
vantages, ifanybe,to  the,  cutting  of  all  their  throats. 
.  For  avoiding  whereof  and  many  other  incon- 
veniences, I  wish  that  they  should  be  carried  far 
from  thence  into  some  other  parts,  so  that,  as  I  say, 
they  come  in  and  submit  themselves  upon  the  first 
summons;  but  afterwards  I  would  have  none  re- 
ceived, but  left  to  their  fortune  and  miserable  end  ; 
my  reason  is,  for  that  those  which  will  afterwards 
remain  without,  are  stout  and  obstinate  rebels,  such 
as  will  never  be  made  dutiful  and  obedient,  nor 
brought  to  labour  or  civil  conversation  ;  having  once 
tast"(l  that  licentious  life,  and  being  acquainted  with 
spoil  and  outrages,  will  ever  after  be  ready  for  the 
like  occasions,  so  as  there  is  no  hope  of  their  amend- 
ment or  recovery,  and  therefore  needful  to  be  cut 
oft". 

EuDOX. — Surely  of  such  desperate  persons  as  will 
follow  the  course  of  their  own  tollv.  there  is  no  com- 
passion to  be  had  ;  and  for  others  you  have  pro- 
posed a  merciful  means,  much  more  than  they  have 
deserved  ;  but  what  then  shall  be  tlie  conclusion  of 
this  war,  for  you  have  prefixed  a  short  time  of  its 
continuance? 

Iren. — The  end  will,  I  assure  me,  be  very  short 
and  much  sooner  than  can  be  in  so  great  a  trouble 
as  it  seeraeth  hoped  for,  although  there  should  none 
of  tliem  fall  by  the  sword,  nor  be  slain  by  the  sol- 
dier, yet  thus  being  kept  from  manurance,  and  their 
cattle  from  running  abroad,  by  this  hard  restraint, 
they  would  quickly  consume  themselves,  and  devour 
one  another.  The  proof  whereof  I  saw  sufficiently 
exampled  in  these  late  wars  of  Munster  ;  for,  not- 
withstanding that  the  same  was  a  most  rich  and 
plentiful  country,  full  of  corn  and  cattle,  that  you 
would  have  thought  they  should  have  been  able  to 
stand  long,  yet  ere  one  year  and  a  half  they  were 
brought  to  such  wretchedness,  as  that  any  stony 
heart  would  have  rued  the  same.  Out  of  every  cor- 
ner of  the  woods  and  glens  they  came  creeping 
forth  upon  their  hands,  for  their  legs  could  not  bear 
them  ;  they  looked  like  anatomies  of  death,  they 
spake  like  ghosts  crying  out  of  their  graves,  they  did 
eat  the  dead  carrions,  happy  where  they  could  find 
them,  yea,  and  one  another  soon  after,  insomuch  as 
the  very  carcasses  they  spared  not  to  scrape  out  of 
their  graves ;  and  if  they  found  a  plot  of  water- 
cresses  or  shamrocks,  there  they  flocked  as  to  a  feast 
for  the  time,  yet  not  able  long  to  continue  there 
withal  ;  that,  in  short  space,  there  were  none  almost 
left,  and  a  most  j)opulous  and  plentiful  country  sud- 
denly left  void  of  man  and  beast :  yet  sure  in  all 
that  war,  there  perished  not  many  by  the  sword,  but 
all  by  the  extremity  of  famine,  which  they  them- 
selves had  wrought. 

EuDox. — It  is  a  wonder  that  you  tell,  and  more  to 
be  wondered  how  it  should  so  shortly  come  to  pass. 

litEN. — It  is  most  true,  and  the  reason  also  very 
ready,  for  you  must  conceive  that  the  strength  of  all 
that  nation  is  the  kern,  galloglasse,  stncah,  horse- 
man and  horseboy  ;  the  which  having  been  never 
used  to  have  anything  of  their  own,  and  now  being 
upon  spoil  of  others,  make  no  spare  of  anything, 
but  havoc  and  confusion  of  all  they  meet  with,  whe- 
ther it  be  their  own  friends'  goods,  or  their  foes. 
Aii'i  if  they  happen  to  get  never  so  great  spoil  at 
any  time,  the  same  they  waste  and  consume  in  a 
trice,  as  naturally  delighting  in  spoil,  though  it  do 
themselves  no  good.  On  the  other  side,  whatsoever 
iLey  leave  unspent,   the  soldier,  wheu  he  cometh 


there,  spoileth  and  havocketh  likewise  ;  so  that  be« 
tween  both,  nothing  is  very  shortly  left.  And  yet 
this  is  very  necessary  to  be  done  for  the  soon 
finishing  of  the  war  ;  and  not  only  this  in  this  wise, 
but  also  those  subjects  which  do  border  upon  those 
parts,  are  either  to  be  removed  and  drawn  away,  or 
likewise  to  be  spoiled,  that  the  enemy  may  find  no 
succour  thereby  :  for  what  the  soldier  spares,  the 
rebel  will  surely  spoil. 

EuDox. — I  do  now  well  understand  you.  But 
now  when  all  things  are  brought  to  this  pass,  and 
all  filled  with  these  rueful  spectacles  of  so  many 
wretched  carcasses  starving,  goodly  countries  wasted, 
so  huge  desolation  and  confusion,  that  even  I  that 
do  but  hear  it  from  you,  and  do  picture  it  in  my 
mind,  do  greatly  pity  and  commiserate  it  ;  if  it  shall 
fiappen,  that  the  state  of  this  misery  and  lamentable 
image  of  things  shall  be  told,  and  feelingly  presented 
to  her  sacred  majestv,  being  by  nature  full  of  mercy 
and  clemency,  who  is  most  inclinable  to  such  ])itiful 
complaints,  and  will  not  endure  to  hear  such  trage- 
dies made  of  her  poor  people  and  subjects,  as  some 
about  her  may  insinuate  :  then  she,  perhaps,  for  very 
compassion  of  such  calamities,  will  not  only  stop 
the  stream  of  such  violences,  and  return  to  her 
wonted  mildness,  but  also  conn  them  little  thanks 
which  have  been  the  authors  and  counsellors  of  such 
bloody  platforms.  So  I  remember  that  in  the  late 
government  of  that  good  Lord  Grey,  when  after 
long  travail,  and  many  perilous  assays,  he  had 
brought  things  almost  to  this  pass  that  you  speak 
of,  that  it  was  even  made  ready  for  reformation,  and 
might  have  been  brought  to  what  her  majesty 
would  ;  like  complaint  was  made  against  him,  that 
he  was  a  bloody  man,  and  regarded  not  the  life  of 
her  subjects  no  more  than  dogs,  but  had  wasted  and 
consumed  all,  so  as  now  she  had  nothing  almost 
left  but  to  reign  in  their  ashes.  Ear  was  soon  lent 
thereunto,  and  all  suddenly  turned  topsy-turvy,  the 
noble  lord  eftsoons  was  blamed,  the  wretched  people 
pitied,  and  new  counsels  plotted,  in  which  it  was 
concluded,  that  a  general  pardon  should  be  sent 
over  to  all  that  would  accept  of  it.  Upon  which 
all  former  purposes  were  blanked,  the  governor  at  a 
bay,  and  not  only  all  that  great  and  long  charge 
which  she  had  before  been  at,  quite  lost  and  can- 
celled,-but  also  all  that  hope  of  good  which  was 
even  at  the  door,  put  back,  and  clean  frustrated. 
All  which  whether  it  be  true  or  no,  yourself  can 
well  tell. 

Iren  — Too  true,  Eudoxus,  the  more  the  pitv, 
for  I  may  not  forget  so  memorable  a  thing  ;  neither 
can  I  be  ignorant  of  that  perilous  device,  and  of  the 
whole  means  by  which  it  was  compassed,  and  very 
cunningly  contrived,  by  sowing  first  dissension  be- 
tween him  and  another  noble  personage  ;  wherein 
they  both  at  length  found  how  notably  they  had 
been  abused,  and  how  thereby  underhand  this  uni- 
versal alteration  of  things  was  brought  about,  but 
then  too  late  to  stay  the  same  :  for  in  the  meantime 
all  that  was  formerly  done,  with  long  labour  and 
great  toil,  was  (as  you  say)  in  a  moment  undone, 
and  that  good  lord  blotted  with  the  name  of  a  bloody 
man,  whom,  who  that  well  knew,  knew  to  be  most 
gentle,  aft'able,  loving,  and  temperate  ;  but  that  the 
necessity  of  that  present  state  of  things  enforced 
him  to  that  violence,  and  almost  changed  his  natural 
dis])Osition.  ISut  otherwise  he  was  so  far  from  ile- 
ligliting  in  blood,  that  oftentimes  he  sutVered  not 
just  vengeance  to  fall  where  it  was  deserved  :  and 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


511 


even  some  of  them  which  were  afterwards  his  ac- 
cusers, had  tusted  too  much  of  l)is  mercy,  and  were 
from  the  gallows  brought  to  be  his  accusers.  But 
his  course  indeed  was  this,  that  lie  spared  not  the 
heads  and  j;riucipals  of  any  mischievous  practices 
or  rebellion,  but  showed  sharp  judgment  on  them, 
chiefly  for  ensample  sake,  that  all  the  meaner  sort, 
which  also  were  generally  then  infected  with  that 
evil,  might,  by  terror  thereof,  be  reclaimed,  and 
saved,  if  it  were  possible.  For  in  the  last  conspi- 
racy of  some  of  the  English  pale,  think  you  not 
that  there  were  many  more  guilty  than  they  that 
felt  the  punishment  t  yet  he  touched  only  a  few  of 
special  note  ;  and  in  the  trial  of  them  also,  even  to 
prevent  the  blame  of  cruelty,  and  partial  proceed- 
ing, and  seeking  their  blood,  which  he,  as  in  his 
great  wisdom  (as  it  seemeth)  did  foresee  would  be 
objected  against  him  ;  he,  for  the  avoiding  thereof, 
did  use  a  singular  discretion  and  regard  :  for  the 
jury  that  went  upon  their  trial,  he  made  to  be  chosen 
out  of  their  nearest  kinsmen,  and  their  judges  he 
made  of  some  of  their  own  fathers  ;  of  others,  their 
uncles  and  dearest  friends:  who  when  they  could 
not  but  jusily  condemn  them,  yet  he  uttered  their 
judgment  in  abundance  of  tears  :  and  yet  he  even 
herein  was  called  bloody  and  cruel. 

Ei'Dox. — Indeed  so  have  I  heard  it  here  often 
spoken,  but  I  perceive  (as  I  always  verily  thought) 
that  it  was  most  unjustly  ;  for  he  was  always 
known  to  be  a  most  just,  sincere,  godly,  and  right 
noble  man,  far  from  such  sternness,  far  from  such 
unrighteousness.  But  in  that  sharp  execution  of 
the  Spaniards  at  the  fort  of  Smerwick,  I  heard  it 
specially  noted,  and  if  it  were  true  as  some  reported, 
surely  it  was  a  great  touch  to  him  in  honour  :  for 
some  say  that  he  promised  them  life ;  others,  at 
least  he  did  put  them  in  hope  thereof. 

Iren. — Both  the  one  and  the  other  is  most  untrue  : 
for  this  I  can  assure  you,  myself  being  as  near  them 
as  any,  that  he  was  so  far  either  from  promising,  or 
putting  them  in  hope,  that  when  first  their  Secre- 
tary (called,  as  I  remember,  Signior  Jeftrey),  an 
Italian,  being  sent  to  treat  with  the  Lord  Deputy 
for  grace,  was  flatly  refused  ;  and  afterwards  their 
colonel,  named  Don  Sebastian,  came  forth  to  entreat 
that  they  might  part  with  their  arms  like  soldiers, 
at  least  with  their  lives  according  to  the  custom  of 
war,  and  law  of  nations  ;  it  was  strongly  denied 
him,  and  told  him  by  the  lord  deputy  himself,  that 
they  could  not  justly  plead  either  custom  of  war,  or 
law  of  nations,  for  that  they  were  not  any  lawful 
enemies  :  and  if  they  were,  he  willed  them  to  show 
by  what  commission  they  came  thither  into  another 
prince's  dominions  to  war,  whether  from  the  pope, 
or  the  king  of  Spain,  or  any  other.  The  which  when 
they  said  they  had  not,  but  were  only  adventurers, 
that  came  to  seek  fortune  abroad,  and  to  serve  in 
wars  amongst  the  Irish,  who  desired  to  entertain 
them ;  it  was  then  told  them,  that  the  Irish  them- 
selves, as  the  Earl  and  John  of  Desmond,  with  the 
rest,  were  no  lawful  enemies,  but  rebels  and  trai- 
tors ;  and  therefore  they  that  came  to  succour  them, 
no  better  than  rogues  and  runagates,  especially 
coming  with  no  licence  nor  commission  from  their 
own  king  :  so  as  it  should  be  dishonourable  for  him, 
in  the  name  of  his  queen,  to  condition,  or  make  any 
terms  with  such  rascals ;  but  left  them  to  their 
choice,  to  yield  and  submit  themselves,  or  no. 
Wliereupon  the  said  colonel  did  absolutely  yield 
himself  and  the  fort,  with  all  therein,  and  craved  only 


mercy  :  which  it  being  not  thought  good  to  show 
them  for  danger  of  them,  if,  being  saved,  they  should 
afterward  join  with  the  Irish  ;  and  also  for  terror 
to  the  Irish,  who  are  much  emboldened  by  those 
foreign  succours,  and  also  put  in  hojie  of  more  ere 
long  ;  there  was  no  other  way  but  to  make  that 
short  end  of  them  as  was  made.  Therefore  most 
untruly  and  maliciously  do  these  evil  tongues  back- 
bite and  slander  the  sacred  ashes  of  that  most  just 
and  honourable  personage,  whose  least  virtue,  of 
many  most  excellent  that  abounded  in  his  heroic 
spirit,  they  were  never  able  to  aspire  unto. 

EuDox.— Truly,  Ireneus,!  am  right  glad  to  be 
thus  satisfied  by  you,  in  that  I  have  often  heard  it 
questioned,  and  yet  was  never  able  till  now  to  choke 
the  mouth  of  sucli  detractors,  with  tljf  certain  know- 
ledge of  their  slanderous  untruths.  Neither  is  the 
knowledge  hereof  impertinent  to  that  which  we 
formerly  had  in  hand  :  I  mean,  for  the  thorough 
prosecuting  of  that  sharp  course  which  you  jiave  set 
down,  for  the  bringing  under  of  those  rebels  of 
Ulster  and^Connaught,  and  preparing  a  wav  for  their 
perpetual  reformation  ;  lest  haply  by  auv  such  sinis- 
ter suggestions  of  cruelty  and  too  much  bloodshed, 
all  the  plot  might  be  overthrown,  and  all  the  cost 
and  labour  therein  employed,  be  uiieily  lost  and 
cast  away. 

Iren. — You  say  most  true  ;  fur  after  that  lord's 
calling  away  from  thence,  the  two  lords  justices 
continued  but  a  while:  of  which,  the  one  was  of 
min  1  (as  it  seemed)  to  have  continued  in  the  footing- 
of  his  predecessors,  but  that  he  was  curbed  and 
restrained.  But  the  other  was  more  mildly  disposed, 
as  was  meet  for  his  profession,  and  willing  to  have 
all  the  wounds  of  that  commonwealth  healed  and 
re-cured,  but  not  with  that  heed  as  they  should  be. 
After,  when  Sir  John  Perrot  succeedng  (as  it  were) 
into  anotlier  man's  harvest,  found  an  open  way  to 
what  course  he  list,  the  which  he  bent  not  to  that 
point  which  the  former  governors  intended,  but 
rather  quite  contrary,  as  it  were  in  scorn  of  the 
former,  and  in  vain  vaunt  of  his  own  counsels,  with 
the  which  he  was  too  wilfully  carried  :  for  he  did 
tread  down  and  disgrace  all  the  English,  and  set  up 
and  countenance  the  Irish  all  that  he  could ; 
whether  thinking  thereby  to  make  them  more  tract- 
able and  buxom  to  his  government  (wherein  he 
thought  much  amiss),  or  privily  plotting  some  other 
purposes  of  his  own,  as  it  partly  afterwards  appeared. 
But  surely  his  manner  of  government  could  not  be 
sound  nor  wholesome  for  that  realm,  it  being  so 
contrary  to  the  former  ;  for  it  was  even  as  two  physi- 
cians should  take  one  sick  body  in  hand,  at  two 
sundry  times;  of  which,  the  former  would  minister 
all  things  meet  to  purge  and  keep  under  the  body, 
the  other  to  pamper  and  strengthen  it  suddenly 
again  ,  whereof  what  is  to  be  looked  for  but  a  most 
dangerous  relapse  1  Ihat  which  we  now  see  through 
his  rule,  and  the  next  after  him,  happened  thereunto, 
being  now  more  dangerously  sick  than  ever  before. 
Therefore  by  all  means  it  must  be  foreseen  and 
assured,  that  after  once  entering  into  this  of  reforma- 
tion, there  be  afterwards  no  remorse  nor  drawing 
back  for  the  sight  of  any  such  ruet'ul  objects  as 
must  thereupon  follow,  nor  for  compassion  of  their 
calamities  ;  seeing  that  by  no  other  nu  L:ns  it  is  pos- 
sible to  cure  them,  and  that  these  are  not  of  will, 
but  of  very  urgent  necessity. 

EuDo.x. — Thus  far  then  j-ou  have  now  proceeded 
to  plant  your  garrisons,  and  to  direct  services  ;  of  cba 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


which  nevertheless  I  must  needs  conceive,  that  there 
cannot  be  any  certain  direction  set  dovrn,  so  that 
thev  must  fllow  the  occasions  which  shall  he  daily 
offered,  and  diligently  awaited.  Hut  bv  vour  leave, 
Ireneus,  notwithstandins:;  all  tliis  your  careful  fore- 
sight and  provision,  methiiiks  I  see  an  evil  lurk  un- 
esj)ied  ;  and  that  may  chance  to  hazard  all  the  hope 
of  this  great  service,  if  it  be  not  very  well  looked 
into  ;  and  that  is,  the  corruptions  of  their  captain  : 
for  though  thev  he  placed  never  so  carefully,  and 
their  companies  filled  never  so  sutficientlv,  yet  may 
they,  if  tliev  list,  discard  whom  they  please,  and 
send  away  such  as  will  perhaps  willingly  be  rid  of 
that  dangt-rous  and  hard  service;  the  which,  well  I 
wot,  is  their  common  custom  to  do,  when  thev  are 
laid  in  garrison,  for  then  they  may  better  hide  their 
defaults,  than  when  they  are  in  camp,  where  they 
are  continually  eyed  and  noted  of  all  men.  Besides, 
when  their  pay  comefh,  they  will,  as  they  say,  de- 
tain the  greatest  portions  thereof  at  their  pleasure, 
by  a  hundred  shifts  that  need  not  here  be  named, 
through  which  they  oftentimes  deceive  the  soldier, 
and  abuse  the  queen,  and  greatly  hinder  the  service. 
So  that  let  the  queen  pay  never  so  fully,  let  the  mus- 
ter-master view  them  never  so  diligently,  let  the  de- 
puty or  general  look  to  them  never  so  exactly  ;  yet 
thsy  can  cozen  them  all.  'Iherefore,  methinks,  it 
were  good,  if  it  be  possible,  to  make  provision  for 
Jiis  inconvenience. 

IiiEN.— It  will  surely  he  very  hard;  but  the 
chiefest  help,  for  prevention  hereof,  must  be  the 
care  of  the  colonel  that  hath  the  government  of  all 
bis  garrison,  to  have  an  eye  to  their  alterations,  to 
know  the  numbers  and  names  of  the  sick  soldiers 
and  the  slain,  to  make  and  observe  their  ranks  in  their 
daily  rising  forth  to  service,  by  which  he  cannot 
easily  be  abused  ;  so  that  he  himself  be  a  man  of 
special  assurance  and  integrity.  And  therefore  great 
regard  is  to  be  had  in  the  choosing  and  appointing 
of  them.  Besides,  I  would  not  by  any  means,  that 
the  captain  should  have  the  paying  of  their  soldiers, 
but  that  there  should  be  a  pay-master  ajipointed,  of 
special  trust,  which  should  pay  every  man  accord- 
ing to  his  captain's  ticket,  and  the  account  of  the  clerk 
of  his  band  ;  for  by  this  means  the  captain  will  never 
seek  to  falsify  his  alterations,  nor  to  diminish  his 
company,  nor  to  deceive  his  soldiers,  when  nothing 
thereof  shall  be  sure  to  come  unto  himself,  but  what 
is  his  own  bare  pay.  And  this  is  the  manner  of  the 
Spaniards'  captain,  who  never  hath  to  meddle  with 
his  soldiers'  pay,  and  indeed  scorneth  the  name  as 
base,  to  be  counted  his  soldier's  pagadore.  Whereas 
the  contraiy  amongst  us  hath  brouyht  things  to  so  had 
a  pass,  that  there  is  no  captain  but  thinks  his  band 
very  sutficiint,  if  he  can  muster  sixty,  and  sticks  not 
to  say  openly,  that  he  is  unworthy  to  have  a  cap- 
tainship, that  cannot  make  it  worth  500/.  by  the 
year,  the  which  they  ri^ht  well  verify  by  the  jiroof. 

Eunox. — Truly  I  think  this  is  a  very  good  means 
to  avoid  that  inconvenience  of  captains'  abuses.  But 
what  say  you  to  the  colonel  ?  What  authority 
think  vou  meet  to  be  given  him  ?  Whether  will 
you  allow  him  to  protect,  or  safe  conduct,  and  to 
Lave  martial  laws  as  they  are  accustomed? 

lnEN. —  Yea  verily,  but  all  these  to  be  limited  with 
very  strait  instructions.  As  first,  for  protections; 
tliat  tliey  shall  have  authority,  after  the  first  protec- 
uon,  for  the  space  of  twenty  days,  to  protect  all 
that  shall  come  in,  and  them  to  send  to  the  lord  de- 
puty, with  their  safe-conduct  or  pass,  to  be  at  his 


disposition  ;  but  so  as  none  of  tbem  return  oack 
agani.  being  once  come  in,  but  be  ptesfntlj  dent 
away  out  of  the  country,  to  the  next  sheriff  and  ao 
conveyed  in  safety.  And  likewise  for  martial  idvr, 
that  to  the  soldier  it  be  not  extended  hut  liy  trial 
formally  of  his  crinae,  by  a  jury  of  his  fellow-soldiers 
as  it  ought  to  be,  and  not  mshly,  at  the  will  and 
displeasure  of  the  colonel,  as  I  have  sometimes  seet. 
too  lightly.  And  as  for  other  of  the  rebels  that 
shall  'light  into  their  hands,  that  they  be  well  aware 
of  what  condition  they  be,  and  what  holding  they 
have.  For  in  the  last  general  wars  there,  1  knew 
many  good  freeholders  executed  by  martial  law, 
whose  lands  were  thereby  saved  to  their  heirs, 
which  should  have  otherwise  escheated  to  her 
majesty.  In  all  which,  the  great  discretion  and 
uprighteousness  of  the  colonel  himself  is  to  be  the 
chief  stay,  both  for  all  those  doubts,  and  for  manj 
their  difficulties  that  may  in  the  service  happen. 

EuDOx. — Your  caution  is  very  good.  Ijut  now, 
touching  the  arch  rebel  himself,  I  mean  the  Earf 
of  Tyrone,  if  he,  in  all  the  time  of  these  wars^ 
should  offer  to  come  in,  and  submit  himself  to  her 
Majesty,  would  you  not  have  him  received,  giving 
good  hostages,  and  sufficient  assurance  of  himself? 

I  REN. — No,  marry  ;  for  there  is  no  doubt  but  he 
will  offer  to  come  in,  as  he  hath  done  divers  times 
already  ;  but  it  is  without  any  intent  of  true  sub- 
mission, as  the  effect  hath  well  showed  ;  neither, 
indeed,  can  he  novr,  if  he  would,  come  in  at  all,  nor 
give  that  assurance  of  himself  that  should  be  meet; 
for  being,  as  he  is,  very  subtle-headed,  seeing  him- 
self now  so  far  engaged  in  this  bad  action,  can  you 
think  that,  by  his  submission,  he  can  purchase  tc 
himself  any  safety,  but  that  hereafter,  when  things 
shall  be  quieted,  these,  his  villanies,  will  be  ever 
remembered  ;  and  whensoever  he  shall  tread  awry, 
(as  needs  the  most  righteous  must  sometimes)  ad- 
vantage will  be  taken  thereof,  as  a  breach  of  his  par- 
don, and  he  brought  to  a  reckoning  for  all  former 
matters.  Besides,  how  hard  it  is  now  for  him  to 
frame  himself  to  subjection,  that  having  once  set  be- 
fore his  eyes  the  hojie  of  a  kingdom,  hath  thereunto 
not  only  found  encouragement  from  the  greatest  king 
in  Christendom,  but  also  found  great  faintness  in 
her  Majesty's  withstanding  hiin  ;  whereby  he  is  ani- 
mated to  think  that  his  power  is  able  to  defend  him, 
and  offend  further  than  he  hath  done,  whensoever 
he  please  ;  let  every  reasonable  man  judge.  But  if  he 
himself  should  come,  and  leave  all  other  his  accom- 
plices without,  as  O'Donnel,  Mac-Mahone,  Rlaguire, 
and  the  rest,  he  must  needs  think,  that  then,  even 
they  will,  ere  long,  cut  his  throat,  which  having 
drawn  them  all  into  this  occasion,  now,  in  the  midst 
of  their  trouble,  giveth  them  the  slip  ;  whe.reby,  he 
must  needs  perceive,  how  impossible  it  is  for  hiintc 
submit  himself.  But  yet,  if  he  would  do  so,  can  he 
give  any  good  assurance  of  his  obedience  ?  For  hov\ 
weak  hold  is  there  by  hostages,  hath  too  often  been 
proved,  and  that  which  is  spoken  of  taking  Slian 
O'Neil's  sons  from  him,  and  setting  them  up  againsl 
him,  as  a  very  perilous  counsel,  and  not  by  any 
means  to  he  put  in  proof;  for  were  they  let  forth., 
and  could  overthrow  him,  who  should  afterwards 
overthrow  them,  or  what  assurance  can  be  had  of 
them  ?  It  will  be  like  the  tale  in  .<5isop,  of  the  wild 
horse,  who,  having  enmity  with  the  stag,  came  to  a 
man  to  desire  his  aid  against  his  foe,  who  yielding 
thereunto,  mounted  upon  his  back,  and  so  following 
the  stag,  ere  long  slew  him.     But  thtn,  wheu  Uie 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


513 


horse  would  have  Inm  alio;ht,  be  refused,  but  ever 
after  ke^itbim  in  his  subjection  and  service.  Such, 
T  doubt,  would  be  the  proof  of  Shan  O'Neal's  sons. 
Therefore,  it  is  most  dangerous  to  attempt  any  such 
plot ;  for  even  that  very  manner  of  plot  was  the 
means  bv  wliich  this  traitorous  earl  is  now  made 
great.  For  when  the  last  O'Neal,  called  Terlagb 
Leinagh,  began  to  stand  upon  some  tickle  terms, 
this  fellow  then,  called  Baron  of  JJunijannon,  was 
set  up,  as  it  were,  to  beard  him,  and  countenanced 
and  strengthened  bv  the  queen  so  far,  as  that  he  is 
now  able  to  keep  herself  ])lay,  much  like  unto  a 
gamester,  that  having  lost  all,  borrow  elh  of  his  next 
fellow-gamester  somewhat  to  maintain  play,  which 
he  setting  unto  him  again,  shortly  thereby  winneth 
all  from  the  winner. 

EuDOX. — Was  this  rebel,  then,  at  first  setup  by 
the  queen,  as  you  say,  and  now  become  so  undu- 
tiful? 

Ires. — He  was,  I  assure  you  ,  the  most  outcast  of 
all  the  O'Neals  then,  and  lifted  up  by  ber  majesty 
out  of  the  dust,  to  that  he  hath  now  wrought  him- 
self unto  ;  and  now  he  playetli  like  the  frozen  snake, 
who  being  for  compassion  relieved  by  the  husband- 
man, soon  after  be  was  warm,  began  to  hiss,  and 
threaten  danger  even  to  him  and  his. 

EuDox. — He  surely  then  deserveth  the  punish- 
ment of  that  snake,  and  should  worthily  be  hewed 
to  pieces.  But  if  you  like  not  the  letting  forth  of 
Shan  O'Neal's  sons  against  him,  what  say  you  then 
of  that  advice  which,  I  heard,  was  given  bv  some, 
to  draw  in  Scots  to  serve  against  hira  ?  How  like  you 
that  advice? 

Ires. — Much  worse  than  the  former;  for  who 
that  is  experienced  in  those  jsarts  knoweth  not,  that 
the  O'Neals  are  nearly  allied  unto  the  IM'Neils  of 
Scotland,  and  to  the  Earls  of  Argyle,  from  whence 
they  used  to  have  all  succours  of  those  Scots  and 
redshanks  ?  Besides,  all  these  Scots  are,  through 
long  continuance,  intermingled  and  allied  to  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  north  ;  so  as  there  is  no  hope  that 
they  will  ever  be  wrought  to  serve  faithfully  against 
their  old  friends  and  kinsmen  :  and  though  they 
would,  how,  when  they  have  overthrown  him,  and 
the  wars  are  finished,  shall  they  themselves  be  put 
>^ut?  Do  we  not  all  know,  that  the  Scots  were  the 
first  inhabitants  of  all  the  north,  and  that  those 
which  now  are  called  the  North  Irish,  are,  indeed, 
verj  Scots,  which  challenge  the  ancient  inheritance 
and  dominion  of  that  country,  to  be  their  own  an- 
ciently :  This  then  were  but  to  leap  out  of  the  pan 
into  the  fire :  for  the  chiefest  caveat  and  provision 
in  reformation  of  the  north,  must  be  to  .keep  out 
those  Scots. 

EuDOx. — Indeed  I  remember,  that  in  j-our  dis- 
course of  the  first  peopling  of  Ireland,  you  showed, 
that  the  Scythians  or  Scois  were  the  first  that  sat 
down  in  the  north  ;  whereby  it  seems,  that  they  ma)- 
challenge  some  right  therein.  How  comes  it  then, 
that  the  O'Neals  claim  the  dominion  thereof,  and  this 
Earl  of  Tyrone  saith,  that  the  right  is  in  him?  I 
pray  you  resolve  me  herein  ;  for  it  is  very  needful 
to  be  known,  and  maketh  unto  the  right  of  the  war 
against  him  ;  whose  success  useth  commonly  to  be 
accoiding  to  the  justness  of  the  cause  for  which  it  is 
made.  For  if  I'yrone  hare  any  right  in  that  sei- 
gniory, methinks  it  should  be  wrong  to  thrust  him 
out :  or,  if.  as  I  remember  j-ou  said  in  the  begin- 
ning, that  O'Neal,  when  he  acknowledged  the  King 
of  England  for  his  liege  lord  and  sovereign,  did,  as 


he  alleged,  reserve  in  the  same  submission  his 
seigniories  and  rights  unto  himself,  what  should  it 
be  accounted  to  thrust  him  out  of  ihe  same  ■* 

Ihen. —  For  the  right  of  O'Neal  in  the  seigniory 
of  the  north,  it  is  surelv  none  at  all  :  for  besides 
that  the  Kings  of  England  conquered  all  the  renlm 
and  thereby  assumed  and  invested  all  the  li^'ht  of 
that  land  to  themselves  and  their  heirs  and  succes- 
sors for  ever,  so  as  iioihing  was  left  in  O'Neal  bit 
what  he  received  back  from  them;  O'Neal  himse? 
never  had  diiy  ancient  seigniory  over  that  country, 
but  what  bv  usurpation  and  encroachment  after  the 
death  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  he  got  upon  the 
English,  whose  land<  and  possessions  being  for- 
merly wasted  by  the  Scots,  under  the  leading  of 
Edward  le  Bruce,  as  I  formerly  declared  unto  you, 
he  eftsoons  entered  into,  and  sithence  hath  wrong- 
fully detained,  through  the  other  occupations  and 
great  affairs  which  the  King  of  England,  soon  after, 
fell  into  here  at  home  ;  so  as  they  could  not  intend 
to  the  recovery  of  that  country  of  the  north,  nor 
restrain  the  insolency  of  O'Neal,  who  finding  none 
now  to  withstand  him,  reigned  in  that  desolation, 
and  made  himself  lord  of  those  few  people  that  re- 
mained there,  upon  whom  ever  sithence  he  hath 
continued  his  first  usurped  power,  and  now  exacteth 
and  extorteth  ujjon  all  men  what  he  list ;  so  that 
now  to  subdue  or  expel  an  usurper,  should  be  no 
unjust  enterprise  or  wrongful  war,  but  a  restitution 
of  ancient  right  unto  the  crown  of  England,  from 
whence  they  were  most  unjustly  expelled  and  long 
kept  out. 

EiTDOx. — I  am  very  glad  herein  to  be  thus  satisfied 
by  you,  that  I  may  the  better  satisfy  theui  whom  I 
have  often  heard  to  object  these  doubts,  and  slan- 
derously to  bark  at  the  courses  which  are  held 
against  that  traitorous  earl  and  his  adherents.  But 
now  that  you  have  thus  settled  your  service  for 
Ulster  and  Connaught,  I  would  be  glad  to  hear  your 
opinion  for  the  prosecuting  of  Feagh  M'Hugh  ; 
who  being  but  a  base  villain,  and  of  himself  of  no 
power,  yet  so  continually  troubleth  the  state,  not- 
withstanding that  he  lieth  under  their  nose,  that  I 
disdain  his  bold  arrogancy,  and  think  it  to  be  the 
greatest  indignity  to  the  queen  that  may  be,  to  suffer 
such  a  caitifi  to  play  such  rex ;  and  by  his  ensam- 
ple,  not  only  to  give  heart  and  encouragement  to  all 
such  bad  rebels,  but  also  to  yield  them  succour  and 
refuge  against  her  majesty,  whensoever  they  fly  unto 
his  comerick.  Whereof  I  would  first  wish,  before 
you  enter  into  your  plot  of  service  against  him,  that 
you  should  lay  open  by  what  means,  he  being  so 
base,  first  lifted  himself  up  to  this  dangerous  great- 
ness, and  how  he  maintaineth  his  part  against  the 
queen  and  her  power,  notwithstanding  all  that  hath 
been  done  and  attempted  against  him  :  and  whether 
also  he  have  any  pretence  of  right  in  the  lands 
which  he  holdeth,  or  in  the  wars  that  he  maketh  for 
the  same. 

IiiEN. — I  will  so,  at  your  pleasure  ;  and  will 
further  declare,  not  only  the  first  beginning  of  his 
private  house,  but  also  the  original  of  the  sept  of 
the  Birns  and  Tools,  so  far  as  I  have  learned  the 
same  from  some  of  themselves,  and  gathered  the 
rest  by  reading.  The  people  of  the  Birns  and 
Tools  (as  before  I  showed  unto  you  my  conjecture) 
descended  from  the  ancient  Britons,  which  first 
inhabited  all  those  eastern  parts  of  Ireland,  as  their 
names  do  betoken ;  for  brin  in  the  British  lan» 
guage    signifieth  woody,   and   tool  hilly  j    which 


5'4 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


names  it  seemeth  they  took  of  tlie  countries  which 
thev  inhabited,  which  is  all  very  mountainous  and 
woodv.  In  the  which  it  seemeth  that  ever  since 
the  coming  in  of  the  English  with  Dermot  ni-Uall, 
they  have  continued.  Whether  that  their  country 
being  so  rude  and  mountainous  was  of  them  de- 
spised, and  thought  unworthy  the  inhabiting,  or 
that  they  were  received  to  grace  by  them,  and 
suffered  to  enjoy  their  lands,  as  unfit  for  any  other; 
ret  it  seemeth  that  in  some  places  of  the  same  they 
liave  put  foot,  and  fortified  with  sundry  castles,  of 
which  the  ruins  only  do  there  now  remain  :  since 
which  time  they  are  grown  to  that  strength,  that 
they  are  able  to  lift  up  hand  against  all  that  state  ; 
and  now  lately  through  the  boldness  and  late  good 
success  of  this  Feagh  Mac-Hugh,  they  are  so  far 
emboldened,  that  they  threaten  peril  even  to  Dublin, 
over  whose  neck  they  continually  hang.  But 
touching  your  demand  of  this  Feagh 's  right  unto 
that  country  which  he  claims,  or  the  seigniory 
therein,  it  is  most  vain  and  arrogant.  For  this  you 
cannot  be  ignorant,  that  it  was  part  of  that  which 
was  given  in  inheritance  by  Dermot  I\Iac-Morrough, 
King  of  Leinster,  unto  Strongbow  with  his  daughter, 
and  which  Strongbow  gave  over  unto  the  king  and 
his  heirs ;  so  as  the  right  is  absolutely  now  in  her 
majesty,  anJ  if  it  were  not,  yet  could  it  not  be  in 
this  Feagh,  but  in  O'Brin,  which  is  the  ancient 
lord  of  all  that  country  ;  for  he  and  his  ancestors 
were  but  followers  unto  O'Brin,  and  his  grand- 
father Shane  Mac-Terlagh  was  a  man  of  meanest 
regard  amongst  them,  neither  having  wealth  nor 
power.  But  his  so-.i  Hugh  Mac-Shane,  the  father 
of  this  Feagh,  first  began  to  lift  up  his  head,  and 
through  the  streugih  and  great  fastness  of  Glan- 
-Malor,  which  adjoineth  unto  his  house  of  Ballinecor, 
drew  unto  him  many  thieves  and  outlaws,  which 
fled  unto  the  succour  of  that  Glynn,  as  to  a  sanc- 
tuary, and  brought  unto  him  part  of  the  spoil  of  all 
the  country  ;  through  which  lie  grew  strong,  and 
in  short  space  got  unto  Himself  a  great  name, 
thereby,  amongst  the  Irish  ;  in  whose  footing  this 
his  son  continuing,  hath  through  many  unhappy 
occasions  increased  his  said  name,  and  the  opinion 
of  his  greatness,  insomuch,  that  now  he  is  become 
a  dangerous  enemy  to  deal  withal. 

EuDOX. — Surely  I  can  commend  him,  that  being 
of  himself  of  so  mean  condition,  hath  through  his 
own  hardiness  lifted  himself  up  to  that  height,  that 
he  dare  now  front  prince-s,  and  make  terms  with 
great  potentates  ;  the  wliich  as  it  is  to  him  honour- 
able, so  it  is  to  them  most  disgraceful,  to  be  bearded 
of  such  a  base  varlet,  that  being  but  of  late  grown 
out  of  the  dunghill,  beginneth  now  to  overcrow  so 
high  mountains,  and  make  himself  the  great  pro- 
tector of  all  outlaws  and  rebels  that  will  repair  unto 
him.  But  do  you  think  he  is  now  so  dangerous  an 
enemy  as  he  is  counted,  or  that  it  is  so  hard  to  take 
him  (iown  as  some  suppose? 

Ihix. — No,  verily,  there  is  no  great  reckoning  to 
he  made  of  him  ;  "for  had  he  ever  been  taken  in 
hand,  when  the  rest  of  the  realm,  or  at  least  the 
jiarts  adjoining,  had  been  quiet,  as  the  honourable 
genileman  that  now  governeth  there,  I  mean  Sir 
Willium  Russell,  gave  a  notable  attempt  thereunto, 
and  had  worthily  jterformed  it,  if  his  course  had  not 
been  crossed  unhappily,  he  cnuld  not  have  stood 
three  months,  nor  ever  have  looked  up  against  a 
verv  mean  power  ;  but  now  all  the  jiurts  aliout  him 
being  up  in   a  maddening  mood,  as  the  Whores  in 


Leix,  the  Cavenaghs  in  the  county  of  Wexford, 
and  some  of  the  Butlers  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny  ; 
they  all  flock  unto  him,  and  draw  into  his  country, 
as  to  a  strong  hold  where  they  think  to  be  safe  from 
all  that  prosecute  them.  And  from  thence  they  do 
at  their  pleasures  break  out  into  all  the  borders 
adjoining,  which  are  well  peopled  countries,  as  the 
counties  of  Dublin,  of  Kildare,  of  Catherlrgl,  of 
Kilkenny,  of  Wexford,  with  the  spoils  whereof 
they  victual  and  strengthen  themselves,  v>-hich 
otherwise  should  in  short  time  be  starved,  and  sore 
pined ;  so  that  what  he  is  of  himself,  you  may 
hereby  perceive. 

EuDox. — Then  by  so  much  as  I  gather  out  of 
your  speech,  the  next  way  to  end  the  wars  wiili 
him,  and  to  rout  him  quite,  should  be  to  keep  biin 
from  invading  of  those  countries  adjoining;  which 
(as  I  suppose)  is  to  be  done,  either  by  drawing  all 
the  inhabitants  of  those  nest  borders  avi-ay,  and 
leaving  them  utterly  waste,  or  by  planting  garrisons 
upon  all  those  frontiers  about  him,  tbat  when  he 
shall  break  forth,  may  set  upon  him  and  shorten  his 
return. 

IijEx. — You  conceive  very  rightly,  Eudoxus:  but 
for  that  the  dispeopling  and  driving  away  all  the 
inhabitants  from  the  country  about  him,  which  you 
speak  of,  should  he  a  great  confusion  and  trouble, 
as  well  for  the  unwillingness  of  them  to  leave  their 
jiossessions,  as  also  for  placing  and  providing  for 
them  in  other  countries  ;  methinks  the  hetter  course 
should  be  by  planting  of  garrisons  about  him,  which 
whensoever  he  shall  look  forth,  or  be  drawn  out 
with  the  desire  of  the  spoil  of  those  borders,  or  for 
necessity  of  victual,  shall  be  always  ready  to  inter- 
cept his  going  or  coming. 

Eufiox — Where  then  do  you  wish  those  garrisons 
to  be  planted,  that  they  may  serve  best  againt  him, 
and  how  many  in  every  garrison  ? 

Iren. — I  my>elf,  by  reason  that  (as  I  told  you)  I 
am  no  martial  man,  will  not  take  upon  me  to 
direct  so  dangerous  affairs  ;  but  only  as  I  under- 
stood by  the  purposes  and  plots,  which  the  Lord 
Grey,  who  was  well  experienced  in  that  service, 
against  him  did  lay  down  :  to  the  performance 
whereof  he  only  required  1000  men  to  be  laid  in 
six  garrisons  ;  that  is,  at  Ballinecor,  200  footmen 
and  oO  horsemen,  which  should  shut  him  out  of  his 
great  o-lynn,  whereto  he  so  much  trusteth  ;  at  Knock- 
fouoh^^OO  footmen  and  50  horsemen,  to  answer  the 
county  of  Caiherlagh  ;  at  Arclo  or  Wicklow,  200 
footmen  and  50  horsemen,  to  defend  all  that  side 
towards  the  sea  ;  in  Shillelagh,  100  footmen,  which 
should  cut  him  from  the  Cavenaghs,  and  the  county 
of  Wexford  ;  and  about  the  three  castles,  .50  horse- 
men, which  should  defend  all  the  c  unty  of  Dublin  ; 
and  100  footmen  at  Falbot's  Town,  which  should 
keep  him  from  breaking  out  into  the  county  of  Kil- 
dare, and  be  always  on  his  neck  on  tliat  side.  '1  he 
which  garrisons  so  laid,  will  so  busy  him,  that  hf 
shall  never  rest  at  home,  nor  stir  forth  abroad,  but 
he  shall  be  had.  As  for  his  creet,  tht-y  cannot  bo 
above  ground,  but  they  must  needs  fall  into  tlinr 
bands  or  starve,  for  he  hath  no  fastness  nor  refuge 
for  them.  And  as  for  his  partakers  of  the  Moores. 
Butlers,  and  Carenaghs,  they  will  soon  leave  him 
when  they  see  his  fastness  and  strong  places  thus 
takt'U  from  him. 

EuDOX. — Surely  this  seemeth  a  plot  of  grtat 
reason,  and  small  difficulty,  which  promiseth  hope 
of  a  short  end  :  but  what  special  directions  will  vou 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


fl5 


pet  down  for  the  services  and  risings  out  of  tliese 
garrisons ' 

Tren'.—  None  other  than  the  present  occasions 
shall  minister  unto  tliem  ;  and  as  by  good  espials, 
whereof  there  they  cannot  want  store,  they  shall  be 
drawn  continually  upon  him,  so  as  one  of  them 
shall  be  still  upon  him,  and  sometimes  all  at  one 
instant  baiting  him.  And  this  (I  assure  myself) 
will  demand  no  long  time,  but  will  be  all  finished 
in  the  space  of  one  year,  which  how  small  a  thing  it 
is  unto  the  eternal  quietness  which  shall  thereby  be 
purchased  to  that  realm,  and  the  great  good  which 
should  grow  to  her  majesty,  should  methinks 
readilv  draw  on  her  highness  to  the  undertaking  of 
the  enterprise. 

EuDox. — You  have  very  well,  methinks,  Ireneus, 
plotted  a  course  for  the  achieving  of  those  wars 
now  in  Ireland,  which  seems  to  ask  no  long  time, 
nor  great  charge,  so  as  the  effecting  thereof  be  com- 
mitted to  men  of  sure  trust  and  sound  experience, 
as  well  in  that  country,  as  in  the  manner  of  those 
services  ;  for  if  it  be  left  in  the  hands  of  such  raw 
captains  as  are  usually  sent  out  of  England,  being 
thereunto  only  preferred  by  friendship,  and  not 
chosen  by  sufficiency,  it  will  soon  fall  to  the 
ground. 

ItiEN. — Therefore  it  were  meet  (methinks)  that 
such  captains  onlv  were  thereunto  employed,  as 
have  formerly  served  in  that  country,  and  been  at 
least  lieutenants  unto  oiher  captains  there.  For 
otherwise,  being  brought  and  transferred  from  other 
services  abroad,  as  in  France,  in  Spain,  and  in  the 
Low-Countries,  though  they  be  of  good  experience 
in  those,  and  have  never  so  well  deserved  ;  yet  in 
these  they  will  be  new  to  seek,  and  before  they  have 
gathered  experience,  they  shall  buy  it  with  great  loss 
io  her  majesty,  either  by  hazarding  of  their  compa- 
nies, through  ignorance  of  the  places,  and  manner  of 
the  Irish  services,  or  by  losing  a  great  part  of  the 
time  which  is  required  hereunto,  being  but  short,  in 
which  it  might  be  finished,  almost  before  they  have 
laken  out  a  new  lesson,  or  can  tell  what  is  to  be 
done. 

EuDox. — You  are  no  good  friend  to  new  captains  : 
it  seems,  Ireneus,  that  you  bar  them  from  the  credit 
of  this  service:  but,  to  say  truth,  methinks  it  were 
meet,  that  any  one  before  he  came  to  be  a  captain, 
should  have  heea  a  soldier  ;  for,  Parere  qui  iiesclt, 
tiescit  imperctre.  And  besides,  there  is  a  great 
wrong  done  to  the  old  soldier,  from  whom  all  means 
of  advancement,  which  is  due  unto  him,  is  cut  off, 
by  shuffling  in  these  new  cutting  captains  into  the 
place  for  which  he  hath  long  served,  and  perhaps 
better  deserved.  But  now  that  you  have  thus  (as  1 
suppose)  finished  all  the  war,  and  brought  all  thmgs 
to  that  low  ebb  which  you  speak  of,  what  course 
will  you  take  for  the  bringing  in  of  that  reformation 
which  you  intend,  and  recovering  all  things  from 
this  desolate  estate?  in  which,  methinks,  1  behold 
them  now  left,  unto  that  perfect  establishment  and 
new  commonwealth  which  you  have  conceived  of, 
by  which  so  great  good  may  redound  unto  her  ma- 
jesty, and  an  assured  peace  be  confirmed  ;  for  that  is 
it  whereunto  we  are  now  to  look,  and  do  greatly  long 
for,  being  long  sithence  made  weary  with  the  huoe 
charge  which  you  have  laid  upon  us,  and  with  tlie 
htrong  endurance  of  so  many  coraplamts,  so  many 
dela\s,  so  many  doubts  and  dangers,  as  will  hereof, 
1  know  well,  arise:  unto  the  which,  before  we 
come,  it  were  meet    methinks^  that  you  should  take 


some  order  for  the  sohlier,  which  is  now  first  to  be 
discharged  and  disposed  of  some  way  ;  the  which  if 
vou  do  not  well  foresee,  may  grow  to  as  great  in- 
convenience, as  all  this  that  I  suppose  you  have  quit 
us  from,  by  the  loose  leaving  off  so  many  thousand 
soldiers,  which  from  thenceforth  will  be  unfit  for 
any  labour  or  other  trade,  but  must  either  seek  ser- 
vice and  emjilovment  abroad,  which  may  be  danger- 
ous, or  else  employ  themselves  here  at  home,  as 
may  be  discoramodious. 

JnEN. — You  say  very  true,  and  it  is  a  thing  much 
misliked  in  this  our  commonwealth,  that  no  better 
course  is  taken  for  such  as  have  been  employed  in 
service,  but  that  returning,  whether  maimed,  and  so 
unable  to  labour,  or  otherwise  whole  and  sound,  yet 
afterwards  unwilling  to  work,  or  rather  willing  to 
set  the  hangman  on  work.  But  that  needeth  another 
consideration  ;  but  to  this  which  we  have  now  in 
hand,  it  is  far  from  my  meaning  to  leave  the  soldier 
so  at  random,  or  to  leave  that  waste  realm  so  weak 
and  destitute  of  strength  ;  which  may  both  defend  it 
against  others  that  might  seek  then  to  set  upon  it, 
and  also  keep  it  from  that  relapse  which  I  before 
did  forecast.  For  it  is  one  special  good  of  this  plot 
which  I  would  devise,  that  6000  soldiers  of  these 
whom  I  have  now  employed  in  this  service,  .and 
made  thoroughly  acquainted,  both  with  the  state  of 
the  country  and  manners  of  the  people,  should 
henceforth  be  still  continued,  and  for  ever  main- 
tained of  the  country,  without  any  charge  to  her 
majesty  ;  and  the  rest,  that  are  either  old,  and 
unable  to  serve  any  longer,  or  willing  to  fall  to 
thrift,  as  I  have  seen  many  soldiers,  after  the  ser- 
vice, to  prove  very  good  husbands,  should  be  placed 
in  part  of  the  lands  by  them  won,  at  such  rate,  or 
rather  better  than  others,  to  whom  the  same  shall  be 
set  out. 

EuDOx.— Is  it  pos.sible,  Ireneus  t  Can  there  be 
any  such  means  devised,  that  so  many  men  should 
be  kept  still  in  her  Majesty's  service,  without  any 
charge  to  her  at  alH  Surely  this  were  an  exceeding 
great  good,  both  to  her  highness,  to  have  so  many 
old  soldiers  always  ready  at  call,  to  what  purpose 
soever  she  list  to  employ  them  ;  and  also  to  have 
that  land  thereby  so  strengthened,  that  it  shall  neither 
fear  any  foreign  invasion,  nor  practice  which  the 
Irish  shall  ever  attempt,  but  shall  keep  them  under 
in  continual  awe,  and  firm  obedience. 

Iken'.— It  is  so  indeed  :  And  yet  this  truly  I  do 
not  take  to  be  any  matter  of  great  difficulty,  as  I 
think  it  will  also  soon  appear  unto  you.  And  first,, 
we  will  speak  of  the  north  part,  for  that  the  same  is 
of  more  weight  and  importance.  So  soon  as  it  shall 
appear  that  the  enemy  is  brought  down,  and  the 
stout  rebel  either  cut  oH',  or  driven  to  that  wretched- 
ness, that  he  is  no  longer  able  to  hold  up  his  head, 
but  will  come  into  any  conditions,  which  I  assure 
myself  will  be  before  the  end  of  the  second  winter; 
1  wish  that  there  be  a  general  proclamation  made, 
that  whatsoever  outlaws  will  freely  come  in,  and 
submit  themselves  to  her  majesty's  mercy,  shall 
have  libertv  so  to  do,  where  they  shall  either  find 
that  grace  they  desire,  or  have  leave  to  return  agiiin 
in  safety;  upon  which  it  is  likely,  that  so  many  as 
survive,  will  come  in  to  sue  for  grace  ;  of  which, 
whoso  are  thought  meet  for  subjection,  and  fit  to 
be  brought  to  good,  may  be  received,  or  else  all  of 
them  (for  1  think  that  all  wdl  be  hut  a  veryf^-wj, 
upon  condition  and  assurance,  that  they  will  submit 
themselves  absolutely  to  her  majesty's  ordinance  lor 


516 


A  VIEW   OF  THE   STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


them,  by  which  they  shall  be  assured  of  life  and 
liberty,  and  be  only  tied  to  such  conditions  as  shall 
be  thought  bv  her  meet  for  containing  them  ever 
after  in  due  obedience.  To  the  which  conditions  I 
jiotl\ino-  doubt,  but  they  will  all  most  readily,  and 
upon  their  knees,  submit  themselves,  by  the  proof 
of  that  which  1  have  seen  in  Munster.  For  upon 
tile  like  proclamation  there,  they  all  came  in  both 
tag-  and  rag  ;  and  whenas  afterwards  many  of  them 
were  denied  to  be  received,  thev  bade  them  do  with 
them  what  they  would,  for  they  would  not  by  any  means 
return  again,  nor  go  forth.  For  in  that  case,  who 
will  not  accept  almost  of  any  conditions,  rather 
than  die  of  hunger  and  misery  ? 

EuDox. — It  is  very  likely  so.  But  what  then  is 
the  ordinance,  and  what  be  the  conditions  which  you 
will  propose  unto  them,  which  shall  reserve  unto 
them  an  assurance  of  life  and  liberty? 

Iren. — So  soon  then  as  they  have  given  the  best 
assurance  of  themselves  which  may  be  required, 
which  must  be  ( I  suppose)  some  of  their  principal 
men,  to  remain  in  hostage  one  for  another,  and  some 
other  for  the  rest  ;  for  other  surety  I  reckon  of  none 
that  may  bind  them,  neither  of  wife,  nor  of  children, 
since  then  perhaps  they  would  gladly  be  rid  of  both 
from  the  famine ;  I  would  have  them  first  unarmed 
utterly,  and  stripped  quite  of  all  their  warlike  wea- 
pons, and  then  these  conditions  set  down  and  made 
known  unto  them,  that  they  shall  be  placed  in  Lein- 
ster,  and  have  land  given  tliem  to  occupy  and  to  live 
upon,  in  such  sort  as  shall  become  good  subjects,  to 
labour  thenceforth  for  their  living,  and  to  apply  them- 
selves to  honest  trades  of  civility,  as  they  shall  every 
one  be  found  meet  and  able  for. 

EuDOx. — Where  then  a  God's  name  will  you  place 
them  in  Leinster?  or  will  you  find  out  any  new  land 
there  for  them  that  is  yet  unknown? 

Iren. — No,  I  will  place  them  all  in  the  country 
of  the  Birnes  and  Tooles,  which  Pheagh  IMac-Hugh 
hath  ;  and  in  all  the  lands  of  the  Cavinaghs,  which 
are  now  in  rebellion  ;  and  all  the  lands  which  will 
fall  to  her  'majesty  thereabouts,  which  1  know  to  be 
very  spacious,  and  large  enough  to  contain  them, 
being  very  near  twenty  or  thirty  miles  wide. 

EuDOX. — But  then  what  will  you  do  with  all  the 
Birnes,  the  Tooles,  and  the  Cavenaghs,  and  all 
those  that  now  are  joined  with  them? 

Iren. — At  the  same  very  time,  and  in  the  same 
very  manner  that  I  make  that  proclamation  to  them 
of  Ulster,  will  1  also  have  it  made  to  these  ;  and 
upon  their  submission  thereunto,  I  will  take  like 
assurance  of  them  as  of  the  other.  After  which,  I 
will  translate  all  that  remain  of  them  unto  the  places 
of  the  other  in  Ulster,  with  all  their  creete,  and 
what  else  they  have  left  them  ;  the  which  I  will  cause 
to  he  divided  amongst  them  in  some  meet  sort,  as  each 
may  thereby  have  somewhat  to  sustain  himself  awhile 
wiihal,  until  by  his  further  travail  and  labour  of  the 
earth,  he  shall  be  able  to  provide  himself  better. 

EuDOX. — But  will  yon  give  the  land  then  freely 
unto  them,  and  make  them  lieirs  of  the  former 
rebels  !  so  may  you  perhaps  make  them  also  heirs 
of  all  their  former  villanies  and  disorders  ;  or  bow 
else  will  you  dispose  of  them  ? 

liiEN. — Not  so  ;  but  all  the  lands  will  I  give  unto 
Englishmen,  whom  I  will  have  drawn  thither,  who 
shall  have  the  same,  with  such  estates  as  shall  be 
thought  meet,  and  for  such  rent  as  shall  eftsoons 
be  rated.  Under  every  of  those  Englishmen  will  I 
place  some  of  those  Irish  to  be  tenants,  for  a  certain 


rent,  according  to  the  quantity  of  such  land  as  every 
man  shall  have  allotted  unto  him,  and  shall  be  found 
able  to  wield  ;  wherein  this  special  regard  shall  be 
had,  that  in  no  place  under  any  landlord,  there  shall 
be  many  of  them  placed  together,  but  dispersed  wide 
from  their  acquaintance,  and  scattered  far  abroad 
through  all  the  country.  For  that  is  the  evil  whicl? 
now  I  find  in  all  Ireland,  that  the  Irish  dwell  alto- 
gether by  their  septs,  and  several  nations,  so  as  they 
may  practise  or  conspire  what  they  will :  whereas 
if  there  were  English  well  placed  among  tbem,  tbey 
should  not  be  able  once  to  stir  or  to  murmur,  but 
that  it  should  be  known,  and  they  shortened  accord- 
ing to  their  demerits. 

EuDOX. — You  have  good  reason;  but  what  rating  of 
rents  mean  you?  to  what  end  do  you  propose  the  same? 

1  REN. — My  purpose  is,  to  rate  the  rent  of  all  those 
lands  of  her  majesty,  in  such  sort  unto  those  Eng- 
lishmen which  shall  take  them,  as  thev  shall  be  well 
able  to  live  thereupon,  to  yield  her  majesty  reason- 
able chiefrie,  and  also  give  a  competent  maintenance 
unto  the  garrisons  which  shall  be  there  left  amongst 
them.  For  those  soldiers  (as  I  told  you)  remain- 
ing of  the  former  garrisons,  I  cast  to  maintain  upon 
the  rent  of  those  lands  which  shall  he  escheated, 
and  to  have  them  divided  through  all  Ireland,  in 
such  places  as  shall  be  thought  most  convenient, 
and  occasion  may  require.  And  this  was  the  course 
which  the  Romans  observed  in  the  conquest  of  Eng- 
land ;  for  they  planted  some  of  their  legions  in  all 
places  convenient,  the  which  they  caused  the 
country  to  maintain,  putting  upon  every  portion  of 
land  a  reasonable  rent,  which  they  called  romescot, 
the  which  might  not  surcharge  the  tenant  or  free- 
holder, and  might  defray  the  pay  of  the  garrison  : 
and  this  hath  been  always  observed  by  all  princes 
in  all  countries  to  them  newly  subdued,  to  set  gar- 
risons amongst  them,  to  contain  them  in  duty,  whose 
burden  they  made  them  to  bear.  And  the  want  of 
this  ordinance  in  the  first  conquest  of  Ireland  by 
Henry  the  Second,  was  the  cause  of  the  so  short 
decay  of  the  government,  and  the  quick  recovery 
again  of  the  Irish.  Therefore  by  all  means  it  is  to 
be  provided  for.  And  this  is  that  I  would  blame,  if 
it  should  not  misbecome  me,  in  the  late  planting  of 
Munster,  that  no  care  was  bad  of  this  ordinance, 
nor  any  strength  of  garrison  provided  for,  by  a  cer- 
tain allowance  out  of  all  the  said  lands  ;  but  only 
the  ])resent  profit  looked  into,  and  the  safe  continu- 
ance thereof  for  ever  hereafter  neglected. 

I'^iiDox. — But  there  is  a  band  of  soldiers  laid  in 
Munster,  to  the  maintenance  of  which,  what  odds  is 
there  whether  the  queen,  receiving  the  rent  of  the 
country,  do  give  pay  at  her  pleasure,  or  that  there 
be  a  settled  allowance  appointed  unto  them  out  of 
her  lands  there  ? 

lit  FN. — There  is  great  odds  :  for  now  that  said 
rent  of  the  country  is  not  appointed  to  the  pay  of  the 
soldiers,  but  it  is,  by  every  other  occasion  coming 
between,  converted  to  other  uses,  and  the  soldiers, 
in  time  of  peace,  discharged  and  neglected  as  unne- 
cessary :  whereas  if  the  said  rent  were  appointed 
and  ordained  by  an  establishment  to  this  end  only, 
it  should  not  be  turned  to  any  other  ;  nor  in  trou- 
blous times,  u]ion  every  occasion,  her  majesty  be  so 
troubled  with  sending  over  new  soldiers  as  she  is 
now  ;  nor  the  country  ever  should  dare  to  mutiny, 
having  still  the  soldier  in  their  neck  ;  nor  any  foreign 
enemy  dare  to  invade,  knowing  there  so  strong  and 
great  a  garrison,  always  ready  to  receive  them. 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


317 


EuDOX. — Sith,  then,  you  think,  that  this  romes- 
cot  of  the  pay  of  the  soldiers  upon  the  hind  to  he 
both  the  readiest  way  to  tlie  s  )ldiers,  and  least  trou- 
blesome to  her  mrtjestv  ;  tell  us,  I  pray  vou,  how 
would  you  have  the  said  lauds  ra  ed.  that  hoth  a  rent 
may  rise  tiiereout  unto  the  (jiiHeii,  and  also  the  sol- 
diers receive  pay,  which,  methiuks,  will  be  hard  ! 

Iren. —  First,  we  are  to  consider,  how  much  land 
there  is  in  all  Ulster,  that,  accordinu;  to  the  quantity 
thereof,  we  may  cess  the  s^iid  lentand  allowance  is 
suing  thereout.  Ulster,  as  the  ancient  records  of  that 
realm  do  testify,  doth  contain  nine  thousand  plough 
lands,  every  of  which  plough  lands  containeth  one 
hundred  and  twenty  acres,  after  the  ;ate  of  twenty- 
one  foot  to  every  perch  of  the  acre,  every  of  which 
plough  lands  1  will  rate  at  forty  shillings  by  the 
year,  the  which  yearly  rent  amounteih  in  the  whole 
to  eighteen  thousand  pounds,  besides  sik  shilMngs 
and  eiglit-jjence  chiefry  out  of  every  plough  land. 
But  because  the  county  of  Louth,  being  a  part  of 
Ulster,  and  containing  in  it  seven  hundred  and  twelve 
plough  lands,  is  not  wholly  to  escheat  to  her  ma- 
jesty as  tiie  rest,  thev  having,  in  all  their  wars,  con- 
tinued for  the  most  part  dutiful,  though  otherwise  a 
great  part  thereof  is  MOW  under  the  rebels  :  there  is  in 
an  abatement  to  be  made  thereout  of  foui-  hundred 
or  five  hundred  plough  lands,  as  I  estimate  the 
same,  the  which  are  not  to  pay  the  whole  ye.irlv  rent 
of  forty  shillings  out  of  f  very  )ilough  land,  like  as 
the  escheated  lands  do,  but  yet  shall  pay  for  their 
composition  of  cess  towards  the  keeping  of  soldiers, 
twenty  shillings  out  of  every  plough  land  ;  so  as 
there  is  to  be  deducted  out  of  the  ibrmer  sum  two 
hundred  or  three  hundred  pounds  yearly,  the  which 
may,  nevertheless,  be  supplied  by  the  rent  of  the 
fishings,  which  are  exceeding  great  in  Ulster,  and 
also  by  an  increase  of  rent  in  the  best  lands,  and 
those  that  lie  in  the  best  |)laces  near  the  sea-coast. 
The  which  eighteen  thousand  pounds  will  det'ray  the 
entertainment  of  fitteen  hundred  soldiers,  with  some 
overplus  towards  the  pay  of  the  victuallers,  which 
are  to  be  employed  in  the  victualling  of  theje  garri- 
sons. 

EuDox.— So  then,  belike,  you  mean  to  leave  fif- 
teen hundred  soldiers  in  garrisons  tor  Lister,  to  be 
paid  print  ijially  out  of  the  rent  of  those  lands  which 
i'faallbe  there  escheate.l  unto  her  majesty  ;  the  which, 
where,  1  pray  you,  will  you  have  them  garrisoned  ? 

Iken. — I  will  have  them  divided  into  three  parts  ; 
that  is,  five  hundred  in  every  garrison,  the  which  I 
will  have  to  remain  in  three  of  the  same  places  where 
they  were  before  appointed  ;  to  wit,  five  hundred  at 
Strabane  and  about  Loughfoile,  so  as  they  may  hold 
all  the  passages  of  that  purt  of  the  country,  and 
some  of  them  be  put  in  wards  u[)on  all  the  straits 
thereabjuts,  which  1  know  to  be  such,  as  may  stop 
all  passages  into  the  country  on  that  side,  and  some 
of  them  also  upon  the  Ban,  up  towards  Lough  Sid- 
ney, as  I  formerly  directed.  Also  other  five  hun- 
dred at  the  fort  upon  Lough  Earne,  and  wards  taken 
out  of  them,  which  shall  be  laid  at  Fermanagh,  at 
Bealick,  at  Ballyshannon,  and  all  the  straits  towards 
Connaught,  the  which,  1  know,  do  so  strongly  com- 
mand all  the  passages  that  way  as  that  none  can  pass 
from  Ulster  into  Connaught  without  their  leave. 
The  last  five  hundred  shall  also  remain  in  their  fort  at 
Monaghan,  and  some  of  them  be  drawn  into  wards 
to  keep  I  he  Kaies  of  all  that  country,  both  downwards, 
and  also  towards  U'Reilley's  country,  and  the  pale  ; 
liad  some  at  Eaniskillen,  some  at  Belturbut,  some  at 


the  Black  Fort,  and  so  along  that  river,  as  I  for- 
merly showed  in  the  first  planting  of  them.  And 
moreover,  at  every  of  these  forts,  I  would  have  the 
seat  of  a  town  laid  forth  and  encompassed,  in  the 
which  I  would  wish  that  there  sliouhi  be  inhabitants 
placed  of  all  sorts,  as  merchants,  artificers,  and  hus- 
bandmen, to  whom  there  should  charters  and  fran- 
chises be  granted  to  incorporate  them.  The  which, 
as  it  will  he  no  matter  of  difficulty  to  draw  out  of 
England  persons,  which  would  very  gladly  be  so 
placed,  so  would  it,  in  short  space,  turn  those  parts 
to  great  commodity,  and  bring,  ere  long,  to  her 
majesty  much  profit;  for  those  places  are  so  fit  for 
trade  and  traffic,  having  most  convenient  out-gates 
by  divers  ways  to  the  sea,  and  iii-gates  to  the  richest 
parts  of  the  land,  that  they  would  soon  be  enriched, 
and  mightily  enlarged  ;  for  the  very  seating  of  the 
garrisons  by  them,  besides  the  safety  and  assurance 
which  they  shall  work  unto  them,  will  also  draw 
thither  store  of  people  and  trade,  as  I  have  ensam- 
ple  at  Maryborough  and  Philipstown,  in  Leinster, 
where,  by  reason  of  these  two  forts,  though  there  be 
but  small  wards  left  in  them,  there  are  two  good 
towns  now  grown,  which  are  the  greatest  stay  of 
both  those  two  countries. 

Eunox. — Indeed,  methinks,  three  such  towns 
as  you  say,  would  do  very  well  in  those  places  with 
the  garrisons,  and  in  short  space  would  be  so  aug- 
mented, as  they  would  be  able  with  little  to  inwall 
themselves  strongly.  But  for  planting  of  all  the 
rest  of  the  country,  what  order  would  you  take  ? 

Ir£n. —  Whiit  other  than,    as    I     said,   to  bring 
people  out  of  England,   which  should    inhabit  the 
same ;    whereunto,    though    1  doubt    not  but  great 
troops  would  be  ready  to  run,   vet  for  that  in  such 
cases,  the  worst  and  most   decayed   men  are  m'ist 
I  ready  to  remove,    I   would  wish  them  rather  to  be 
I  chosen  out   of  all  places   of  this  realm,  either  by 
;  discretion  of  wise   men    thereunto  appointed,  or  by 
■  lot,  or  by  the  drum,  as  was  the  old  use  in  sending 
forth  of  colonies,  or  such  other  good  means  as  shall 
i  in  their  wisdom  be  thought  meetest.     Amongst  the 
I  chief  of  which,    I  would  have  the  land  set  into  seign- 
I  lories,   in  such  sort   as  it  is  now  in   Rlunster,  and 
I  divided  into  hundreds  and  parishes,  or  wards,  us  it 
j  is  in  England,  and   laid  out  into   shires,  as  it  was 
!  anciently  :    viz.  the  county  of  Down,  the  county 
I  of  Antrim,   the  county   of    Liuth,    the    county    of 
1  Armagh,  the  county  of  Ca^an,  the  county  of  L'ole- 
raine,    the   county    of    Monaghan,   the    county    of 
Tyrone,   the  county  of  Fermanaagh,  the  county  of 
Donegal,    being   in    all    ten.     L/ver    all    which,     I 
wish  a  lord   president  and  a  council   to  be  placed, 
which  may  keep  them  afterwards  in  awe  and  obe- 
dience, and  minister  unto  them  justice  and  equity. 

EuDox. — Thus  1  see  the  whole  purpose  of  your 
plot  for  Ulster;  and  now  I  desire  to  hear  your  like 
opinion  for  Connaught. 

IntN. —  By  that  which  I  have  already  said  of 
Ulster,  you  may  gather  my  opii.ionf  or  Connaught, 
being  very  answerable  to  the  former.  But  for  that 
the  lands  which  shall  therein  escheat  unto  her 
majesty,  are  not  so  entirely  together,  as  that  they 
can  be  accounted  in  one  sum,  it  needeth  that  they 
be  considered  severally.  The  province  ot  Connaught 
in  the  whole  contai'ietb,  as  aj)pearelh  by  the  records 
of  Duhliii,  7,'JOO  |)lough  lands  of  the  former  mea- 
sure, and  is  of  late  divided  into  six  shires  or  coun- 
ties ;  the  county  of  Clare,  the  county  of  Leitrim, 
the   county  of  Roscoramon,  the  county  of  Galway, 


618 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND, 


the  county  of  Maio,  and  the  county  of  Sligo.  Of 
the  which,  all  the  county  of  Sligo,  all  the  county  of 
Maio,  the  most  part  of  the  county  of  Roscommon,  tlie 
most  part  of  the  county  of  Leitrim,  a  ^reat  part  of 
the  county  of  Galway,  and  some  of  the  county  of 
Clare,  is  like  to  escheat  to  her  majesty  for  the 
rebellion  of  their  present  possessors.  The  which 
two  counties  of  Sligo  and  ftlaio  are  supposed  to 
contain  almost  three  thousand  jdouuh  lands,  the 
rent  whereof  rateablv  to  the  former,  I  value  almost  j 
at  six  thousand  pounds  per  annum.  Tlie  county  of  j 
Roscommon,  saving  that  which  pertaineth  to  the 
house  of  Roscommon,  and  some  few  other  English 
there  lately  seated,  is  all  one,  and  therefore  it  is 
wholly  likewise  to  escheat  to  her  majesty,  saving 
those  portions  of  English  inhabitants  ;  and  even 
those  English  do,  as  1  understand  by  them,  pay  as 
much  rent  to  her  majesty,  as  is  set  upon  those  in 
Ulster  ;  counting  their  composition  money  there- 
withal, so  as  it  may  all  run  into  one  reckoning  with 
the  former  two  counties.  So  tliat  this  county  of 
Roscommon  containing  one  thousand  two  hundred 
plough  lands,  as  it  is  accounted,  amounteth  to' two 
thousand  four  hundred  pounds  by  the  year,  which 
with  the  formertwocounties'  rent,  maketh  about  eiglit 
thousand  three  hundred  jiounds ;  for  the  former 
wanted  somewhat.  15ut  what  the  escheated  lands 
of  the  county  of  Galway  and  Leitrim  will  rise  unto, 
is  vet  uncertain  to  define,  till  survey  thereof  be 
made  ;  for  that  those  lands  are  intermingled  with 
the  earl  of  Clanricard's  and  others'  lands;  but  it  is 
thought  they  be  the  one  half  of  both  those  counties, 
so  as  they  may  be  counted  to  the  value  of  one  whole 
county,  which  containeth  above  one  thousand 
plough  lands  ;  for  so  many  the  least  county  of  them 
all  comprehendeih,  which  maketh  two  thousand 
pounds  more,  that  is  in  all,  ten  or  eleven  thousand 
pounds.  The  other  two  counties  must  remain  till 
their  escheats  appear;  the  which  letting  pass  yet, 
as  unknown,  yet  tiiis  much  is  known  to  be  ac- 
counted for  certain,  that  the  composition  of  tiuse 
two  counties  being  rated  at  twenty  siiiUings,  every 
)>liiugh  land,  will  amount  to  above  two  thousand 
pounds  more;  all  which  being  laid  together  to  the 
former,  may  be  reasonably  estimated  to  rise  unto 
tiiiiteen  thousand  pounds;  the  which  sum,  to- 
gether vi-iih  the  rent  of  the  escheated  lands 
in  the  two  last  counties,  which  cannot  yet  be  valued, 
being,  as  1  doubt  not,  no  less  than  a  thousand 
pounds  more ;  will  yield  pay  largely  unto  one 
thousand  men  and  their  victuallers,  and  one  thou- 
sand pounds  over  towards  the  governor. 

EuDox. — You  have,  methinks,  made  but  an  esti- 
mate of  those  lands  of  Connaught  even  at  a  very 
venture,  so  as  it  should  be  hard  to  build  any  cer- 
tainty of  charge,  to  he  raised  uj)on  the  same. 

Iren. — Not  altogether  upon  uncertainties  ;  for 
this  much  may  easily  ajijiearunto  you  to  be  certain, 
as  the  composition-money  of  every  plough-land 
amounteth  unto;  for  this  I  would  have  you  princi- 
pally to  understand,  that  my  jiurjiose  is  to  rate  all 
the  iands  in  Irelanil  at  twenty  shillings  every  plough- 
land,  f(ir  their  com])osition  towards  the  garrison. 
'J  lie  whiili  ]  know,  in  regard  of  being  freed  from  all 
other  charges  whatsoever,  will  be  readily  and  most 
jlladly  yielded  unto.  So  that  there  being  in  all 
Ireland,  as  ajjjieareth  by  their  old  records,  43,'J'i!() 
plough  lands,  the  same  shall  amount  to  the  sum 
likewise  of  43,920/.  ;  and  the  rest  to  be  reared  of  the 
•  scheated  lands  which  (all  to  her  majer*v  in  the  said 


provinces  of  Ulster,  Connaught,  and  that  part  o' 
l^einster  under  the  rebels  for  Munster  we  deal  not 
yet  withal. 

Eunox. — But  tell  me  this  by  the  way,  do  you 
then  lav  composition  upon  the  escheated  hinds,  as 
you  do  upon  the  rest?  for  so,  methinks,  you  reckon 
altogether.  And  that  sure  were  too  much  to  jiay 
seven  nobles  out  of  every  plough-land,  and  compo- 
sition-money besides,  that  is,  twenty  shillings  out 
of  every  plough-land. 

IiiEN. — No,  you  mistake  me,  [  do  put  only  seven 
nobles  rent  and  composition  both,  upon  every  plougli- 
land  escheated  ;  that  is,  forty  shillings  for  com|io^.i- 
tion,  and  six  shillings  and  eightpence  for  chiefry  to 
her  majesty. 

EuDox. — I  do  now  conceive  you  ;  proceed  then,  1 
pray  you,  to  the  appointing  of  your  garrisonsin  'Jon- 
naught,  and  show  us  both  how  many,  and  where  you 
would  have  them  placed. 

Iren. —  I  would  have  1000  laid  in  Connaught,  in 
two  garrisons;  namely,  500  in  the  (ounty  of  Maio 
about  Clan  Mac-Costilagh,  which  shall  keep  all  i\Iaio 
and  the  Bourkes  of  iMac-Wiliiam  Lighter.  The 
other  500  in  the  county  of  Galwav,  about  Garran- 
dough,  that  they  may  contain  the  (Connors  and  the 
Bourkes  there,  the  Kelliesand  Murries.with  all  them 
thereabouts  ;  for  that  garrison  which  I  formerly 
placed  at  Loughearn  will  serve  for  ail  occasions  in 
the  county  of  Sligo,  being  near  f>dioining  there- 
unto ;  so  as  in  one  night's  march,  they  may  be 
almost  in  any  place  thereof,  when  need  shall  recjuire 
them.  And  like  as  in  the  former  jdaces  of  garrisons 
in  Ulster,  I  wished  three  corporate  towns  to  be 
planted,  which  under  the  safe-guard  of  that  strength 
should  dwell  and  trade  safely  with  all  the  coun:ry 
about  them  ;  so  would  1  also  wish  to  be  in  this  of 
Connaught:  and  that,  besides,  there  were  another 
established  at  Athlone,  with  a  convenient  ward  in 
the  castle  there  for  their  defence. 

Iren. — What  should  that  need,  seeing  the  gover- 
nor of  Connaught  useth  to  lie  there  always,  whose 
presence  will  he  a  defence  to  all  that  township? 

In  EN. — 1  know  he  doth  so,  but  that  is  much  to  be 
disliked,  that  the  governor  should  lie  so  far  off,  in 
the  remotest  ])lace  of  all  the  province,  whereas  it 
were  meeter  that  he  should  be  conlinuall.y  abiding 
in  the  midst  of  the  charge  ;  that  herai^ht  bcjih  look 
out  alike  unto  all  phicfs  of  his  government,  and  also 
be  soon  at  hand  in  any  place  where  occasion  shall 
demand  him;  for  the  presenee  of  the  governor  is 
(as  you  said)  a  great  stay  and  bridle  unto  those  that 
are  ill  disposed  :  like  as  I  see  it  is  well  observed  in 
INIunster,  where  the  daily  good  thereof  is  continu- 
ally ajjpaient.  .And  for  this  cause  also,  do  I  greatly 
mislike  the  lord  tlejiuty's  .seating  at  Dublin,  being 
the  outest  corner  of  the  realm,  and  least  needing  the 
awe  of  hi-i  jiresence:  whereas  (n.ethink.s)  it  where 
fitter,  since  his  ])roper  care  is  of  I.einster,  though  he 
have  earn  of  all  besides  generally,  that  he  should 
seat  himself  at  Athie,  or  thereabouts,  upon  the  skirt 
of  that  uiuiuiet  country  ;  so  ttuit  li"  might  sit  ,is  it 
were,  at  the  very  main-mast  of  his  ship  ;  whence  he 
might  easily  over-look,  and  some  iines  over-rench  the 
IMoores,  the  Dempsits,  the  (Connors,  OCairoll, 
O'.Molloy,  and  all  that  heaji  of  Irisli  iiaioii>  which 
there  lie  huddled  together,  wi;hou'  anv  to  ovt-i-awe 
them,  or  contain  thtm  in  duty.  for  the  Irishman 
(1  assure  yon)  feurs  ilie  govi-rniiif  ut  no  longer,  than 
he  IS  wiihiii  sight  or  li-vich. 

Kunox. — Siireh   (ini'thinks)  h^-rein  ioii   observe 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


519 


a  matter  of  much  importance,  more  than  I  have 
heard  ever  noted  ;  but  sure  that  seems  so  expedient, 
as  that  I  wonder  that  heretofore  it  hath  been  over- 
seen or  omitted  :  but  I  sujipose  the  instance  of  the 
citizens  of  Dublin  is  the  greatest  lett  thereof. 

IfifN. — Truly,  then,  it  ought  not  so  to  be,  for  no 
cause  have  they  to  fear  that  it  will  be  any  hindrance 
to  them  ;  for  Dublin  will  be  still,  as  it  is,  the  key  of 
all  passages  and  transportations  out  of  England 
thither,  to  no  less  pro6t  of  those  citizens  than  it  now 
is  ;  and  besides,  other  places  will  hereby  receive 
some  benefit.  But  let  us  now  (I  pray  you)  come 
to  Leinster,  in  the  which  1  would  wish  the  same 
course  to  be  observed  that  was  in  Ulster 

EuDOx. —  You  mean  for  the  leaving  of  the  gar- 
risons in  their  forts,  and  for  planting  of  English  in 
all  those  countries,  between  the  county  of  Dublin 
and  the  county  of  Wexford  ;  but  those  waste  wild 
places,  I  think,  when  they  are  won  unto  her  ma- 
jesty, that  there  is  none  which  will  be  hasty  to  seek 
to  inhabit. 

IiiEN. — Yes,  enough  (I  warrant  you),  for  though 
the  whole  tract  of  the  country  be  mountainous  and 
woody,  yet  there  are  many  goodly  valleys  amongst 
them,  fit  for  fair  habitations;  to  which  those  moun- 
tains adjoined  will  be  a  great  increase  of  pasturage  ; 
for  that  country  is  a  great  soil  of  cattle,  and  very  fit 
for  breed.  As  for  corn,  it  is  nothing  natural,  save 
onlv  for  barlev  and  oats,  and  some  places  for  rye; 
and  therefore  the  larger  pennyworths  may  be  allowed 
to  them  ;  though  otherwise  the  wideness  of  the 
mountain  pasturage  do  recompense  the  badness  of 
the  soil ;  so  as  I  doubt  not  but  it  will  find  inhabitants 
and  undertakers  enough. 

EuDox. — How  much  do  you  think  that  all  those 
lands,  which  Feagh  iMac-Hugh  holdeth  under  him, 
may  amount  unto,  and  what  rent  may  be  reared 
thereout,  to  the  mainten-ance  of  the  garrisons  tiiat 
shall  be  laid  there  1 

I  REN. — Truly,  it  is  impossible  by  aim  to  tell  it ; 
and  for  experience  and  luiowledge  thereof,  I  do  not 
think  that  there  was  ever  any  of  the  particulars 
thereof;  but  yet  1  will  (if  it  please  you)  guess 
thereat,  upon  ground  only  of  their  judgment,  which 
have  formerly  divided  all  that  country  into  two  shires 
or  counties  ;  namely,  the  county  of  Wicklow  and 
the  county  of  Kernes.  The  which  two  1  see  no 
cause  but  that  they  should  wholly  escheat  to  hfcr 
majesty,  all  save  the  barony  Arclo,  which  is  the 
Earl  ot  Ormond's  ancient  inheritance,  and  hath  ever 
been  in  his  possession  ;  for  all  the  whole  land  is  the 
queen's,  unless  there  be  some  grant  of  any  part 
thereof,  to  be  showed  frorti  Ler  majesty  ;  as  I  thmk 
there  is  onlv  of  Nf^wcasile  to  Sir  Henry  Harrington, 
and  of  the  cas'Ie  ot  Femes  to  Sir  Thomas  iNJaister- 
enn  •  the  rest,  being  almost  thirty  miles  over,  I  do 
suppose  can  contain  no  less  than  2000  plough-lands, 
which  I  will  estimate  at  4,0001.  rent  by  the  year. 
The  rest  of  Leinster,  being  seven  counties,  to  wit, 
the  county  of  Dublin,  Kildare,  Catherlagh,  Wex- 
ford, Kilkenny,  the  King's  and  the  Queen's  county, 
do  contain  in  them  7,400  plough-lands,  which 
amounteth  to  so  many  pounds  for  composition  to 
the  garrison;  that  makes  in  the  whole  11,4001., 
which  sum  will  yield  pay  unto  1000  soldiers,  little 
wanting,  which  may  be  supplied  out  of  oiher  lands 
of  the  Cavenaghs,  which  are  to  be  escheated  to 
Ler  majest)',  for  the  rebellion  of  their  possessors  ; 
though  otherwise  indeed  they  be  of  her  own  an- 
cient demesne. 


EuDox. — It  is  great  reason.  But  tell  us  now 
where  you  will  wish  those  garrisons  to  be  laid, 
whether  altogether,  or  to  be  dispersed  in  sundry 
places  of  the  country? 

Iren. —  Marry,  in  sundry  places,  viz.  in  this  sort, 
or  much  the  like  as  may  be  better  advised  ;  for  two 
hundred  in  a  place  I  do  think  to  be  enoui;h  for  the 
safeguard  of  that  country,  and  keeping  under  all 
sudden  upstarts  that  shall  seek  to  trouble  the  pnace 
thereof:  therefore  I  wish  two  hundred  to  be  laid 
at  Ballinecor,  for  the  keeping  of  all  bad  ])ersons  from 
Glan-malor,  ami  all  the  fastnesses  there;ibouts,  and 
also  to  contain  all  that  shall  be  planted  in  those  lands 
thenceforth  ;  another  200  at  Knockelough  in  their 
former  place  of  garrison,  to  keep  the  Bracknagh,  and 
all  those  mountains  of  the  Cavenagiis  :  -^00  more 
to  lie  at  Femes,  and  upwards,  inward  upon  the 
Slane  ;  200  to  be  placed  at  the  fort  ot  Leix,  to  re- 
strain the  .Moores,  Upper-Ossory,  and  O'Carrol  ; 
other  200  at  the  fort  of  Ofaly,  to  curb  the  O'Con- 
ners,  O'Molloyes,  llac-Coghlaa,  Mageoghegan,  and 
all  those  Irish  nations  bordering  therebouts. 

EuDox, — Thus  I  see  all  your  men  bestowed  in 
Leinster.     What  think  you,  then,  of  Meath  ? 

Iren. — Meath,  which  containeth  both  East- 
Meath  and  West-Meath.andof late  the  Anrialy.now 
called  the  county  of  Longford,  is  counted  there- 
unto ;  but  Meath  itself,  according  to  the  old  records, 
containeth  four  thousand  three  hundred  and  twenty 
plough-lands,  and  the  county  of  Longfonl  nine  hun- 
dred and  forty-seven,  which  in  the  whole  makes 
five  thousand  two  hundred  and  sixty-seven  plough- 
lands,  of  which  the  composition-money  will  amount 
likewise  to  five  thoubund  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
seven  pounds,  to  the  maintenance  of  the  garrison. 
But  because  all  Meath,  lying  in  the  bosom  of  th.it 
kingdom,  is  ahvays  quiet  enough,  it  is  needless  to 
put  any  garrison  there,  so  as  all  that  charge  may  be 
spared.  But  in  the  county  of  Longford,  I  wish  two 
hundred  footmen  and  fifty  horsemen  to  be  placed, 
in  some  convenient  seat,  between  the  Annaly  and  the 
Breny,  as  about  Lough  Sillon,  or  some  like  pla(  e  of 
that  river,  so  as  they  might  keep  both  the  O'tielies, 
and  also  the  O'Ferrals,  and  all  that  outskirt  of 
IMeath,  in  awe,  the  which  use,  upon  every  light  oc- 
casion, to  be  stirring,  and  having  continual  enmity 
amongst  themselves,  do  thereby  oftentimes  tr.iuble 
all  those  parts,  the  charge  whereof  being  three  thou- 
sand four  hundred  and  odd  pounds,  is  to  be  cut  out 
of  that  composition  money  for  Meath  and  Longford, 
the  overplus,  being  almost  two  thousand  ])Ounds  by 
the  year,  will  come  in  clearly  to  her  majesty. 

EuDOx. — It  is  worth  tiie  hearkening  unto  ;  but  now 
that  you  have  done  with  Meath,  proceed,  I  jiray 
you,  to  Munster,  that  we  may  see  liow  it  will  rise 
there  for  the  maintenance  of  the  garrison. 

Iren. — Munster  containeth,  by  record  at  Dublin, 
sixteen  thousand  plough-lands,  the  composition 
whereof,  as  the  rest,  will  make  sixteen  thousand 
pounds  by  the  year,  out  of  the  which  1  would  have 
one  thousand  soldiers  to  be  maintained  for  the  de- 
fence of  that  province,  the  charge  whereof,  with  the 
victuallers'  wages,  will  amount  to  twelve  thousand 
pounds  by  the  year  ;  the  other  four  thousand  pounds 
will  defray  the  charge  of  the  presidency  and  the 
council  of  thiit  prov.nce. 

EuDOx. — The  reckoning  is  easy  ;  but  in  this  ac- 
count, by  your  leave,  methinks  you  are  deceived  ; 
for  in  this  sum  of  the  composition-money,  you 
account  the  lands  of  the  undertakers  of  that  j)rovince 


5  20 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


who  are,  by  their  grant  from  the  queen,  to  be  freed 
from  all  such  impositions  whatsoever,  excepting  their 
only  rent,  which  is  surelv  enough. 

Irex. — You  say  true,  I  flicl  so;  but  the  same 
twenty-  shillings  for  every  jilough-land,  I  mean  to 
have  deducted  out  of  that  rent  due  upon  them  to 
her  majestv,  which  is  no  hindrance  nor  charge  at  all 
more  to  her  majesty  than  it  now  is  ;  for  all  that  rent 
which  she  receives  of  them  she  putteth  forth  again 
to  the  maintenance  of  the  presidency  there,  the 
charge  whereof  it  doth  scarcely  defray,  whereas  in 
this  account,  both  that  charge  of  the  presidency,  and 
also  of  one  thousand  soldiers  more,  shall  be  main- 
tained. 

EuDox. — It  should  be  well  if  it  could  be  brought 
to  that.  But  now,  where  will  you  have  your  one 
thousand  men  g;irrisoned  ! 

Iren. — I  would  have  one  hundred  of  them  placed 
at  the  Bantrv,  where  is  a  most  fit  place,  not  only  to 
defend  all  that  side  of  the  west  part  from  foreign  in- 
vasion, but  also  to  answer  all  occasions  of  troubles, 
to  which  that  country,  being  so  remote,  is  very  sub- 
ject. And  surely  there  also  would  be  planted  a  good 
town,  having  both  u  good  haven,  and  a  plentilul 
fishing,  and  the  land  being  already  escheated  to  her 
majesty,  but  being  forcibly  kejit  from  her  by  one 
that  proclaims  himself  the  bastard  son  of  the  earl 
of  Clancar,  being  called  Doiiell  M'Carty,  whom  it 
is  meet  to  foresee  to.  For  whensoever  the  earl  shall 
die,  all  those  lands,  after  him,  are  to  come  unto  her 
majesty;  he  is  like  to  make  a  foul  stir  there,  though 
of  himself  no  power,  yet,  through  supportance  of 
some  others,  who  lie  in  the  winu,  and  look  after  the 
fall  of  that  inheritance.  Another  hundred  I  would 
have  placed  at  Castle  iNIayne,  which  should  keep  all 
Desmond  and  Kerry,  for  it  answereth  them  both 
most  conveniently.  Also  about  Kilmore,  in  the 
county  of  Cork,  would  I  have  two  hundred  [)laced, 
the  which  should  break  that  nest  of  thieves  there, 
and  answer  equally  both  to  the  county  of  Limerick, 
and  also  the  county  of  Cork.  Another  hundred 
would  1  have  lie  at  Cork,  as  well  to  command  the 
town,  as  also  to  be  ready  for  any  foreign  occasion. 
Likewise  at  Waterford  would  1  place  two  hundred 
for  the  same  reasons,  and  also  for  other  privy  causes, 
that  are  no  less  important.  Moreover,  on  this  side 
of  Arlo,near  to  Muskery  Quirk,  which  is  tne  coun- 
try of  the  Burkes,  about  Kilpatrick,  I  would  have 
two  hundred  more  to  be  garrisoned,  which  should 
scour  both  the  White  Knights  country,  and  Arlo, 
and  INIuskery  Quirk,  by  which  places  all  the  pas- 
sages of  thieves  do  lie,  which  convey  their  stealth 
from  all  Rlunster  downwards,  towards  'I'ipperaiy, 
and  the  English  Pale,  and  from  the  English  Pale 
also  up  unto  iMunster,  whereof  ihey  use  to  make  a 
common  trade,  iiesides  that,  ere  long,  I  doubt, 
that  the  county  of 'I'ipperary  itself  will  need  such  a 
strength  in  it,  wliich  were  good  to  be  there  ready 
before  the  evil  fall,  that  is  dady  of  some  expected. 
And  thus  you  see  all  your  garrisons  ])laced. 

Ei'DOX.— f  see  it  right  well.  But  let  me  (I  pray 
you)  by  the  way,  ask  you  the  reason,  why  in  those 
cities  of  Munster,  namely,  Waterford  and  Cork,  you 
rather  placed  garrisons,  than  in  all  others  in  Ireland? 
for  they  may  think  themselves  to  have  a  great  wrong- 
to  be  so  charged  above  all  the  rest. 

liiKN. — I  will  tell  you,  those  two  cities,  above  all 
the  rest,  do  offer  an  in-gate  to  the  Spaniard  most 
fitly  :  but  yet,  because  they  shall  not  take  exceptions 


to  this,  that  they  are  charged  above  all  the  rest,  I 
will  also  lav  a  charge  upon  the  others  likewise  ;  foi 
indeed  it  is  no  reason  that  the  corporate  towns,  en- 
joying great  fi-ancliises  and  privileges  from  her  ma- 
jesty, and  living  thereby  not  only  safe,  but  drawing 
to  them  the  w-ealth  of  all  the  land,  should  live  so 
free,  as  not  to  be  partakers  of  the  burthen  of  this 
garrison,  for  their  own  safety,  especially  in  tliis  time 
of  troulile,  and  seeing  all  the  rest  hurthened  :  and 
therefore  1  will  charge  them  all  thus  rateably, accord- 
ing to  th  ir  abilities,  towards  their  maintenance  ;  the 
w-hich  iier  iMajesty  may  (if  she  please)  spare  out  of 
the  charge  of  the  rest,  and  reserve  towards  her  other 
costs,  or  else  add  to  the  charge  of  the  presidency  in 
the  north. 

Waterford,  100;  Cork,  50  ;  Limerick,  ,=)0  ;  Gal- 
way,  riO  ;  Dinglecusb,  10  ;  Kinsale,  10 ;  Youghal, 
10;  Kilmalloc'k,  10;  Clonmell,  10;  Cashell,  10 ; 
Fedard,  10;  Kilkenny, 25;  Wexford, 25;  Tredagh, 
25;  Ross,  25;  Dundalk.  10;  Mellingare,  10; 
Newrie,  10;  Trim,  10;  Ardee,  10;  Kells,  10; 
Dublin.  100.     In  all,  580. 

EuDox. — It  is  easy,  Ireneus,  to  lay  a  charge  upon 
any  town  ;  bat  to  foresee  how  the  same  may  be  an- 
swered and  defrayed,  is  the  chief  part  of  good  ad- 
visement. 

littN. — Surely  this  charge  w-hich  I  put  upon  them, 
I  know  to  be  so  reasonable,  as  that  it  will  not  much 
be  felt  ;  for  the  port  towns  that  have  the  benefit  of 
shipping,  may  cut  it  easily  off  their  tr.iding  ;  and  in- 
land towns  ofl'their  corn  and  cattle:  neither  do  1  see, 
but  since  to  ihem  especially  the  benefit  of  peace  doth 
redound,  that  they  especially  should  bearthe  burthen 
of  their  safeguard  and  defence,  as  we  see  all  the 
towns  of  the  Low-countries  do  cut  upon  themselves 
an  excise  of  all  things  towards  the  maintenance  of 
the  war  that  is  made  in  their  behalf;  to  which, 
though  these  are  not  to  be  compared  in  ri(  hes,  yet 
are  they  to  be  charged  according  to  their  poverty. 

Ei'Dox. — But  now  that  you  have  thus  set  up  these 
forces  of  soldiers,  and  jirovided  w-ell  (as  you  sup- 
pose) for  their  pay,  yet  there  remaineth  to  fore-cast 
how  they  may  be  victualled,  and  where  purveyance 
may  tliereof  be  made  ;  for  in  Ireland  itself,  I  cannot 
see  almost  how  anything  is  to  be  had  for  them,  being 
already  so  pitifully  wasted,  as  it  is  with  this  short 
time  of  war. 

Iren. —  For  the  first  two  years,  it  is  needful 
indeed,  that  they  be  victualled  out  of  England 
thoroughly,  from  half-year  to  half-year,  aforehand. 
All  which  liiue  the  English  pale  shall  not  be  bur- 
dened at  all,  but  shall  have  time  to  recover  them- 
selves. And  Munster  also  being  reasonably  well 
stored,  will  by  that  time,  if  God  send  seasonable 
we-dther,  be  thorouglily  well-furnished  to  sui)ply  a 
great  i>art  of  that  charge ;  for  I  know  there  is  great 
plenty  of  corn  sent  over  sea  from  thence,  the  which 
if  they  might  have  sale  for  at  home,  they  w-ould  be 
glad  to  have  money  so  near  hand  ;  especially  if  they 
were  straightiy  restrained  from  transjiorting  of  it. 
Thereunto,  also,  there  will  be  a  great  lielp  and  fui- 
therance  given  in  the  putting  forward  of  husbandry 
in  all  meet  places,  as  hereafter  shall  in  due  place  ap- 
pear. But  hereafter  when  things  shall  grow  unto  a 
better  strengtii,  and  the  country  be  replenished  with 
corn,  as  in  short  s[)ace  it  will,  if  it  be  well  followed, 
for  the  country  j)eople  theinsel  ves  are  great  ploughers, 
and  small  spenders  of  corn  ;  then  would  1  wish  that 
there  should  be  good  store  of  houses  and  magazinflS 


A  VIEW  OF   IHE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


521 


erected  in  all  those  great  places  of  garrison,  and  in 
all  great  towns,  as  well  for  the  I'ittualling  of  sol- 
diers and  ships,  as  for  all  occasions  of  sudden  ser- 
vices ;  as  also  for  preventing  of  all  times  of  dean  h 
and  scarcity.  And  tliis  want  is  much  to  be  com- 
plained of  in  England,  above  all  other  countries, 
who  trusting  too  much  to  the  usual  blessing  of  the 
earth,  do  never  forecast  any  such  hard  seasons,  nor 
any  such  sudden  occasions  as  these  troublous 
times  may  every  day  bring  forth,  when  it  will  be  to 
late  to  gather  provision  from  abroad,  and  to  bring  it, 
perhaps,  from  far,  for  the  furidshing  of  ships  or 
soldiers,  which  peradventure  may  need  to  be  pre- 
sently employed,  and  whose  want  may,  which  God 
forbid,  hap  to  hazard  a  kint;dom. 

EuDox. — Indeed  the  want  of  those  magazines  of 
victuals,  1  have  oftentimes  complained  of  in  England, 
and  wondered  at  in  other  countries;  but  that  is 
nothing-  now  to  our  purpose  but  aa  for  these  gar- 
risons which  you  have  now  so  strongly  planted 
throughout  all  Ireland,  and  every  place  swarming 
with  soldiers,  shall  there  be  no  end  of  them  ?  For 
now  thus  being,  methinks,  I  do  see  rather  a  country 
of  war,  than  of  peace  and  quiet,  which  you  earst 
pretended  to  work  in  Ireland  ;  for  if  you  bring  all 
things  to  that  quietness  that  you  said,  what  then 
needeih  to  maintain  so  great  forces,  as  you  have 
charged  upon  it? 

Irev. — 1  will  unto  you.  Eudoxus,  in  privity  discover 
the  drift  of  mv  purpose  ;  I  mean,  as  I  told  ynu,  and 
do  Well  hope  thereby  both  to  seitle  an  eternal  peace 
in  that  country,  and  also  to  make  it  very  profitable 
to  her  majesty  ;  the  which  1  see  must  be  brought  i[i 
with  a  strong  hand,  and  so  contniued,  till  it  run  in 
a  stedlast  course  of  government,  which  in  this  sort 
will  neither  be  difficult  nor  dangerous  :  for  the  sol- 
dier being  once  brought  in  for  the  service  into 
Ulster,  and  having  subdued  it  and  Connaught,  I  will 
not  have  him  to  lay  down  his  arms  any  more,  till  he 
have  effected  that  which  I  pufi^ose;  that  is,  (irst  to 
have  this  geneial  composition  for  mainieiiHiice  of 
these  throughout  all  llie  realm,  in  regard  otthe  trou- 
blous times,  and  daily  danger  which  is  ihreaieiied 
to  this  realm  by  the  King  of  t>j)ain.  And  thereupon 
to  bestow  all  my  soldiers  in  such  sort  as  I  have 
done,  that  no  part  of  all  that  realm  shall  be  able  to 
dare  to  quinch  :  '1  hen  will  1  ef'soons  bring  in  my 
refoimation,  and  thereupon  e-iabiish  such  a  hirm  of 
government,  as  1  niav  think  meetest  for  the  good  of 
that  realm,  which  being  once  st-ttled,  and  all  rhings 
put  into  a  right  wav,  1  doubt  not  but  thi  y  will  run 
on  fairly.  And  though  they  would  ever  seek  to 
swerve  aside,  yet  shall  they  not  be  able  with  ut  fo- 
reign violence,  i.nce  to  remove,  as  you  yourself  shall 
soon,  I  hope,  in  your  own  reason  readily  conceive; 
which  if  it  shall  ever  appear,  then  may  her  majesty 
at  pleasure  withdraw  some  ot  the  garrisons,  and  turn 
their  pay  into  her  purse  :  or  if  she  will  never  please 
so  to  <lo,  wliiclkl  would  rather  wish,  then  shall  stie 
have  a  number  of  brave  old  soldiers  alwavs  ready 
for  any  occasion  that  she  will  employ  them  unto, 
supplying  their  garrisons  with  fresh  ones  in  their 
Stead.  I  he  maintenance  of  wlioiii,  shall  be  no  more 
charge  to  hermaJHstv,  than  now  thai  realm  is:  for 
all  the  revenue  ihereoi,  and  much  more  she  s)iendetli, 
even  in  the  most  peaceable  limes  that  are  there,  as 
things  now  stand.  And  in  ini'^  of  war,  ulncli  is 
now  surels'  every  seveu'h  yeai ,  she  spendeth  iiitiinie 
treasure  besides,  to  sn.aU  jjur) .o>e. 

Eluox. —  1  perceive  your  purpose  i  but  nuw   that 


you  have  thus  strongly  made  way  unto  your  reform- 
ation, and  that  I  see  the  people  so  humbled  and 
prepared,  that  they  will  and  must  yield  to  any  ordi- 
nance that  shall  be  given  them,  I  do  much  desire  to 
understand  the  same  :  for  in  the  beginning  vou  pro- 
mised to  show  a  means  how  to  redress  all  those  in- 
conveniences and  abuses,  which  you  showed  to  be 
in  that  state  of  government,  which  now  stands 
there ;  as  in  the  laws,  customs,  and  religion. 
Wherein  I  would  gladly  know  first,  whether  in- 
stead of  those  laws,  you  would  have  m^w  laws 
made  ;  for  now,  for  ought  that  1  see,  you  may  do 
what  you  please. 

Iren. — I  see,  Eudoxus,  that  you  well  remembei 
our  first  purpose,  and  do  rightly  continue  the  course 
thereof.  First  therelore  to  speak  of  laws,  since  we 
first  began  with  them  :  I  do  not  think  it  now  con- 
venient, though  it  be  in  the  power  of  the  prince,  to 
change  all  the  laws,  and  make  new  :  for  that  should 
breed  a  great  trouble  and  confusion,  as  well  m  the 
English  there  dwelling,  and  to  be  })lanteil.  as  also 
in  the  Irish.  For  the  English  having  been  always 
trained  uj)  in  the  English  government,  will  hardly 
be  inured  to  any  other,  and  the  Irish  wdl  better  be 
drawn  to  the  English,  than  the  English  to  the  Irish 
government.  Therefore  sithence  we  cannot  now 
a[)])ly  laws  fit  to  the  people,  as  in  the  first  institu- 
tions of  commonwealths  it  ou^ht  to  be,  we  will 
apply  the  people,  and  fit  them  unto  the  laws,  as  it 
most  conveniently  may  be.  The  laws  therefore  we 
resolve  shall  abide  in  the  same  sort  tl.at  iLev  do, 
both  common  law  and  statutes ;  only  such  defects  in 
the  common  law,  and  inconveniences  in  the  statutes, 
as  in  the  beginning  we  noted,  and  as  men  of  deeper 
insight  shall  adiise,  may  be  changed  by  some  other 
new  acts  and  ordinances,  to  be  by  a  parliament 
there  confirmed  :  as  those  for  trials  cf  pleas  of  the 
crown,  and  private  rights  between  parties,  colour- 
able conveyances,  and  accessories. 

EiiDox. — But  how  will  those  be  redressed  by  par- 
liament, when  as  the  Irish  which  sway  most  in  par- 
liament (as  you  said)  shall  oppose  themselves 
against  them  ? 

Irejj. — That  may  well  now  be  avoided  :  for  now 
that  so  many  freeholders  of  English  shall  be  esta- 
blislied,  they,  together  with  burgesses  of  towns,  and 
such  other  loyal  Irishmen,  as  may  be  preferred  to 
be  knights  of  ihe  shire,  and  such  like,  will  be  able 
to  beard,  and  to  counterpoise  the  rest;  who  also 
being  now  more  brought  in  awe,  will  the  more 
easily  submit  to  any  such  ordinances  as  shall  be  for 
the  i;ood  of  themselves,  and  that  realm  generally. 

Ei-Dox. — You  say  well,  for  by  the  increase  of 
freeholders  their  numbers  hereby  will  be  i;ieatly 
augmented  ;  but  how  shall  it  pass  througli  the 
liigher  house,  which  still  must  consist  of  all  Irish? 

"luEN. — Marry  that  also  msy  be  redressed  by  en- 
sample  of  that  which  I  have  heard  was  done  in  the 
like  case  by  king  Edward  the  Third  (as  I  remember) 
who  being'greatly  bearded  and  crossed  b>  the  loids 
of  the  clergy,  they  being  there,  by  reason  of  the 
lords  abboLs,  and  others,  too  many  and  loo  strong 
for  him,  so  as  he  could  not  for  their  frowardness. 
Older  and  reform  things  as  he  desired  ;  was  advised 
to  direct  out  his  writs  to  cenain  gentlemen  of  the 
best  ability  and  trust,  entitling  them  therein  boons, 
to  serve,  and  sit  as  barons  in  the  next  jiarliauieiit. 
liv  which  means  he  had  so  many  barons  in  hispailia- 
nii-ut,  as  were  able  to  weigh  down  the  clergv  and 
their  friends  :  the  which  barons,  they  say,  were  not 


522 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


afterwards  lords,  but  only  baronets,  as  sundry  of 
them  do  yet  retain  the  name.  And  by  the  like  de- 
vice her  majesty  may  now  likewise  curb  and  cut 
short  those  Irish  and  unruly  lords,  that  hinder  all 
good  proceedings. 

EuDox. — It  seems  no  less  than  for  reforming  of 
all  those  inconvenient  statutes  that  you  noted  in  the 
bes^iniiins.and  redressing  of  all  those  evil  customs; 
and  lastly,  for  settling  of  sound  religion  amongst 
them,  raetliinks  you  shall  not  need  any  more  to  over- 
oo  those  particulars  again,  which  you  mentioned,  nor 
any  other  which  mii;ht  besides  be  remembered  :  but 
to  leave  all  to  the  reformation  of  such  a  parliament,  in 
which  by  the  good  care  of  the  lord  deputy  and  coun- 
sel, they  may  all  be  amended.  Therefore  now  you 
may  come  unto  that  general  reformation  which  you 
spalce  of,  and  bringing  in  of  that  establishment,  by 
which  you  said  all  men  should  be  contained  in  duty 
ever  after  without  the  terror  of  warlike  forces,  or 
violent  wresting  of  things  by  sharp  punishments. 

Irp-v,.. — I  will  so  at  your  pleasure  ;  the  which 
(methinks)  can  by  no  means  be  better  plotted,  than 
Dv  ensample  of  such  other  realms  as  have  been 
annoyed  with  like  evils  that  Ireland  now  is,  and 
usetli  still  to  be.  And  first  in  this  our  realm  of 
Eneland,  it  is  manifest  by  report  of  the  chronicles, 
andancient  writers,  that  it  was  greatly  infested  with 
robbers  and  outlaws  ;  which  lurking  in  woods  and 
fust  places,  used  often  to  bieiik  forth  into  the  high- 
ways, and  sometimes  into  small  villages  to  rob,  and 
spoil.  For  redress  whereof  it  is  written,  that  King 
Alured,  or  Aldred.  did  divide  the  realm  into  shires, 
and  the  shires  into  hundreds,  and  the  hundreds  into 
lathes  or  wapentakes,  and  the  wapentakes  into 
tythings  ;  so  that  ten  tythings  make  an  hundred, 
and  live  make  a  lathe  or  wapentake:  of  which  ten, 
each  one  vi-as  bound  for  another,  and  the  eldest  or 
best  of  them,  whom  they  called  the  tythingman  or 
borsolder,  that  is  the  eldest  pledge,  became  surety 
for  all  the  rest.  So  that  if  any  one  of  them  did 
start  into  any  undutiful  action,  the  borsolder  was 
bound  to  bring  him  forth  ;  when  joining  eftsoons 
with  all  his  tything,  would  follow  that  loose  person 
through  all  places,  till  they  brought  him  in.  And 
if  all  that  tything  failed,  then  all  that  lathe  was 
charged  for  that  tything  ;  and  if  that  lathe  failed, 
then  all  that  hundred  was  demanded  for  them  ;  and 
if  the  hundred,  then  the  shire,  who  joining  eftsoons 
together,  would  not  rest  till  they  had  found  out 
and  delivered  in  that  undutiful  fellow,  which  was 
not  amenable  to  law:  And  herein  it  seems,  that 
that  good  Saxon  king  followed  the  counsel  of  Jethro 
to  Moses,  who  advised  him  to  divide  the  people 
into  hundreds,  and  to  set  captains  and  wise  men  of 
trust  over  them,  who  should  take  the  charge  of 
them,  and  ease  of  that  burthen.  And  so  did  Romu- 
lus(as  you  may  read)  divide  the  Romans  into  tribes, 
and  the  tribes  into  centuries  or  hundreds.  IJy  this 
ordinance,  this  king  brought  this  realm  of  England 
(which  before  was  most  troublesome)  unto  that 
quiet  state,  that  no  one  bad  person  could  stir,  but 
he  was  straight  taken  hold  of  by  those  of  his  own 
tything,  and  their  borsolder,  who  being  his  neigh- 
bour or  next  kinsman,  were  privy  to  all  his  ways, 
and  looked  narrowly  iiiio  his  life,  'i'he  which  insti- 
tution (if  it  were  observed  in  Ireland)  would  work 
that  eflect  which  it  did  in  I'.ngland,  and  keep  all 
men  within  tiie  compass  of  duty  aj.d  obedience. 

Euoox. —  Ihis  is  contrary  to  that  you  said  be'bre; 
for,    as    1    remember,   you  slid,   that  there   was  a 


great  disproportion  between  England  and  Ireland, 
so  as  the  laws  which  were  fitting  for  one,  would 
not  fit  the  other.  How  comes  it  now  then,  that 
you  would  transfer  a  principal  institution  from 
England  to  Ireland  ? 

IiiEN. — This  law  was  not  made  by  the  Norman 
Conqueror,  but  by  a  Saxon  king,  ac  what  tune 
England  was  very  like  to  Ireland,  as  now  it  stand.-: 
for  it  was  (as  I  told  you)  annoyed  greatly  wuh 
robbers  and  outlaws,  which  troubled  the  whole 
state  of  the  realm,  every  corner  liaving  a  Robin  Hood 
in  it,  that  kept  the  woods,  that  spoiled  all  passengers 
and  inhabitants,  as  Ireland  now  hath  :  so  as,  me- 
thinks, this  ordinance  would  fit  very  well,  and  bring 
them  all  into  awe. 

EuDox. — !  hea  when  you  nave  thus  tithed  the 
commonalty,  as  you  say,  and  set  borsolders  over 
them  all,  what  would  you  do  when  you  came  to  the 
gentlemen?      Would  you  hold  the  same  course? 

Ikex. — Yea  many,  most  especially  ;  for  this 
you  must  know,  that  all  tlie  Iri.-h  almost  boast 
themselves  to  be  gentlemen,  no  less  than  the 
Welsh;  for  if  he  can  derive  liimself  from  the  head 
of  any  sept  (as  most  of  them  can,  they  are  so  ex- 
pert by  their  bards)  then  he  holdeth  himself  a 
gentleman,  and  thereupon  scorneth  to  work,  or  use 
any  hard  labour,  wliich,  he  saith,  is  tlie  life  of  a 
peasant  or  churl  :  but  thenceforth  becoineth  either 
a  horse-boy,  or  a  stocah  to  some  kern,  inuring 
liimself  to  bis  weapon,  and  to  the  gentlemanly  trade 
of  stealmg  (as  they  count  it.)  So  that  if  a  gentle- 
man, or  any  wealthy  yoeman  of  them,  have  any 
children,  the  eldest  of  them,  perhaps,  shall  be  kejit 
in  some  order,  but  all  the  rest  shall  shift  for  them- 
selves, and  fall  to  this  occupation.  And  moreover 
it  is  a  common  use  amongst  some  of  their  gentle- 
men's sons,  that  so  soon  as  they  are  able  to  use  their 
weapons,  they  straight  gather  to  themselves  three  or 
four  stragglers,  or  kern,  with  vv-hom  wandering 
awhile  up  and  down  idly  the  country,  taking  only 
meat,  he  at  last  falleth  unto  some  bad  occasion  that 
shall  be  offered  ;  which  being  once  made  known,  he 
is  thenceforth  counted  a  man  of  worth,  in  whom 
there  is  courage  :  whereupon  there  draw  to  him 
many  other  like  loose  young  men,  which  stirring  biin 
up  with  encouragement,  j)rovoke  him  shortly  to  flat 
rebellion.  And  this  happens  not  only  sometimes  in 
the  sons  of  their  gentlemen,  but  also  of  their  noble- 
men, especially  of  them  who  have  base  sons.  For 
they  are  not  only  not  ashamed  to  acknosvledge 
them,  but  also  boast  of  them,  and  use  them  to  such 
secret  services,  as  they  themselves  will  not  be  seen 
in  ;  as  to  plague  their  enemies,  to  spoil  their  neigh- 
bours, to  opjiress  and  crush  some  of  tlieir  own  too 
stubborn  freeholders,  wliich  are  not  tractable  to 
their  wills. 

EuDox. — Then  it  seeraeth,  that  tliis  ordinance  of 
tithing  them  by  the  pole,  is  not  only  fit  for  the  gen- 
tlemen, but  also  for  the  noblemen,  whom  I  would 
have  thouglit  to  be  of  so  honourable  a  mind,  as 
that  they  should  not  need  such  a  kind  of  being 
bound  to  tlieir  allegiance,  who  should  rather  have 
held  in,  and  staid  all  the  other  from  undutifulness, 
than  need  to  be  forced  thereunto  themselves. 

Ihen. — Vea,  so  it  is,  Eudoxus  ;  but  because  that 
noblemen  cannot  be  tithed,  there  being  not  many 
tithings  of  them,  and  also  because  a  borsolder  over 
tlifin  should  be  not  only  a  great  indignity,  but  also  a 
danger  to  add  more  ])ower  to  them  than  they  have, 
or  to   make   one  the   commander  of  ten  ;  1  hold  h 


A  VIEW   OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


533 


meeter  that  tbere  were  only  sureties  taken  of  th^m, 
aad  one  bound  for  anotlicr ;  whereby  if  any  shall 
swerve,  his  sureties  shall,  for  safeguard  of  their 
bonds,  either  brin>;-  iiim  in,  or  seek  to  serve  upon 
Lim.  And  besides  this,  I  would  wish  them  all  to 
be  sworn  to  her  majesty,  which  they  never  ypt 
were,  but  at  the  first  creation  ;  and  that  oath  would 
sure  contain  them  greatly,  or  the  breach  of  it  bring 
them  to  shorter  vengeance,  for  God  useth  to  punish 
perjury  sharply.  So  I  read,  that  there  was  a  corpo- 
ral oath  taken  in  the  reigns  of  Edwar-l  the  Second, 
and  of  Henry  the  Seventh  (when  the  times  were 
very  broken)  of  all  the  lords  and  best  gentlemen, 
of  fealtv  to  tiie  king  ;  wliich  now  is  no  less  needful, 
because  many  of  tliem  are  suspected  to  have  taken 
another  oath  privily  to  some  bad  purposes,  and 
thereupon  to  liave  received  the  sacrament,  and  bpen 
sworn  to  a  priest,  which  thev  think  bindelh  them 
more  than  their  allegiance  to  their  prince,  or  love  of 
their  ountrv. 

Ki'DOX. —  This  ti;hiiigto  the  common  people,  and 
taking  sureties  of  lords  and  gentlemen,  I  like  very 
well,  but  that  it  will  be  very  troublesome  :  should  it 
not  he  as  well  for  to  have  them  all  booked,  and  the 
lords  and  gentlemen  to  take  all  the  meaner  sort  upon 
themselves,  for  they  are  best  able  to  bring  them  m, 
whens  lever  any  of  them  starteth  out  1 

InEN. —  I'his  indeed,  Kudoxus,hath  been  hitherto, 
and  yet  is  a  common  order  amongst  thern,  to  have 
all  the  people  booked  by  the  lords  and  gentlemen  : 
but  yet  the  worst  order  that  ever  was  adv'ised  j  for 
by  this  booking  of  men,  all  the  inferior  sort  are 
brought  under  the  command  of  their  lords,  and 
forced  to  follow  them  into  any  action  whatsoever. 
Now  this  you  are  to  understand,  that  all  the  rebel- 
liims,  which  you  see  from  time  to  time  happen  in 
Ireland,  are  not  begun  by  the  common  people,  but 
by  the  lords  and  captains  of  countries,  upon  pride 
or  wilful  obstinacy  against  the  government;  which 
whensoever  they  will  enter  into,  they  draw  with 
them  all  their  peojjle  and  followers,  which  think 
themselves  bound  to  go  with  them,  because  they 
have  booked  them,  and  undertaken  for  them.  And 
this  is  the  reason  that  in  England  you  have  such 
few  bad  occasions,  by  reason  that  the  noblemen, 
however  they  should  happen  to  be  evil  disposed, 
have  no  command  at  all  over  the  commonalty,  though 
dwelling  under  them,  because  that  every  man  staiid- 
eth  upon  himself,  and  buildeth  his  fo'rtunes  upon 
his  own  faith  and  firm  assurance.  I  he  which  this 
ra.inner  of  tithing  the  poles  will  work  also  in  Ire- 
land ;  for  by  this,  the  people  are  broken  into  many 
small  parts,  like  little  streams,  that  they  cannot 
easily  come  together  into  one  head,  which  is  the 
principal  regard  that  is  to  be  Had  in  Ireland,  to  keep 
them  trom  growing  unto  such  a  head,  and  adhering 
unto  great  men. 

EuDox. —  Hut  yet  I  cannot  see  bow  this  can  be 
well  brought,  without  doing  great  wrong  i^nto  the 
noblemen  there  ;  for  at  the  first  conquest  of  that 
rea!m,  those  great  seigniories  and  lordshijis  were 
given  them  by  the  king,  that  they  shuuld  be  the 
stronger  against  the  Irish,  by  the  multitudes  of  fol- 
lowers and  tenants  under  them:  all  which  hold  their 
tenements  of  them  by  fealty,  and  such  services, 
whereby  they  are  ( by  the  first  grant  of  the  king) 
made  bounden  unto  them,  and  tried  to  rise  out  with 
them  into  all  occasions  of  service.  And  this  I  have 
often  heard,  tliat  when  the  lord  deputy  hatli  raised 
auy  general  hostings,  the  noblemen  iiave  claimed  the 


leading  of  them,  by  grant  from  the  kings  of  England 
under  the  great  seal  exhibited  ;  so  as  the  deputies 
could  not  refuse  them  to  have  the  leading  of  them, 
or  if  they  did,  they  would  so  work,  as  none  of  their 
followers  should  rise  forth  to  the  hostage. 

liiEN. —  You  say  very  true  ;  but  will  you  see  the 
fruit  of  those  grants'?  I  have  known  when  those 
lords  have  hail  the  leading  of  their  own  followeis 
under  them  to  the  gener;il  hostings,  that  they  have 
for  the  same  cut  upon  every  plough-land  within  their 
country  forty  shillings  or  more;  whereby  ^ome  of 
them  have  gathered  together  above  seven  or  eii^ht 
hundred  pounds,  and  others  much  wore,  into  ll.eir 
purse  ;  in  lieu  whereof,  they  have  gathernl  unto 
themselves  a  number  of  loose  kern  out  of  dl  |iiiis, 
which  thev  have  carried  forth  with  them,  to  wh^im 
they  never  gave  any  penny  of  entertainment,  allowed 
by  the  country,  or  forced  by  them,  but  let  them  feed 
upon  the  countries,  and  extort  upon  all  men  where 
they  come  :  for  that  people  will  never  ask  better 
entertainment,  than  to  have  a  colour  of  service  or 
employment  given  them,  by  which  they  will  poll  and 
spoil  so  outrageously,  as  the  very  enemy  cannot  do 
much  worse:  and  they  also  sometimes  turn  to  the 
enemy. 

E'juox. — It  seems,  the  first  intent  of  those  grants 
was  against  the  Irish,  which  now  some  of  them  use 
against  the  queen  herself.  But  now,  what  remedy 
is  there  for  this  ?  or  how  can  those  grants  of  the 
kings  be  avoided,  without  wronging  of  those  lords, 
which  had  those  lands  and  lordships  given  them  1 

luEN. — Surely  they  may  be  well  enough,  for  most 
of  those  lords,  since  their  first  grants  from  the  kings, 
by  which  those  lands  were  given  them,  have  sithence 
bestowed  the  most  part  of  them  amongst  their  kins- 
folk ;  as  every  lord  perhaps  hath  given  in  his  lime 
one  or  another  of  his  principal  castles  to  his  younger 
son,  and  other  to  others,  as  largely  and  as  amply  as 
they  were  given  to  him  ;  and  others  they  have  sold, 
and  others  they  have  bought,  wdiich  were  notintlieir 
first  grant,  which  now  nevertheless  tbey  bring 
within  the  compass  thereof;  and  take  and  exact 
upon  them,  as  upon  their  first  demesnes,  all  those 
kind  of  services,  yea,  and  the  very  wild  exactions, 
coignie,  livery,  sorehon,  and  such  like  •,  by  which 
they  poll  and  utterly  undo  the  poor  tenants  and 
freeholders  under  them,  which  either  through  igno- 
rance know  not  their  tenures,  or  through  greatness 
of  their  new  lords  dare  not  challenge  them  :  yea, 
and  some  lords  of  countries  also,  as  greq^t  ones  as 
themselves,  are  now  by  strong  hand  brought  under 
them,  and  made  their  vassals.  As  for  example, 
Arundel  of  the  Stronde,  in  the  county  of  Cork, 
who  was  anciently  a  great  lord,  and  was  able  to 
spend  3,5001.  by  the  year,  as  appeareih  by  good 
records,  is  now  i  ecome  the  lord  Barrie's  man,  and 
doth  to  him  all  those  services  which  are  due  unto 
her  majesty.  For  reformation  of  all  which,  I  wish 
that  there  were  a  commission  granted  forth,  under 
the  great  seal,  as  1  have  seen  one  recorded  in  the 
old  Council-book  of  iMunster,  that  was  sent  forth 
in  the  time  of  Sir  William  Drury,  unto  persons  of 
special  trust  and  judgment,  to  inquire  throughout 
all  Ireland,  beginnii;g  with  one  county  first,  and  so 
resting  awhile  tfll  the  same  wer^- settled,  by  the  ver- 
dict of  a  sound  and  substantial  jury,  how  every  man 
holdeth  his  land,  of  whom,  and  by  what  tenure  ;  so 
that  every  one  should  be  admitted  to  show  and  exhi- 
bit what  right  he  hath,  and  by  what  services  he  hold- 
eth his  land,  whether  in  chiel,  or  in  soccage,  or  by 


5?4 


A  VIKW  OF    IIIK  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


knijilit's  service,  or  liow  else  soever.  Tl)ereuj)on 
would  appear,,  first,  how  all  those  great  English  lords 
do  claim  those  great  services,  what  seigniories  they 
USUI)),  what  wardships  they  take  from  the  queen, 
what  lands  of  hers  they  conceal.  And  then,  how 
tlio^e  Irish  ca|itaiiis  of  countries  have  encroached 
upon  the  queen's  freeholilers  and  tenants,  how  they 
have  translated  the  tenures  of  them  from  Kng;lish 
holding,  unto  Irish  tanistry,  and  defeated  her  ma- 
jesty of  all  lit-r  rights  and  duties  which  are  to  accrue 
to  her  thereout;  as  waidships,  liveries,  marriages, 
fines  of  alienations,  and  many  other  commodities 
which  now  are  kept  and  concealed  fiom  her  majesty, 
to  the  value  of  40,0001.  per  annum,  I  dare  undertake 
in  all  Ireland,  by  that  which  I  know  in  one  county. 

EuDOx. — This,  Ireneus,  would  seem  a  dangerous 
commission,  and  ready  to  stir  up  all  the  Irish  in 
rehellion,  who  knowing  that  they  have  nothing  to 
show  for  all  those  lands  which  they  hold,  but  their 
swords  would  rather  draw  them,  than  suffer  the 
lands  to  be  thus  drawn  away  from  them. 

I  REN. — Neither  should  their  lands  be  taken  away 
from  them,  nor  the  utmost  advantages  enforced 
agamst  them.  But  this,  by  discretion  of  the  com- 
missioners, should  be  made  known  unto  them,  that 
it  is  not  her  majesty's  meaning,  to  use  any  such 
extremity,  hut  only  to  reduce  things  into  order  of 
English  law,  and  make  them  hold  their  lands  of  her, 
and  to  restore  to  her  her  due  services,  which  they 
detain  out  of  those  lands,  which  were  anciently  held 
of  her.  And  that  they  should  not  only  not  be 
thrust  out,  but  also  have  estates  and  grants  of  their 
lands  new  made  to  them  from  her  majesty,  so  as 
they  should  thenceforth  hold  them  rightfully,  which 
they  now  usurp  wrongfully.  And  yet  withal  I 
would  wish,  that  in  all  those  Irish  countries  there 
were  some  land  reserved  to  her  majesty's  free  dis- 
position, for  the  better  containing  of  the  rest,  and 
intermingling  them  with  English  inhahitants  and 
customs,  that  knowledge  might  still  be  had  of 
them,  and  of  all  their  doings,  so  as  no  manner  of 
practice  or  conspiracy  should  be  had  in  hand 
amongst  them,  but  notice  should  be  given  thereof  by 
one  means  or  another,  and  their  practice  prevented. 

EuDox Truly  neither  can  the   Irish  nor  yet  the 

English  lords  think  themselves  wronged,  nor  hardly 
dealt  withal,  herein,  to  have  that  which  is  indeed 
none  of  their  own  at  all,  but  her  majesty's  absolutely 
given  to  them,  with  such  e(|ual  conditions,  as  that 
both  they  may  be  assured  thereof  better  than  they  are, 
and  also,  her  majesty  not  defrauded  of  her  right  utterly. 
For  it  is  a  great  grace  in  a  prince,  to  take  that  with 
conditions,  which  is  absolutely  her  own.  Thus 
shall  the  Irish  be  well  satisfied.  And  as  for  the 
great  men  which  had  such  grants  made  to  them  at 
first  by  the  kings  of  England,  it  was  in  regard  that 
they  should  keep  forth  the  Irish,  and  defend  the 
king's  right,  and  his  subjects  ;  but  now  seeing  that 
instead  of  defending  them,  they  rob  and  spoil  them  ; 
and  instead  of  keeping  out  the  Irish,  they  do  not 
only  make  the  Irish  tlieir  tenants  in  those  lands, 
and  thrust  out  the  English,  but  also  some  of  them- 
selves become  mere  Irish,  with  mairying  with  them, 
with  fostering  with  them,  and  combining  with 
them  against  the  queen  ;  what  reason  is  there,  but 
that  those  grants  and  privileges  should  be  either 
revoked  or  at  least  reduced  to  tlie  first  intention  for 
which  they  were  granted?  For  sure,  in  mine  opi- 
H)r;i,  they  are  more  sharjtly  to  be  chastised  and 
retormed.than  the  rude  Irish,  which  being  very  wild 


tit  the  first,  are  now  become  more  civil  ;  whenas 
these  from  civility,  are  grown  to  be  wild  and  mere 
Irish. 

Iren. — Indeed,  as  you  say,  Eudoxus  ,  these  do 
need  a  sharper  reformation  than  the  Irish  ;  for  they 
are  more  stubborn  and  disobedient  to  law  9nt\  go- 
vernment than  the  Irish  be. 

KuDox. — In  truth,  Ireneus,  this  is  more  than 
ever  I  heard  that  any  English  there  should  be  worse 
than  the  Irish.  LoVd,  how  quickly  doth  that 
country  alter  men's  natures  I  It  is  not  for  nothing, 
I  perceive,  which  I  have  heard,  that  the  council  of 
England  think  it  no  good  policy  to  have  that  realm 
reformed,  or  planted  with  English,  lest  they  should 
grow  so  undutiful  as  the  Irish,  and  become  more 
dangerous.  As  appeareth  by  the  examples  of  the 
Lacies  in  the  time  of  Edward  II.,  which  you  spake 
of,  that  shook  off  their  allegiance  to  their  natural 
prince,  and  turned  to  Edward  le  Bruce,  to  make 
him  king  of  Ireland. 

Ihen. —  No  times  have  been  without  bad  men: 
but  as  for  that  purpose  of  the  council  of  England, 
which  you  spake  of.  that  they  should  keep  that 
realm  from  reformation,  I  think  they  are  most  lewdly 
abused  ;  for  their  great  carefulness,  and  earnest 
endeavours  do  witness  the  contrary.  Neither  is  it 
the  nature  of  the  country  to  alter  men's  manners,  but 
the  bad  minds  of  the  men,  who  having  been  brought 
up  at  liome  under  a  strait  rule  of  duty  and  obedi- 
ence, being  always  restrained  by  sharp  penalties 
from  lewd  behaviour,  so  soon  as  they  come  thither, 
where  they  see  laws  more  slackly  tended,  and  the 
hard  restraint  which  they  were  used  unto,  now 
slacked,  they  grow  more  loose  and  careless  of  their 
duty:  and  as  it  is  the  nature  of  all  men  to  love  li- 
berty, so  they  become  flat  libertines,  and  fall  to 
all  licentiousness,  more  boldly  daring  to  disobey  the 
law,  through  the  presumption  of  favour  and  friend- 
ship, than  any  Irish  dareth. 

Ei'Dox. — -Then  if  that  he  so,  methinks  your  late 
advisement  was  very  evil,  whereby  you  wished  the 
Irish  to  be  sowed  and  sprinkled  with  English,  and 
in  all  the  Irish  countries  to  have  English  planted 
amongst  them,  for  to  bring  them  to  English  fashions, 
since  the  English  sooner  draw  to  the  Irish  than  the 
Irish  to  the  English.  For,  as  you  said  before,  if 
they  must  run  with  the  stream,  the  greater  number 
will  carry  away  the  less.  Therefore,  methinks,  by 
this  reason,  it  should  be  better  to  part  the  Irish  and 
English,  than  to  mingle  them  together. 

I  HEN. — Net  so,  Eudoxus  ;  but  where  there  is  no 

good  stay  of  government,  and  strong  ordinances  to 

iiold  them,  there  indeed  the  fewer  follow  the  more  ; 

but  where  there  is  due  order  of  discipline  and  good 

rule,  there  the  better  shall  go  foremost,  and  the  worst 

shall  follow.      And  therefore  now,  since   Ireland  is 

full  of  her  own  nation,  that  ought  not  to  be  rooted 

out,  and  somewhat  stored  with  English  already,  and 

more  to  be  ;   I  think  it  best,  by  an  union  of  manners, 

and  conformity  of  minds,  to  bring  them  to  be  one 

peofile,  and  to  put  away  the  di>likeful  conceit  both 

I  of  tlie  one  and  the  other,  winch  will  be  by  no  means 

better,    than    by    this   intermingling  of   them.      P'or 

neither  all  the  Irish  may  dwell  together  nor  all  the 

I  FJMglish,  but  by  translating  of  them,  and  scattering 

I  them  amongst  the  English,  not  only   to  bring  them 

I  by  daily  conversation  to  better  liking  of  each  other, 

hut  also  to  make  both  of  them  less  able  to  hurt.   And 

therif  re  when  I  come  to  the  tything  of  them,  I  will 

I  t}th'«  them  one  with  another,  and,  for  the  mosti^iart, 


A  VIEW  OF  THF-:  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


h75 


will  make  an  Irishman  tlie  tYthingnian,  whereby  he 
shall  take  the  less  exce])tion  to  partiality,  and  Vet  be 
the  more  tied  thereby.  But  when  1  come  to  the 
headborough,  which  is  the  head  ot"  the  lathe,  him 
will  1  make  an  Eniilishman,  or  an  Irishman  of  spe- 
cial assurance.  As  also  when  I  come  to  appoint  the 
alderman,  that  is  the  head  of  the  hundred,  him  will 
I  surely  choose  to  he  an  Englishman,  of  special 
regard,  that  may  be  a  stay  and  pillar  of  all  the  bo- 
rough under  him. 

Eur)ox. — What  do  you  mean  by  your  hundred, 
and  what  by  your  borough?  By  that  that  I  have 
read  in  ancient  records  of  England,  an  hundred  did 
contain  an  hundred  villages,  or,  as  some  say,  an 
hundred  plough-lands,  being  the  same  which  the 
Saxons  called  cantrtd  ;  the  which  cantred,  as  I  find 
it  recorded  in  the  black-book  of  I'JLe  Exchequer  of] 
Ireland,  did  contain  30  villatas  terra:,  which  some 
call  quarters  of  land  ;  and  every  viliata  can  maintain 
•JOO  cows  in  pasture,  and  the  400  cows  to  be  divided 
into  four  herds,  so  as  none  of  them  shall  come  near 
other  ;  every  villata  containing  18  plough-lands,  as 
is  there  set  down.  And  by  that  which  I  have  read 
of  a  borough,  it  signifieth  a  free-town,  which  had  a 
principal  officer,  called  a  head-borough,  to  become 
ruler,  and  undertake  for  all  the  dwellers  under  him, 
having  for  the  same,  franchises  and  privileges  granted 
them  by  the  king,  whereof  it  was  called  a  free-bo- 
rough, and  of  the  lawyers,  Franci  plegium. 

InEN. — Both  that  which  you  said,  Eudoxus,  is 
true,  and  yet  that  which  I  say  not  untrue.  For  that 
which  you  spake  of  dividing  the  country  into  hun- 
dreds, was  a  division  of  the  lands  of  the  realm  ;  but 
this  which  1  tell  was  of  the  people,  which  were  thus 
divided  by  the  pole  :  so  that  hundred  in  this  sense 
signifieth  a  hundred  pledges,  which  were  under  the 
command  and  assurance  of  their  alderman  ;  the 
which  (as  I  suppose)  was  also  called  a  wapentake, 
so  named  of  touching  the  weapon  or  sjiear  of  their 
alderman,  and  swearing  to  follow  him  faithfully,  and 
serve  their  prince  truly.  But  others  think,  that  a 
wapentake  was  ten  hundreds  or  boroughs.  Like- 
wise a  borough,  as  I  here  use  it,  and  as  the  old  laws 
still  use,  is  not  a  borough-town,  as  they  now  call  it, 
that  is,  a  franchised  town;  but  a  main  pledge  of  a 
hundred  free  persons,  therefore  called  a  free  borough, 
or  (as  you  say)  Fraud  plegium.  For  Borh,  in  old 
Saxon,  signifieth  a  pledge  or  surety  ;  and  yet  it  is  so 
used  with  us  in  some  speeches  (as  Chaucer  saith) 
St.  John  to  Boroh,  that  is,  for  assurance  and  war- 
rantry. 

EuDox.  I  conceive  ihe  difference.  But  now  that 
you  have  thus  divided  the  people  into  these  tythings 
and  hundreds,  how  will  you  have  them  so  preserved 
and  continued?  for  people  do  often  change  their 
dwelling-places,  and  some  must  die,  whilst  othei  some 
do  grow  up  into  strength  of  years,  and  become  men. 

Iren. — These  hundreds  I  would  wish  to  assemble 
themselves  once  every  year  with  their  pledges,  and 
to  present  themselves  before  the  justices  of  the 
peace,  which  shall  be  thereunto  appointed,  to  be 
surveyed  and  numbered,  to  see  what  change  hath 
happened  since  the  year  before ;  and  the  defects  to 
supply,  of  young  ]}lants  late  grown  up,  the  which 
are  diligently  to  be  overlooked  and  viewed  of  what 
condition  and  demeanor  they  be,  so  as  pledges  may 
be  taken  for  them,  and  they  put  into  order  of  some 
nthing.  Of  all  which  alterations,  notes  are  to  be 
taken,  and  books  made  thereof  accordingly. 

EuDOX. — Now,  methinks,  Ireneus,  you  are  to  be 


warned  to  take  heed,  lest  unawares  you  fall  into  tna* 
inconvenience  which  you  formerly  found  fault  with 
in  others  ;  namely,  tliat  l)y  this  booking  of  tliem,vou 
do  not  gather  them  into  a  new  head  ;  ana  havinj; 
bioken  their  former  strength,  do  not  unite  them  more 
strongly  again.  For  every  alderman,  having  all 
these  free  pledges  of  his  hundred  under  his  com- 
mand, may,  methinks,  if  be  be  evil  disjiosed,  draw 
all  his  company  into  an  evil  action.  And  likewise 
by  this  assembling  of  them  once  a  year  untu  their 
alderman  by  their  wapentakes,  take  heed  lest  vou 
also  give  them  occasion  and  means  to  practise  toge- 
ther in  any  conspiracies. 

Iren. —  Neither  of  both  is  to  be  doubted  ;  for  their 
aldermen  and  head-boroughs  will  not  be  such  ni^n 
of  power  and  countenance  of  themselves,  being  to 
be  chosen  thereunto,  as  need  to  be  feared  ;  neitlier 
if  he  were,  is  his  hundred  at  his  command,  further 
than  his  prince's  service  ;  and  also  every  tything- 
man  may  control  him  in  such  a  case.  And  as  f(>r 
the  assembling  of  the  hundred,  much  less  is  any 
danger  thereof  to  be  doubted,  seeing  it  is  before 
some  justice  of  peace,  or  some  high-constable, 
to  be  thereunto  appointed.  So  as  of  these  tythings, 
there  can  no  peril  ensue,  but  a  certain  assurance 
of  peace  and  great  good  ;  for  they  are  thereby 
withdrawn  from  their  lords,  and  subjected  to  the 
prince.  JNIoreover,  for  the  better  breaking  of  these 
heads  and  septs,  which  (I  told  you)  was  one  of  the 
greatest  strengths  of  the  Irish,  methinks  it  should 
be  very  well  to  renew  that  old  statute  which  was 
made  in  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Fourth  in  Ireland, 
by  which  it  was  commanded,  that  whereas  all  men 
then  used  to  be  called  by  the  name  of  their  sejits, 
according  to  the  several  nations,  and  had  no  ^irnaInes 
at  all  ;  that  from  thenceforth  each  one  should  take 
upon  himself  a  several  sirname,  either  of  his  trtide 
and  faculty,  or  of  some  quality  of  his  body  or  mind, 
or  of  the  place  where  he  dwelt ;  so  as  every  one 
should  be  distinguished  from  the  other,  or  from  the 
most  part,  whereby  they  shall  not  only  not  depend 
upon  the  Jiead  of  their  sept,  as  now  they  do,  hut 
also  in  time  learn  quite  to  forget  his  Irish  nation. 
And  herewithal, would  I  also  wish  all  the  O's  and 
the  Mac's,  which  the  heads  of  septs  have  taken  to 
their  names,  to  be  utterly  forbidden  and  extinguished. 
For  that  the  same  being  an  ordinance  (as  some  say) 
first  made  by  O'Brien  for  the  strengthening  of  the 
Irish,  the  abrogating  thereof  will  as  much  enfeeble 
them. 

EuDox. — I  like  this  ordinance  very  well.  But 
now  that  you  have  thus  divided  and  distinguished 
them,  what  other  order  will  you  take  for  their  man- 
ner of  life  ? 

Iren. — The  next  thing  that  I  will  do,  shall  be,  to 
appoint  to  every  one  that  is  not  able  to  live  of  his 
freehold,  a  certain  trade  of  life,  to  which  he  shall 
find  himself  fittest,  and  shall  be  thought  ablest ;  the 
which  trade  he  shall  be  bound  to  follow,  and  live 
only  thereupon.  All  trades  therefore  are  to  be  un- 
derstood to  be  of  three  kinds,  manual,  intellectual, 
and  mixed.  The  first  containeth  all  such  as  need- 
eth  exercise  of  bodily  labour,  to  the  performance  of 
their  profession.  The  second,  consisting  only  of 
the  exercise  of  wit  and  reason.  The  third  sort, 
part  of  bodily  labour,  and  part  of  wit,  but  depend- 
ing most  of  industry  and  carefulness.  Of  the  first 
sort  be  all  handicrafts  and  husbandry  labour.  Of 
the  second,  be  all  sciences,  and  those  vvhich  be 
called   liberal  arts.       Of  the  third,  is  mercliauuisa 


5So 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND 


and  cbaffery  ;  tliat  is,  buying  and  selling.  And 
without  all  these  three  there  is  no  common  wealth 
can  idmost  consist,  or  at  the  least  be  perfect.  But 
the  realm  of  Ireland  wanteth  the  most  principal  of 
them,  that  is,  the  intellectual  ;  therefore  in  seeking; 
to  reform  !ier  state,  it  is  specially  to  be  looked  unto. 
But  because  bv  husbandry,  which  supplieth  unto 
us  all  things  necessary  for  food,  we  chiefly  live; 
therefore  it  is  first  to  be  provided  for.  The  first 
thing  therefore  that  we  are  to  draw  the&e  new 
tithed  men  into,  ought  to  be  husbandry  :  first,  be- 
cause it  is  the  most  easy  to  be  learned,  needing 
oiilv  the  labour  of  the  body.  Next,  because  it  is 
most  general,  and  most  needful.  Then,  because  it 
is  most  natural.  And  lastly,  because  it  is  most 
enemy  to  war,  and  most  hateth  unquietness  :  as  the 
poe't  saiih, 

Bella  execrata  colotiis. 

For  husbandry  being  the  nurse  of  thrift,  and  the 
daunliter  of  industry  and  labour,  detesteth  all  that 
may  work  her  scatiie,  and  destroy  the  travail  of  her 
hands,  whose  hope  is  all  her  lives'  comfort  unto  the 
plough;  therefore  are  tliose  kern,  stocabs,  and 
horse-boys  to  be  driven  and  made  to  employ  that 
ableness  of  body  which  they  were  wont  to  use  to 
theft  and  villany,  henceforth  to  labour  and  industry. 
In  the  which,  by  that  time  they  have  spent  but  a 
little  pain,  they  will  find  such  sweetness  and  linppy 
contentment,  that  they  will  afterwards  hardly  be 
hauled  away  from  it,  or  drawn  to  their  wonted  lewd 
life  and  thievery  and  roguery.  And  being  once  thus 
inured  thereunto,  they  are  not  only  to  be  coun- 
tenanced and  encouraged  by  all  good  means  ;  but 
also  provided  that  their  children  after  them  may  be 
brought  up  likewise  in  the  same,  and  succeed  in  the 
rooms  of  their  fathers.  To  which  end  there  is  a 
statute  in  Ireland  already  well  provided,  which 
commandeth,  that  all  the  sons  of  husbandmen  shall 
be  trained  up  in  their  fathers'  trades;  but  it  is  (God 
wot)  very  slenderly  executed. 

EuDOx. — But  do  you  not  count  in  this  trade  of 
husbandry,  pasturing  of  cattle,  and  keeping  of 
their  cows  1  for  that  is  reckoned  as  a  part  of  hus- 
bandry. 

Iren. — I  know  it  is,  and  needfully  to  be  used; 
but  1  do  not  mean  to  allow  any  of  those  able  bodies, 
which  are  able  to  use  bodily  labour,  to  follow  a  few 
-;ows  grazing.  Bui  such  impotent  persons,  as  being 
unable  for  strong  travail,  are  yet  able  to  drive  cattle 
to  and  fro  to  their  pasture;  tor  this  keeping  of 
cows,  is  of  itself  a  very  idle  life,  and  a  fit  nursery 
for  a  thief.  For  which  cause  (you  remember) 
I  disliked  the  Irish  manner  of  keeping  of  boolies 
in  summer  upon  the  mountains,  and  living  after 
that  savage  sort.  But  if  they  will  algates  feed 
many  cattle,  or  keep  them  on  the  mountains, 
let  them  make  some  towns  near  to  the  moun- 
tains' side,  where  they  may  dwell  together  with 
neighbours,  and  be  conversant  in  the  view  of 
the  world.  And  to  say  truth,  though  Ireland 
be  by  nature  counted  a  great  soil  of  pasture,  yet  had  I 
rather  have  fewer  cows  kept,  and  men  better  man- 
nered, than  to  have  such  huge  increase  of  cattle,  and 
no  increase  of  ^'ood  conditions.  I  would  therefore 
wi.sh,  that  there  weie  some  ordinances  made  amongst 
them,  that  whosc.ever  keepeth  tvve:;ty  kme,  should 
keep  a  plough  going,  for  otherwise  all  men  would 
fall  to  pasturage,  and  none  to  husbandry  ;  which  is 
a  great  cause  of  this  dearth  now  in  England,  and  a 
cause  of  the  usual  stealths  in  Ireland;  lor,  look  into 


all  countries  that  live  in  such  sort  by  keeping  of 
cattle,  and  you  shall  find  that  they  are  both  very  bar- 
barous and  uncivil,  and  also  greatly  given  to  war. 
The  Tartarians,  the  Muscovites,  the  Norwegians, 
the  Goths,  the  Armenians,  and  many  other  do  wit- 
ness the  same.  And.  therefore,  since  now  we  pur- 
pose to  draw  the  Irish  from  desire  of  war  and  tu- 
mults, to  the  love  of  peace  and  civility,  it  is  expe- 
dient to  abridge  their  great  custom  of  hardening, 
and  augment  their  trade  of  tillage  and  husban- 
dry. As  for  other  occupations  and  trades,  they 
need  not  be  enforced  to,  but  every  man  to  be 
bound  only  to  follow  one  that  he  thinks  himself 
aptest  for.  For  other  trades  of  artificers  will  be 
occupied  for  very  necessity,  and  constrained  use  of 
them  ;  and  so  likewise  will  merchandise  for  the  gain 
tliereof;  but  learning  and  bringing  up  in  liberal 
sciences  will  not  come  of  itself,  hut  must  be  drawn 
on  with  straight  laws  and  ordinances.  And  there- 
fore it  were  meet  that  such  an  act  were  ordained, 
that  all  the  sons  of  lords,  gentlemen,  and  such  others 
as  are  able  to  bring  them  up  in  learning,  should  be 
trained  up  therein  from  their  childhoods  ;  and  for 
that  end,  every  parish  should  be  forced  to  keep  a 
petty  schoolmaster  adjoining  unto  the  parish  church, 
to  be  the  more  in  view,  which  should  bring  up  (heir 
children  in  the  first  elements  of  letters  ;  and  that  in 
every  country  or  barony,  they  should  keep  another 
able  schoolmaster,  which  should  instruct  them  in 
grammar,  and  in  the  principles  of  sciences,  to  whom 
they  should  be  compelled  to  send  their  youth  to  be 
disciplined ;  whereby  they  will  in  short  space  grow 
up  to  that  civil  conversation,  that  both  the  children 
will  loath  their  former  rudeness  in  which  they  were 
bred,  and  also  their  parents  will,  even  by  the  en- 
sample  of  their  young  children,  perceive  the  foulness 
of  their  own  behaviour,  compared  to  theirs.  For 
learning  hath  that  wonderful  power  in  itself,  that  it 
can  soften  and  temper  the  most  stern  and  savage 
nature. 

FuDox. — Surely  I  am  of  your  mind,  that  nothing 
will  bring  them  from  their  uncivil  life  sooner  than 
learning  and  discipline,  next  after  the  knowledge 
and  fear  of  God.  And  therefore  I  do  still  expea 
that  you  should  come  thereunto,  and  set  some  oider 
for  reformation  of  religion,  which  is  first  to  he 
respected;  according  to  the  saying  of  C'lmis], 
"  Seek  first  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  and  the  right- 
ousness  thereof." 

IiiEN. — I  have  in  mind  so  to  do  ;  but  let  me  (I 
pray  you)  first  finish  that  which  I  had  in  hand, 
whereby  all  the  ordinances  whicli  shall  afterwards 
he  set  for  religion,  may  abide  the  more  firmly,  and  be 
observed  more  diligently.  No\v  thai  this  people  is 
thus  tithed  and  ordered,  and  every  one  bound  unto 
some  honest  trade  of  life,  which  shall  be  particularly 
entered  and  set  down  in  the  tithing-book  ;  yet  per- 
haps there  will  be  some  stragglers  and  runagates,- 
which  will  not  of  themselves  come  in,  and  yield 
themselves  to  this  order;  and  yet  after  the  well 
finishing  of  the  present  war,  and  establishing  of  the 
garrisons  in  all  strong  places  of  the  country,  where 
their  wonted  refuge  was  most,  I  suppose  there  will 
few  stand  out  ;  or  if  they  do,  they  will  shortly  be 
brought  in  by  the  ears.  But  yet  afterwards,  lest 
any  one  of  them  should  swerve,  or  any  that  is  tied 
to  a  trade,  shouhl  afterwards  not  fullow  the  same, 
according  to  this  institution,  but  should  straggle  up 
and  down  the  country,  or  mich  in  corners  among:it 
their  friends  idly,  as  carrowes,  bards,  jesters, and  such 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


5?7 


likP"  I  would  wish  tliat  a  provost-marshal  sliould  be 
(ippointed  111  every  shire,  which  should  continually 
walkabout  tiie  country, "with  half  a  dozen,  or  half  a 
s-core  horsemen,  to  tate  up  such  loose  persons  as  they 
should  find  thus  wandering,  whom  he  should  punish 
by  his  own  authority,  wiih  such  pains  as  the  person 
shall  seem  to  deserve  :  for  if  he  but  once  so  taken 
idly  roguinp:,  he  mav  punish  him  more  lightly,  as  with 
stocks,  or  such  like  ;  but  if  he  be  found  again  so  loiter- 
ing, he  may  scourge  him  with  whips,  or  rods  ;  after 
which,  if  he  be  again  taken,  let  him  have  the  bitter- 
ness of  martial  law.  Likewise  if  any  relics  of  the 
old  rebellion  he  found  by  any,  that  either  have  not 
come  in  and  submitted  themselves  to  the  law,  or  that 
having  once  come  in,  do  break  forth  again,  and  walk 
disorderl)-,  let  them  taste  of  the  same  cup  in  God's 
name  ;  for  it  was  due  to  them  for  their  first  guilt  ; 
and  now  being  revived  by  their  latter  looseness,  let 
them  have  their  first  desert,  as  now  being  found  un- 
fit to  live  in  the  commoiiwealth. 

EuDox. —  J  his  were  a  good  ordinance  :  but  me- 
tbinks  it  is  an  unnecessary  charge,  and  also  uitfit  to 
continue  the  name  or  form  of  any  martial  law,  when- 
as  there  is  a  proper  ofl^ter  already  appointed  lor  these 
turns,  to  wit,  the  sheriff  of  the  shire,  whosp  peculiiir 
office  it  is  to  walk  up  and  down  his  liailiwick,  as 
3'ou  would  have  a  marshal,  to  snatch  up  all  those 
runagates  and  unprofitable  members,  and  to  bring 
them  to  his  gaol  to  be  ])unished  for  the  same. 
Therefore  this  may  well  be  s]iared. 

Ir.EN. — Not  so,  methinks  ;  for  though  the  sheriff 
have  this  autlioritv  of  himself  to  take  u|)  all  such 
stragglers,  and  imprison  them,  yet  shall  he  not  do  so 
much  g(Jod,  nor  work  that  terror  in  the  hearts  of 
them,  that  a  marshal  will,  whom  they  shall  know  to 
have  power  of  life  and  death  in  such  cases,  and  es- 
pecially to  be  ri})poinled  ibr  lliem.  Neither  doth  it 
jiinder  that,  but  that  though  it  pertain  to  the  sheriff, 
the  sheriff"  may  do  therein  what  he  can,  and  yet 
the  marshal  mav  walk  Ins  course  besides  ;  for  both 
of  them  may  do  the  more  good,  and  more  terrify  the 
idle  rogue  ;  knowing,  that  though  he  have  a  watch 
upon  the  one,  yet  he  mav  'light  upon  the  other.  But 
this  proviso  is  needful  to  be  had  in  this  ca>e,  that 
the  sheriff  may  not  have  the  like  power  of  life  as 
the  marshal  hath,  and  as  heretofore  they  have  been 
accustomed  ;  for  it  is  dangerous  to  give  power  of 
life  into  the  hands  of  him  which  mav  have  benefit 
by  the  party's  death  :  as,  if  any  loose  liver  have  any 
goods  of  his  own,  the  sheriff  is  to  seize  thereujion  ; 
vi-hereby  it  hath  come  to  pass,  that  some  who  have 
not  deserved  judgment  of  death,  though  otherwise 
perhaps  offending,  have  bt^en  for  their  goods'  sake 
caught  up,  and  earned  straight  to  the  bough  ;  a  thing 
indeed  veiy  pitiful  and  horrible.  Therefore  by  no 
means  I  would  have  the  sheriff  have  such  authority, 
nor  yet  to  imprison  that  lozel  till  the  sessions  ;  for 
so  all  goals  might  soon  be  filled  :  but  to  send  him  to 
the  marshal,  who  eftsoons  finding  him  faulty,  shall 
give  him  meet  correction,  and  send  him  away  forth- 
with. 

EuDox. — I  do  now  perceive  your  reason  well. 
But  come  we  now  to  that  whereof  we  erst  spake  ; 
I  mean,  to  religion  and  religious  men:  what  order 
will  you  set  amongst  them? 

Iren. — For  religion,  little  have  1  to  say,  myself 
being  (as  I  said)  not  professed  therein,  and  itself 
being  but  one,  so  as  there  is  but  one  way  therein  ;  for 
that  which  is  true  only  is,  and  the  rest  is  not  at  all. 
i  et  in  planting  of  religion,  thus  much  is  needful  to 


be  observed,  that  it  be  not  sought  forcibly  to  Ire  on- 
pressed  into  them  with  terror  and  sharp  penalties, 
as  now  is  the  manner  ;  but  rather  delivered  and  in- 
timated with  mildness  and  gentleness,  so  as  it  may 
not  be  hated  before  it  be  understood,  and  their  pro- 
fessors despised  and  rejected.  And  therefore  it  is 
expedient,  that  some  discreel  ministers  of  their  own 
countrymen  be  sent  over  amongst  them,  which  by 
their  meek  persuasions  and  instructions,  as  also  by 
their  sober  lives  and  conversations,  may  draw  them 
first  to  understand,  and  afterwards  to  embrace,  the 
doctrine  of  their  salvation.  For  if  that  the  ancient 
godly  fathers,  which  first  converted  them  when  they 
were  infidels,  to  the  faith,  were  able  to  pull  them 
from  idolatry  and  paganism,  to  the  true  belief  in 
Christ,  as  St.  Patrick  and  St.  Columb;  how  much 
more  easily  shall  godly  teachers  bring  them  to  the 
true  understanding  of  that  which  they  already  pro- 
fessed? wherein  it  is  great  wonder  to  see  ihe  odds 
whicl)  is  between  the  zeal  of  popish  jjriests,  and  the 
ministers  of  the  gospel  ;  for  I  bey  spare  not  to  ccme 
out  of  Spain,  from  Rome,  and  from  Hemes,  by  long 
toil,  and  dangerous  travelling  hither,  where  they 
know  peril  of  death  awaiteth  them,  and  no  reward 
or  riches  is  to  be  found,  only  to  draw  the  people 
unto  the  church  of  Home:  whereas  some  of  our 
idle  ministers,  having  a  wav  for  credit  aad  estima- 
tion theieby  oj)ened  unto  them,  and  haviiig  the  liv- 
ings of  the  country  offered  unto  them,  without  pains, 
and  without  peril,  will  neither  for  the  same,  nor  any 
love  of  God,  nor  zeal  of  religion,  nor  for  all  the 
good  they  may  do,  b)'  winning  souls  to  God,  be 
drawn  forth  from  their  warm  nests,  to  Icok  out  into 
God's  harvest,  vi'bich  is  even  ready  fir  the  sickle, 
and  all  the  fields  yellow  long  ago.  Doubtless  those 
good  old  godly  fathers  will  (I  fear  me)  rise  up  m 
the  day  of  judgment  to  condemn  them. 

EuDox. — Surely  itis  great  pity,  Ireneus,  that  there 
are  nonechosen  out  of  the  ministers  of  England,  good, 
sober,  and  discreet  men,  which  might  be  sent  over 
thither  to  teach  and  instruct  them  ;  and  that  there 
is  not  as  mucli  care  had  of  their  souls  as  of  their 
bodies  ;  for  the  care  of  both  lieth  u))on  the  prince. 

Iren. —  Were  there  never  so  many  sent  over,  they 
should  do  small  good  till  one  enormity  be  taken  from 
them  ;  that  is,  that  both  they  be  restrained  from 
sending  their  young  men  abroad  to  other  universi- 
ties beyond  the  sea,  as  Hemes,  Dowav,  J^ovain.and 
the  like  ,  and  others  from  abroad,  be  restrained  from 
coming  in  to  them  :  for  they  lurking  secretly  in  their 
houses,  and  in  corners  of  the  country,  do  more  hurt 
and  hindrance  to  religion  with  their  private  ])er- 
suasions,  than  all  the  others  can  do  good  with  their 
public  instructions  ;  and  though  for  these  latter  there 
be  a  good  statute  there  ordained,  yet  the  same  is  not 
executed  r  and  as  for  the  former,  there  is  no  law  nor 
order  for  their  restraint  at  all. 

EuDOx. — I  marvel  it  is  no  better  looked  unto  . 
and  not  only  this,  but  that  also  which  I  remember 
you  mentioned  in  your  abuses  concerning  the  ]iriifiis 
and  revenues  of  the  lands  of  fugitives  in  Irehiiui  ; 
which  by  pretence  of  certain  colourable  conveyances 
are  sent  continually  over  unto  them,  to  the  com'ort- 
ingofthem  and  others  against  her  majesty,  for  which 
here  in  England  there  is  good  order  taken  ;  and  win- 
not  then  as  well  in  Ireland  ?  For  though  there  he 
no  statute  there  vet  enacted  therefore,  yet  mitflit 
her  majesty  by  her  only  prerogative,  seize  the  tVuits 
and  profits  of  those  fugitives'  lands  into  her  b.ifids, 
till  they  come  over  to  testify  their  true  allegiance. 


52? 


A   VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


Iren. — Indeed  she  miobt.  so  do, but  the  combrous 
times  do  perhaps  hinder  the  regard  thereof,  and  of 
many  oilier  good  intentions. 

Ei'DOX. — But  why  then  did  tliey  not  mend  it  in 
peace  able  times  ? 

j„Ev. — Leave  we  that  to  (lieir  grave  considera- 
tions ;  but  ])rof eed  we  forwaid.  Next  care  in  re- 
ligion, is  to  build  up  and  repair  all  the  ruined 
churches,  whereof  the  most  part  lie  even  with  the 
ground  ;  and  some  tliat  have  been  lately  repaired, 
are  so  unhandsomely  patched,  and  thatched,  that  men 
do  even  shun  the  places  for  the  uncomeliness  thereof. 
Therefore  1  would  wish  that  there  were  order  taken 
to  have  them  budt  in  some  better  form,  according  to 
the  churches  of  England  ;  for  the  outward  show, 
assure  yourself,  doth  greatly  draw  the  rude  people 
to  the  reverencing  and  frequenting  thereof,  whatever 
some  of  our  late  too  nice  fools  say,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  seemly  form  and  comely  order  of  the  church. 
And  for  the  keeping  and  continuing  them,  there 
should  likewise  churchwardens  of  the  gravest  men 
in  the  parish  be  appointed,  as  they  be  here  in  Eng- 
land, which  should  take  the  yearly  charge  both 
hereof,  and  also  of  the  school-houses,  which  I  wish 
to  be  built  near  the  said  churches  ;  for  maintenance 
of  both  which,  it  were  meet  that  some  small  portion 
of  lands  were  allotted,  sith  no  more  mortmains  are  to 
be  looked  for. 

EuDos. — Indeed,  methinks,  it  would  be  so  con- 
venient ;  but  when  all  is  done,  how  will  you  have 
your  churches  served,  and  jour  ministers  main- 
tained ?  since  the  livings,  as  you  say,  are  not  suf- 
ficient scarce  to  make  them  gowns,  much  less  to 
yield  meet  maintenance,  according  to  the  dignity  of 
their  degree. 

J  REN. — There  is  no  way  to  help  that,  but  to  lay 
two  or  three  of  them  together,  until  such  time  as  the 
country  yrow  more  rich  and  better  inhabited  j  at 
which  time  thetithes  and  othei  obventions  will  also 
be  more  augmented  and  betier  valued.  But  now 
that  we  have  thus  gone  through  all  the  three  sorts 
of  trades,  and  set  a  course  for  their  good  establish- 
ment, let  us,  if  it  please  you,  go  next  to  some  other 
needful  points  of  public  matters,  no  less  concerning 
the  good  of  the  commonwealth,  though  but  accident- 
ally depending  on  the  former.  And  first,  I  wish 
that  order  were  taken  for  the  cutting  and  opening  of 
all  places  through  woods  :  so  that  a  wide  way,  of  the 
space  of  one  hundred  yards,  might  be  laid  open  in 
every  of  them,  for  the  safety  of  travellers,  which  use 
often  in  such  jjerilous  places  to  be  robbed,  and  some- 
times murdered.  Next,  that  bridges  were  built 
upon  the  rivers,  and  all  the  fords  marred  and  spilt, 
so  as  none  might  pass  any  other  way  but  by  those 
bridges,  and  every  bridge  to  have  a  gate  and  a  gate- 
house set  thereon  ;  wliereof  this  good  will  come, 
that  no  night  stealths,  which  are  commonly  driven 
in  by-ways,  and  by  blind  fords  unused  of  any  but 
such  like,  shall  not  be  conveved  out  of  one  country 
into  another,  as  they  use,  but  they  must  pass  by 
those  bridges,  where  they  may  either  be  hajjly  en- 
C'funtered,  or  easily  tracked,  or  not  suffered  to  pass 
at  all,  by  means  of  those  gate-houses  thereon.  Also 
that  in  all  straights  and  narrow  j>assages,  as  between 
two  bogs,  or  through  any  deep  ford,  or  under  any- 
mountain  side,  there  should  be  some  little  fortilage, 
or  wooden  castle  set,  which  should  kee])  and  com- 
.'uand  tli-it  stiaight,  whereby  any  rebels  that  should 
come  into  the  country  might  he  stojijied  that  way,  or 
.  pass  with  great  peril.     Moreover,  that  all  highways 


should  be  fenced  and  shut  up  on  both  sides,  leavmg 
only  forty  foot  breadth  for  passage,  so  as  none  sriouid 
be  able  to  pass  but  through  the  highways;  wiiereby 
thieves  and  night-robbers  might  be  the  more  easily 
pursued  and  encountered,  when  there  shall  be  no 
other  way  to  diive  their  stolen  cattle,  but  therein, 
as  1  formerly  declared.  Further,  that  there  should 
be  in  sundry  convenient  places  by  the  higliways, 
towns  appointed  to  be  built  ;  the  which  should  be 
free  boroughs,  and  incorjiorale  under  bailiffs,  to  be 
by  their  inhabitants  well  and  strongly  intrenched, 
or  otherwise  fenced  with  gates  on  each  side  therefore, 
to  be  shut  nightly,  like  as  there  is  in  many  places  in 
the  English  pale  ;  and  all  the  ways  about  it  to  be 
strongly  shut  up,  so  as  none  should  pass  but  through 
those  towns.  To  some  of  which  it  were  good  that 
the  privilege  of  a  market  vrere  given,  the  rather  to 
strengthen  and  enable  them  to  their  defence  ;  for 
there  is  nothing  doth  sooner  cause  civility  in  any 
country  than  many  market  towns,  by  reason  that 
jieople  repairing  often  thither  for  their  needs,  will 
daily  see  and  learn  civil  manners  of  the  better  sort. 
Besides,  there  is  nothing  doth  more  stay  and 
strengthen  the  country,  than  such  corporate  towns, 
as  by  proof  in  many  rebellions  hath  appeared;  in 
which  when  all  the  countries  have  swerveil,  the 
towns  have  stood  fast,  and  yielded  good  relief  to  the 
soldiers  in  all  occasions  of  services.  And  lastly, 
there  is  indeed  nothing  doth  more  enrich  any 
country  or  realm,  than  many  towns  ;  for  to  them 
will  all  the  ])eople  draw  and  bring  the  fruits  of  their 
trades,  as  well  to  make  money  of  them,  as  to  su]iply 
their  needful  uses  ;  and  the  countrymen  will  also  be 
more  industrious  in  tillage,  and  reaiing  of  all  hus- 
bandry commodities,  knowing  that  they  shall  have 
ready  sale  for  them  at  those  towns.  And  in  all 
those  towns,  should  there  be  convenient  inns 
erected  for  the  lodging  and  harbouring  of  travellers, 
which  are  now  oiientimes  spoiled  by  lodging 
abroad  in  weak  thatched  houses,  for  want  of  such 
safe  places  to  shroud  them  in. 

EuDox. — But  what  profit  shall  3'our market  towns 
reap  of  their  market,  whenas  each  one  may  sell 
their  corn  and  cattle  abroad  in  the  country,  and 
make  their  secret  bargains  amongst  themselvs,  as 
now  1  understand  they  use  1 

InEN. — Indeed,  Eudoxus,  they  do  so,  and  there- 
by no  small  inconvenience  doth  rise  to  the  common- 
wealth :  for  now  when  any  one  hath  stolen  a  cow  or 
a  garron,  he  may  secretly  sell  it  in  the  country 
without  privity  of  any;  whereas  if  he  bronyht 
it  to  a  market  town,  it  would  jierhaps  be  known 
and  the  thief  discovered.  Therefore,  it  were  good 
that  a  straight  ordinance  were  made,  that  none  should 
buy  or  sell  any  cattle,  but  in  some  open  market 
(there  being  now  market  towns  every  whereat  hand^ 
upon  a  great  penalty.  Neither  should  they  likewise 
buy  any  corn,  to  sell  the  same  again,  unless  it  were 
to  make  malt  thereof;  for  by  such  engrossing  and 
regrating,  we  see  the  dearth  that  now  commonly 
reigiieth  here  in  England,  to  have  been  caused. 
Hereunto  also  is  to  be  added  that  good  ordinance, 
which,  1  remember,  was  once  proclaimed  through- 
out all  Ireland  ;  that  all  men  should  mark  their  cat- 
tle with  an  open  several  mark  upon  their  Hanks  or 
buttocks,  so  as  if  they  hai)j)ened  to  be  stolen,  they 
might  ajipear  whose  they  were,  and  they  which 
should  buy  them,  might  thereby  susjiect  the  owner, 
and  be  warned  to  abstain  from  buying  them  of  a 
suspected  person^  with  such  an  unknown  murk 


A  VIEW  OF  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


529 


EuDox. — Surely  these  ordinances  seem  very  expe- 
dient, but  specially  that  of  free  towns,  of  which  I 
wonder  ihf  le  is  so  small  store  in  Ireland,  and  that  in 
the  first  peopling  and  planting  thereof,  they  were 
neglected  ai;d  omitted. 

Iren. — 'I'bey  were  not  omitted,  for  there  were 
through  all  places  of  the  country  convenient,  many 
good  towns  seated  ;  wliich  through  that  inundation 
of  the  Irish,  which  I  first  told  you  of,  were  utterly 
wasted  and  defaced,  of  which  the  ruins  are  yet  in 
many  places  to  be  seen,  and  of  some  no  sign  at  all 
remaining,  save  only  their  bare  names,  but  their  seats 
are  not  to  be  found. 

EuDox. — But  how  then  cometh  it  to  pass,  that 
they  have  never  since  been  recovered,  nor  their  habi- 
tations re-edified,  as  of  the  rest,  vvhich  have  been  no 
less  spoiled  and  wasted  ? 

Iren. — The  cause  thereof  was,  for  that  after  their 
desolation  they  were  begged  by  gentlemen,  of  the 
kings,  under  colour  to  repair  them,  and  gather  the 
poor  reliques  of  the  people  again  together  ;  of  whom 
Laving  obtained  them,  they  were  so  far  from  re-edi- 
fying of  them,  as  that  by  all  means  they  have  endea- 
voured to  keep  them  waste  ;  lest  that  being  repaired, 
their  charters  might  be  renewed,  and  their  burgesses 
restored  to  'heir  lands,  which  they  had  now  in  their 
possession  ;  much  like  as  in  those  old  monuments  of 
abbeys  and  religious  houses,  we  see  them  likewise 
use  to  do.  For  which  cause  it  is  judged  that  king 
Henry  Vlll.  bestowed  them  upon  them,  conceiving 
that  thereby  they  should  never  be  able  to  rise  again. 
And  even  so  do  these  lords,  in  these  poor  old  corpo- 
rate towns,  of  which  I  could  name  divers,  but  for 
kindling  of  displeasure.  Therefore,  as  I  wished 
many  corporate  towns  to  be  erected,  so  would  I  again 
wish  them  to  be  free,  not  depending  upon  the  ser- 
vice, nor  under  the  command  of  any  but  the  governor. 
And  being  so,  they  will  both  strengthen  all  the  country 
round  about  them,  which  by  their  means  will  be  the 
better  replenished  and  enriched  ;  and  also  be  as  con- 
tinual holds  for  her  majesty,  if  the  people  should 
revolt  or  break  out  again  ;  for  without  such  it  is  easy 
to  forage  and  overrun  the  whole  land.  Let  be  for 
ensample  all  those  free  boroughs  in  the  low  countries, 
which  are  now  all  the  strength  thereof.  These  and 
other  like  ordinances  might  be  delivered  for  the  good 
establishment  of  the  realm,  after  it  is  once  subdued 
and  reformed,  in  which  it  might  afterwards  be  very 
easily  kept  and  maintained,  with  small  care  of  the 
governors  and  council  there  appointed,  so  as  it  should 
in  short  space  yield  a  plentiful  revenue  to  the  crown 
of  England,  which  now  doth  but  suck  and  con- 
sume ihe  treasure  thereof,  through  those  unsound 
plots  and  changeful  orders,  which  are  daily  devised 
for  her  good,  yet  never  effectually  prosecuted  or  per- 
formed. 

EuDox. — But  in  all  this  your  discourse,  I  have  not 
marked  any  thing  by  you  spoken,  touching  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  principal  officer,  to  whom  you  wish 
the  charge  and  performance  of  all  this  to  be  com- 
mitted. Only  I  observed  some  foul  abuses  by  you 
noted  in  some  of  the  late  governors  ;  the  reformation 
whereof  you  left  off,  for  this  present  place. 

Iren. — 1  delight  not  to  lay  open  the  blames  of 
great  magistrates  to  the  rebuke  of  the  world,  and 
therefore  their  reformation  I  will  not  meddle  with, 
but  leave  unto  the  wisdom  of  greater  heads  to  be 
considered  :  only  thus  much  I  will  speak  generally 
thereof,  to  satisfy  your  desire,  that  the  government, 
»nd  chief  magistracy,  I  wish  to  continue  as   it  doth; 


to  wit,  that  it  be  ruled  by  a  lord  deputy  or  justice, 
for  that  it  is  a  very  safe  kind  of  rule  ;  but  there- 
withal I  wish,  that  over  him  there  were  placed  also 
a  lord  lieutenant  of  some  of  the  greatest  personages 
in  England  :  such  a  one  I  could  name,  upon  whom 
the  eye  of  all  England  is  fixed,  and  our  last  hopes 
now  rest;  who  being  intituled  with  that  di;^nity, 
and  being  here  always  resident,  may  back  and  de- 
fend the  good  course  of  that  government  against  all 
maligners,  which  else  will  through  their  cunning 
working  underhand,  deprave  and  pull  back  whatever 
thing  shall  be  begun  or  intended  there,  as  we  com- 
monly see  by  experience  at  this  day,  to  the  utter 
ruin  and  desolation  of  that  poor  realm.  And  this 
lieutenancy  should  be  no  discountenoncing  of  the 
lord  deputy,  but  rather  a  strengthening  of  all  his 
doings:  for  now  the  chief  evil  in  that  government 
is,  that  no  governor  is  suffered  to  go  on  with  any 
one  course,  but  u|)on  the  least  information  here,  of 
this  or  that,  he  is  either  stopped  and  crossed,  or 
other  courses  appointed  him  from  hence  which  he 
shall  run,  which  how  inconvenient  it  b.  is  at  this 
hour  too  well  felt.  And  therefore  this  should  be 
one  principle  in  the  ap])ointing  of  the  lord  deputy's 
iiuiLiority,  that  it  should  be  more  ample  and  absolute 
than  it  is,  and  that  he  should  have  uncontrolled 
power,  to  do  anything  that  he,  with  the  advisemeut 
of  the  council,  should  think  meet  to  be  done  :  for 
it  is  not  possible  for  the  council  here,  to  direct  a  go- 
vernment there,  who  shall  be  forced  oftentimes  to 
follow  the  necessity  of  present  actions,  and  to  take 
the  sudden  advantage  of  time,  which  beinr  ince 
lost,  will  not  be  recovered  ;  whilst  through  expect- 
ing direction  from  hence,  the  delays  wliereof  are 
oftentimes  through  other  greater  affairs  most  irksome, 
the  opportunities  there  in  the  mean  time  pass  away 
and  great  dhnger  often  groweth,  which  by  such 
timely  prevention  might  easily  be  stopped.  Andthis(I 
remember)  is  worthily  observed  by  iMachiavel  in  liis 
discourses  upon  Livy,  where  he  comniendeth  the 
manner  of  the  Romans'  government,  in  giving  abso- 
lute power  to  all  their  counsellors  and  governors, 
which,  if  they  abused,  they  should  afterwards  dearly 
answer.  And  the  contrary  thereof,  he  reprehendeth 
in  the  States  of  \^enice,  of  Florence,  and  many  other 
principalities  of  Italy,  who  use  to  limit  their  chief 
officers  so  strictly,  as  that  thereby  they  have  often- 
times lost  such  happy  occasions,  as  they  could  never 
come  unto  again  ;  the  like  whereof,  whoso  hath 
been  conversant  in  the  government  of  Ireland,  hath 
too  often  seen,  to  their  great  hindrance  and  hurt. 
Therefore,  this  1  could  wi^h  to  be  redressed  ;  and 
yet  not  so,  but  that  in  particular  things  he  should  be 
restrained,  though  not  in  the  general  government, 
as,  namely,  in  this,  that  no  offices  should  be  sold  by 
the  lord  deputy  for  money,  nor  no  pardons,  nor  no 
protections  bought  for  reward,  nor  no  behoves  taken 
for  captainries  of  counties,  nor  no  shares  of  bisliop- 
rics  for  nominating  of  bishops,  nor  no  forfeitures 
nor  dispensations  with  penal  statutes  given  to  their 
servants  or  friends,  nor  no  selling  of  licenses  for 
transportation  of  prohibited  wares,  and  specially  of 
corn  and  flesh,  with  many  the  like,  which  need  some 
manner  of  restraint,  or  else  very  great  trust  in  lb« 
lionourable  disposition  of  the  lord  deputy. 

Thus  I  have,  Eudoxus,  as  briefly  as  I  could,  and 
as  my  memory  would  serve  me,  run  through  the 
state  of  that  whole  country,  both  to  let  you  see  what 
it  now  is,  and  also  what  it  may  be  by  good  care  and 
amendment.    Not  that  I  take  upon  me  to  chanoetha 


530 


A  VIEW  OP  THE  STATE  OF  IRELAND. 


policy  of  so  great  a  kingdom,  or  prescribe  rules  to 
such  wise  men  as  have  ihe  handling  thereof;  but 
only  to  show  j'ou  the  evils  which,  in  my  small  ex- 
perience, I  have  observed  to  L>i  the  chief  hindrance 
of  the  reformation,  and  by  way  of  conference,  to  de- 
clare my  simple  opinion  for  the  redress  thereof,  and 
establijhing  a  good  course  for  government,  which  I 
do  not  deliver  as  a  perfect  plot  of  mine  own  inven- 
tion, to  be  only  followed  ;  but  as  I  have  learned  and 
understood  the  same,  by  the  consultations  and  actions 
of  very  wise  governors  and  counsellors,  whom  I 
have,  sometimes,  heard  treat  hereof:  so  have  I 
thought  good  to  set  down  a  remembrance  of  them 
formy  own  good,  and  your  satisfaction,  that  whoso 


list  to  overlook  them,  although,  perhaps,  much 
wiser  than  they  which  have  thus  advised  of  that 
state  yet,  at  least,  by  comparison  hereof,  may,  per- 
haps, better  his  own  judgement,  and  by  the  light  of 
others  foregoing  him,  may  follow  after  with  more 
ease,  and  haply  find  a  tairer  way  thereunto,  than 
thoy  which  have  gone  before. 

EuDox. — i  thank  you,  Ireneus,  for  this  your 
gentle  pains,  withal  not  forgetting  now,  in  the  shut- 
ting  up,  to  put  you  in  mind  of  that  which  you  have 
formerly  half  promised,  that  hereafter,  when  we 
shall  meet  again  upon  the  like  good  occasion,  you 
will  declare  unto  us  those  your  observations  which 
ycu  have  gathered,  of  the  antiquities  of  Ireland. 


GLOSSARY, 


A. 

ibaee,  in  the  two  old  quartos  ;  but  I 
in  the  folios  Abase  to  lower,  | 
to  let  fall  I 

Aband,  to  abandoa 
dbaih,  to  terrify,  make  ashamed. 
Aberr,   to   bear,    carry,   demean, 

behave 
Abet,  to  vindicate,  and,  to  main-    | 
tain  \ 

AUtte,  Aby,  Abyde,  to  abide,  suf- 
fer, endure 
Ahjected,  thrown  down 
Abode,  staying,  or  delay 
Abruid,  awake,  awoke 
Abraq  out  oj  steep,  laise,  awake. 

Abiayd,  awaked 
Abusion,  fraud,  abuse 
Abue,  abide  by 
Accloy,  to  cloy,  fill  up.     Accloyes, 

chokes  U|),  fills  up 
Accoiage,  to  encourage 
According,  i;ranting 
Accoste,  to  ajiproach 
Accosting,  in  I'alconry,  to  crouch  or 

stoop 
Account,  tell  over 
Accoy'd,  soothed,  appeased 
Accoyled,  stood  around,  gathered 

together. 
Acgreueti,  increased,  united,  col- 
lected 
Achates,  1st  and  'Jd  quartos.    The 

folios  L'aies,  i,  e.  provisions. 
Acquit,  released 
Aerates,  intemperance 
Aduu:,  to  daunt.     Sometimes  sig- 
nifies to  abate 
Addeme,  adjudge,  deem 
Ad/lress,  to  dress,  prepare,  order, 

make  ready 
Admirance,  admiration 
Adoe,  busuiess 
Adoie,  fur  adorn 

Adorue  (substantively),  adorning, 
ornament 


Adredd,  Adrad,  frightened,  to  be 

afraid,  to  dread 
Advance,  to  hasten,  to  set  forward 
Admmiice,  to  reiommend 
Advaunced,  incited,  inflamed, 
Advewed,  considered 
Advise,  to  consult,  deliberate,  con- 
sider 
Advisement,  counsel,  advice,   cir- 
cumspection 
Aduard,  award,  judgment,   sen- 
tence 
Aery,  a  hawk's-nest 
Affeare,  to  frighten 
Ajf'ect,  affection,  passion 
Aj^^-ap,    to   encounter,   to    strike 

down 
Affray,  terror,  tumult.  To  Affray, 

to  terrify 
Affreiided,  made  friends 
Affret,   rencounter,     hasty  meet- 
ing 
Affronting      opposing     front     to 

front ;  meeting  face  to  face 
Affy.,  betroth.    Affide,  betrothed, 

affianced. 
AggracK,  favour,  kindness 
Aggiate,  to  gratify,  to  please 
Agfiat't,  frightened,  astonished 
Aglets,  >ee  Aygulets 
Agraste,   did  so   mucb  aggrace  ; 

showed     so   much    grace  and 

favour 
Agrise.  to  dread  and  fear  greatly  ; 

to  astonish,  to  give  abhorrence 
Agiiise,  to  put  on  an  appearance  ; 

to  set  off  after  a  new  manner 
Albe,  albeit,  although 
Atgates,   by  all   means,   any  way, 

x\hi)lly,  nevertheless 
All,  altiigetlii  r,  wholly  ;  also  used 

for  al  hough 
Alia    'I'urchesca,   in    the   Turkish 

manner 
Allege,  alleviate,  lighten 


Alleggeauncg,  alieyiaLion,  ease 
comfort 

Alew,  howling,  lamentation 

Alnoje,  at  some  distance 

Alow,  low  J  the  a  added 

Als,  also 

Amaine,  with  vehemence 

Amate.  1.  to  subdue,  to  daunt, 
to  distress,  to  terrify.  2.  I'o 
associate  with,  to  keep  com- 
pany 

Amearsd,  fined 

Amenage,  manage,  carriage 

Amenaunce,  carriage,  behaviour 

Amis,  apparel,  garment 

Amoves,  moves ;  the  particle  a  is 
added 

Annoyes.  annoyances,  injury,  mis- 
chief, hurt 

Anticks,  antique  odd  figures  of 
men,  beasts,  birds,  &c. 

ApuU,  to  discourage,  daunt,  ter- 
rify 

Apaj/,  to  pay,  content,  satisfy 
require 

Appeach,  impeach,  accuse,  cen- 
sure 

Appele,  it  seems  to  be  used  for 
accuse 

Arable  or  Araby,  Arabia 

Arborett,  a  flowering  shrub 

Aread,  Ar  ed,  show,  advise,  de- 
clare, tell 

Areaie,  backwards  ;  a  lagging  or 
backward  pace 

Areeds,  advices   discourses 

Aiew,  in  a  row  together,  all  to- 
gether 

Arke,  chest  or  coffer 

Arraught,  did  reach,  seize  on; 
reached,  snatched,  seizeo 

Array,  order,  apparel,  mess 

Arere,  backward 

Arret  sometimes  signifies  de- 
cree 


GLOSSARY. 


Askaunce,  to  look  askance,  en- 
viously, obliquely,  sideways, 
awry 

Asl.dke,  to  appease 

Aspects,  appearances 

Asitiy,  proof,  trial,  attempt,  attack 

Assoile,  to  free,  to  quit,  Assailed, 
absolved,  discharged 

Asiot,  to  besot,  deceive,  make  a 
tool  of 

Assotted,   stupified 

Assynd,  marked  out 

Ai'tart,  to  startle 

Astoiid,  Astound,  astonished 

Alcliievement,  enterprise,  or  per- 
formance 

At  earst,  instantly 

Ate,  did  eat 

Atone,  i.  e.  friends  again  ;  at  one  ; 
Atoned,  reconciled 

Attacht,  apprehended,  laid  hold  on 

Attaint,  it  did  attaint ;  it  seemed 
to  absorb  it,  and  to  put  it  out 
bv  its  superior  splendour 

Atternpier.  lenipter 

Attente.  most  heedfully 

Attonce,  once  for  all  ;  at  one  and 
the  same  time 

Attone,  bereaved,  taken  away  alto- 
gether 

Attiapt,  Attrapped,  adorned 

Atween,  between 

Amle,  to  lower.abate,  bring  down, 
descend 

Aiaunting,  vaunting,  the  a  super- 
added. According  to  Hughes 
il  signifies  advancing 

Avenge,  vengeance.  Avengement, 
revenge 

Aieniiired,  it  seems  to  be  of  the 
saine  signiticiilion  witli  coiic  .ed 

Aiize,  Avyse,  Avise,  to  ]ierceive, 
to  consider.  To  behold,  to  ob- 
serve, to  be  sensible  of.  Hughes 

Acoiir,  confession,  acknowledg- 
ment 

Aumaiitd,  enumelltd 

Auarned,  warned,  jiremonished 
uliape,  to  astonish,  to  terrify 
,  ever 

/tygulels,  tagged  points 


B. 


Bacc,  low,  the  lower  parts,  the 
bottom 

Bad,  asked,  entreated,  prayed 

Bajfuld,  baffled,  beat,  deleat.d 

Bailie,  power,  a  limit,  a  bound 

Buins^  banns 

Buisemnins,  compliments,  res])ects 

Bale,  evil,  mischief,  miseiy,  sor- 
row, burden 

Balejid,  sorrowful  unfortunate, 
full  of  ba  m 

Balke,  to  disappoint,  baffle,  frus- 
trjte 

BanneraU,  a  little  flag  worn  by 
knights  on  the  tup  of  their 
lances 


Bannes,  curses.  To  Ban,  to 
curse.     Bund,  did  curse 

Barbed,  embossed,  adorned  as  the 
trappin;^s 

Baibes,  bosses  or  ornaments  in 
the  trappings  of  a  horse 

Barbican,  an  outer-work,  gate,  or 
watch-to  vv-er 

Base,  unto  the  base,  below,  bot- 
tom 

Buyes.  any  covprings  f.  r  'iie  legs 

Basen,  as,  Big  looks  basen  wide, 
i.  e-  extended  as  with  wonder 

Basenet,  a  helmet 

Bashed,  abashed 

Basted,  wrought  slightly,  sewed 

Bate,  did  beat,  Hughes.  Did  bite, 
Upton 

Battill,  to  grow  fat 

Banldnck,  a  belt  ;  Buuldrick  of  ike 
heavens,  the  zodiac,  in  which 
are  the  twelve  signs 

Bay,  to  bark,  Faerie  Queene, 
Book  i.  Canto?,  Stanza  3,  it 
signifies  to  bathe,  cherish,  or 
foment.  To  liold  or  keep  at 
bay,  IS  the  hunter's  phrase  of 
the  stag,  when  the  hounds  are 
haying,  or  barking  at  him 

Bayt   to  rest 

Beacon,  a  raised  building  of  com- 
bustible matter,  to  be  fired  in 
order  to  give  notice  to  distant 
people  of  invasions.  Uplon 

Beadmen,  prayer-men. 

Beadroll,  properly  a  catalogue  of 
prayers,  but  used  for  a  cata- 
logue in  general 

Beardhim,  aft'ronthim  to  his  face; 
brave  him 

Beare,  a  bier 

Beathed  in  Jive,  hardened  in  the  fire 

Beavy,  a  company 

Beanperes,  equals,  fair  comjianions 

Bed,  for  bid,  to  pray 

Bedight,  dressed,  adorned 

Btduite,  dyed 

Begored,  smeared  with  gore 

Behaved,  kept  within  bounds 

Behest,  command 

Behight,  or  behote,  called,  named  ; 
and  sometimes  bid,  j)romised, 
gave 

BebooJ'e,  convenience 

Belli  may,  fair  Iriend 

Belamoure,  a  lover 

Belayed,  laid  over 

Beldame,  good  lady,  good  dame 

Bell-accoyla,  fair  reception,  kind 
salutation 

BcUgards    beautiful  looks 

Bellibone,  fair  maid 

Bends,  burs  placed  cross- ways,  a 
term  in  lieialdry 

B'-nempt.  beciueatlied,  named 

Beni,  the  propensity  or  inclina- 
tion ;  sonietiines  yielding  or 
comjiK  ing 

Bents,  rnsTics.  bent  grass  ;  bul- 
rushes 


Bere,  sometimes  signifies  weignt, 
pressure,  or  bearing 

Bereave,  to  bereave,  to  take  away 

Beseek,  beseech 

Beseem,  to  become,  to  grace,  to 
look  seemly 

Beseen,  uellbeseen,  i.  e.  courtesy, 
bearing  a  good  aspect,  hand- 
some treatment 

Besits,  becomes, 

Besprint,  or  Besprent,  besprinkled 

Bestadde,  ill-used,  distressed 

Bcsiead,  beset,  oppiessed  ;  J//  he- 
stead,  bad  pligbt,  condition 

Bet,  did  beat 

iJeta/ce,took  into  bis  hand,  bestow 
u])on 

Beteem,  deliver,  bestow 

Betide,  happen  to,  befall 

Betight,  betide,  befall 

Bever,  the  sight  or  visor  of  a  head- 
piece 

Bevie,  a  company,  a  troop 

Beuray,  to  discover 

Bicherment ,  contention,  strife 

Bidding  his  beaas,  saying  liis 
prayers 

Bilive,  forthwith,  immediately 

Bitiur,  a  bittern 

Blame,  reproarh 

Blatant  beu^t,  detraclion  repre- 
sented as  a  monster 

75i(i;e,  to  divulge,  or  spread  abroad 

Bleard,  dimmed,  darkened 

Blemiihment,  blemish,  stain 

Blend,  not  only  to  mix,  but  to 
spoil  with  mixing,  to  confound. 
It  also  sometimes  signifies  to 
blind 

Bless,  Spenser  has  used  tliis  word 
to  signify  the  waving  or  bran- 
uishing  of  a  sword 

Blin,  to  cease,  give  over 

Blist  for  Blest,  blessed,  B.  iv.  C.  7. 
St.  46.  But  in  B.  vi.  C.  8.  St. 
IS,  all  about  so  blest,  i.  e.  in- 
jured, wounded 

Blive,  forthwith,  presently 

Bloosme,  blossom.  Pronounce  it 
bloom,  B.iv.  C.  8.  St.  2. 

Bode,  i.id  abide 

Bolt,  an  arrow 

Bond,  bcmnd  ;  kept  as  bond-slaves 

Bonnibel,  a  fair  maid 

Boon,  favour,  request,  petition 

Bool   advantage,  help,  jirofit 

Bootless,  unavailing,  unprofitable 

Bord,  to,  to  accost,  to  apj)roach 
Biird,  a  jest 

Bordrugings,  ravagings  or  incur 
sions  on  the  borders 

Barrel,  rude,  clownish 

Basse,  a  protuberance  in  the  middle 
of  the  shield 

Bonghls,  circular  folds  or  wind- 
ings 

Boniteil,  sifted 

Bounty,  goodiit  ^s,  generosity 

Bourn,  a  broidi  or  rivulet 

Bouzing  can,  u  larj^e  drinking  put 


GL0«5«?A'RY 


Boure,  often  used   for  an   inner 
chamber  or  private  apartment 
Brade,  for  broad 
Brag,  proudly 

Brui(/e</,knitted,  plaited,  wreathed 
Brakes,  bushes,  brambles,  fern 
Brame,  vexation  ;  Breem,  fierce 
Brand,   sometimes     a   fire-brand, 

sometimes  a  sword 
Bi-dKjiVs,  brawls,  a  sort  of  tune 
Brast  or  Brac'd,  burst 
Braie,  not  only  valiant  and  bold, 
but  fine  and  spruce  ■ 

Braujied  ftoHrs,  well  sinewed  arms 

/•!>•«  1/,  sound  shrill 
Breme,  chill,  bitter 

Brenne,  to  burn 

Brent,  burnt 

Brigundine,  a  coat  of  mail 

Brigantine,  a  svt'ift  vessel  for  sea 

Brigants,  robbers,  free-booters 

Bruckage,  pimping 

Broad,  Brond-iron,  vide  Brand 

Brooke,  bear,  endure,  digest 

Brunt,  violent  attack,  accident 

Brush,  small  wood,  brush-wood 

Brust,  burst 

Bruieness,  sottisbness,  stupidity, 
brutishness 

To  buckle,  to  buckle  on  armour; 
to  prepare  for  battle 

Buffe,  a  blow,  buffet 

Bug,  a  bugbear 

Bugle,  a  small  bugle-horn 

Burgunet,  a  helmet 

Buigein,  to  spring  forth  or  bud 

Buskets,  little  bushes 

But,  unless,  except 

Buiome,  yielding 

Btiliie.     See  Bilive 

hyneiript.     See  Benempt. 

C. 

Camis,  Canms,  a  thin  gown 

Clin,  is  often  used,  as  gan,  began 

Canon-bit,  that  part  of  the  bit 
which  IS  let  into  the  horse's 
mouib  ;  the  ruling  bit 

Capias,  a  special  warrant 

Capon,  a  cock  cut ;  metaphori- 
call)'^  a  cow-herd 

Ciiprefole,  woodbine,  honey-suckle 

Cuptive,  to  captivate 

Cii]diraunce,  captivity 

Curke,  care. 

Carle,  a  clown,  a  churl 

Carol,  to  sing  songs  of  joy 

Carven,  to  cut 

To  Cast  in  one's  njnd,  to  think,  to 
contrive.  Cast  is  also  used  for 
time,  or  a  throw 

A  Cast  of  Jaulcons,'A  set  Ox  falcons 

Cui'-iry,  beaver's  oil 

Cnusen,  ♦o  argue  or  debate 

Cav'd,  maafc  hollow 

Catitive,  Caitiit,  mean,  vile,  cap- 
tive, slave. 

Certes,  certainly 

teste,  cease 


Cesure,  a  cutting  off 

To  Chaffer,  to  bargain,  to  traffic, 

to  exchange 
Chamelot,  stuff"  mixed  with  camel's 

hair,  camlet 
Chamfred,  bent,  crooked 
Charmes,  tempers,  orders 
Chast,  chased 

Chaufe,  anger,  heat,  wrath. 
Chaunticlere,      so     named      from 
<Aaii.nting ot  singing  v;it\i  a  clear 
and  silver  voice 
Chayre,   charily,   with  great  care 

and  caution 
Checklaton,  a  kind  of  chequered 

or  motley  stuff 
Checkmate,  a  word  borrowed  from 

the  game  of  chess 
Cheere,  countenance,   air,  mien 
Cherry,  for  cherish 
Chevalrie,    knighthood,    knightly 

exploits 
Chevisaunce,  atchievement,  enter- 
prise, feat,  performance 
Chiejric,  principality 
Chiilded,  brought  forth 
Circumvent,  to  beguile 
Clame,  call 
Cleped,  called,  named 
Clouch,  gathered  together 
Colled,  embraced. 
Colourable,  counterfeited 
Cummen,  commune,  discourse  to- 
gether.    Also  to  come 
Comment,  devise,  feign 
Compare,  procure 
Compast  creast,  his  crest  compassed 
around,  or  well-rounded,  pro- 
portioned, or  framed 
Compeld,  called  upon 
Complot,  a  plot,   combination,  or 
contrivance 
I   Comportance,  behaviour,  carriage 
Compylde,  brought  together 
Con,  to  learn,  to  know 
Conceipt,  imagination,  fancy 
Concent,  harmony 
Concrew,  to  grow  together 
Connd,  learned 
Condigne,  worthy 
Conge,  bow,  reverence,  leave 
Conspiring,  agreeing  in   sentiment 
Constraind,  tormented,  made  un- 
easy 
Containe,  hold  together 
Contecke,  contention 
Contrire,  spend,  consume,  reckon, 

count,  invent,  imagine 
Convenable,  agreeable 
Convent,  to  summon  to  appear 
Convince,  to  convict 
Coosen  patsions,  kindred  passions 
Coportion,  a  portion  or  share  with 

you 
Corb,  crooked 

Corbes,   ornaments     in  buildings, 
brackets,  or  shouldering  pieces 
iji  wood  work 
Coiilwavne,    Spanish     leather,    so 
t;illed  from  Corduba  in  Spain 


Cormial,  crown,  garland 

Cosset,  a  lamb  brought  up  with 

out  the  ewe 
Cotes,  sheep-folds 
Cott,  floating  cottage,  a  little  boat 
Could,  as   Could   his   gwd  to  all ; 

i.  e.  dispensed  his  bounty 
Count,  account,  reckoning 
Countercast,  a  counter  contriva'ife 

or  cunning 
Counlerchange,  mutual  exchange 
CounterJ'easaunce,    counterfeiting, 

dissimulation 
Counterprise,  counterpoise,   weigh 

equally 
Counterstoke,  an  opposite  stroke 
Countervayle,  sweet  cou)iteruaijle, 

i.e.  pleasing  requital 
Couplement,  union,  marriage,  coup- 
ling together 
Cour'd,   tor  covered,  hung   over 

leant  over 
Court,  courteousness,  pleasantry 
Couth,  to  know  or  be  skilful  in 
Cowheard,  coward 
Cragg,  neck 
Crakes,  boastings 
Cranks,    same   as   Cranhks ;    i.e. 

turnings,  windings. 
Craples,  claws 

Craven,  coward,  or  cowardly 
Credence,  belief 
Crooke,  gallows 

Cruddy-blood,  crudled,  coagulated 
Crumenal,  purse 
Culver,  (Saxon  word,)  dove,  pt 

geon 
Culverin,  a  piece  of  ordnance 
Curat,    Curiets,   Curats,  thus  dif 
ferently    spelled ;    armour    for 
the  back  and  breast. 


D. 


Dadule,  skilful,  artificial 
Damnifyde,  injured,  impaired 
Dan,     an    old     title     signifying 

master 
Darrayne,  to  hazard,  venture,  at 

tempt,  or  prepare  to  fight 
Darred  larke,  alluding  to  catching 

of  larks  by   what  they    call  a 

daring  glass 
Dayes-mau,  umpire,  arbitrator 
Daynt,  daint}',  delicate 
Dayr'house,  dairy-house 
Veallh,  dealeth,  gives 
Dearnlii,  Uernhi,  eagerly,  earnestlj 
Dearneiy,  sadly 
Debonaire,     sprightly,    courteous^ 

good,  kind 
Vecetto,  deceit 
Decretals,  a  volume  of  the  Canon 

Lav.',  or  books  containing   the 

decrees    of    sundry     popes, — 

Blount's  Diet. 
Decrewed,  decreased 
I    Deemen.  deem,  suppose 
.    Defeasaunce,  defeating 
,    De/eature,  destructiu 


GLOSSARY. 


Defend,  keep  off,  forbid 
Defetto,  defamation 
Hetjlu,  tinely  or  nimbly 
Dejiue,  to   end,   to  determine   or 

decide 
Defould,     defiled   or   brought   to 

shame 
Defrayed,  furnished 
Delay'd,  put  away,  removed 
Delices,  delight,  pleasure 
Delve,  a  pit  or  hollow  place 
Demeane,  treatment 
Demeane,    Demayne,   demeanour, 
'carriage, behaviour;  sometimes 
it  signifies   to  debate,  Demeas- 
iinre,  Demeanure,  as  above 
Dempt,  deemed,    adjudged,    sup- 
posed 
Dent  or  Dint,  blow 
Depeinten,  painted 
Derring     doe,   bold   deeds,   man- 
hood, chivalry 
Descr'ae,  describe 
Despiteous,  spiteful,  malicious 
Defsignment,  plot,  conspiracy 
Desse,  a  seat 
Devhcfid,  full  of  rare  devices  or 

invention 
Devoir,  duty 

Diapase.  a  term  in  music  includ- 
ing all  tones 
Dight,  to  order,   prepare,    dress, 

adorn 
Dilate,  enlarge  upon 
Dirk,  dark,  or  to  darken 
Disudmunce,  to  withdraw,  to  stop 
Disaveiiturous,      ill    adventurous, 

unhapp3%  unlucky 
Discided,  cut  in  two  parts 
Disclosed,  disengaged,  untied 
Discure,  discover 
Di»ciist,  shaken  oft",  to  remove,  or 

put  away 
Disease,  for  uneasiness 
Disentrayled,   drawn  along   float- 

ingly 
Diihahled,  lessen'd 
Disieal    knight,    perfidious,     trai- 

terous 
Disloignd,  Disloined,  remote,  far 
Dismayd,  ugly,  ill-shaped 
Dispence,  consumption,  expence, 

prolusion 
Dispte,  discipline,  correction 
Disport,  sport,  diversion,  pastime 
i)/A/))T(/(/eK, spread,  diffused  around 
Dispiirveyance,  want  of  provision 
Disseized',  made  to  quit  or  relin- 

{|uish,  dispossessed  of 
Dissolute,   languid,   broken,   B.  i. 

C.  7.  St.  51. 
Disthrunized,  dethroned 
Distinct,  varied,  marked,  beset 
Distraine,  i.  e.  draw  it,  or  break  it 

asunder 
D/ji.'rt/i/g/it,  drawn  aside,  distracted 
Diti's,  orders,  directions 
A  Ditt,  a  ditty,  a  song 
Di'iilf,  a  dealing  out 
Doale  or  Dole,  sorrow,  portion 


Doe,  doe   him  not  to  dye,  put  him 

not  to  death 
Dofte,  do  off,  put  off 
Dolor,  Dolour,  grief,  pain,  sorrow 
Doole,  complaint,     sorrow,   pain, 

grief 
Don,  to  do  on,  to  put  on 
Dortours,  dormitories,  or  lodgings 

for  monks 
Doted,  doting,  impaired 
Doucipere,   from    the  French,  les 
douze  pairs :   one  of  the  twelve 
peers  of  France 
Doiightie,  stout, valiant,  courageous 
Drad,  dread,  dreed,  dreaded  ;  to  be 

feared,  honoured,  reverenced 
Drapets,  linen  clothes 
Draught,  a   military  detachment, 
B.  ii.  C.20.  St.  51.  resemblance 
Dreare,  Drere,  sorrow,  sadness 
Drent,  drenched  or  drowned 
Dreriinent,   heaviness,  sorrowful- 
ness 
Drerihedd,a  sorrowful  and  dreary 

state 
Drest,  ordered,  prepared 
Drevill,  a  driveller,  a  fool 
Drift,  impulse,  force,   or  driving 

on,  purpose 
Drowsyhedd,  drowsiness  j 

Duresse,  confinement,  imprison- 
ment, hardship.  \ 

E. 

Earne,  Erne,  to  yern,  to  be  moved 
with  compassion 

Earst,  Erst,  first,  first  of  all,  at 
first,  before,  formerly 

Euseli),  gently 

Eastertings,  the  Germans  so  called 
bv  the  Britons 

Euth,  easy 

Eeke,  Eke,  also ;  it  signifies  like- 
wise to  add,  to  increase,  to  aug- 
ment 

Eflierced,  made  fierce  and  mad 

Efforce,  to  force  open,  also  to 
violate 

Effraide,  frightened,  afraid 

Ejt,   again,  likewise,  soon 

Eftsoones,  again,  presently,  quick- 
ly, forthwith 

Eglantine,  sweet  briar,  or  wild 
rose 

EAd,  old  age 

£//',  a  fairy.  £/^'?j,  the  adjective 
of  Elf 

Elles,  else,  already 

Einhace,  to  lessen,  make  base,  dis- 
honoured 

Enhard,  shut  up 

Embattled  cart,  a  warlike  chariot 

L'mba]/,  to  batlie  ;  also  to  cherish 

and  delight 
£m/)ni//(/,  inclosed;  also  made  up 

into  bales  or  packs 
Emhosowe,  entertain 
Emboss,    lias    different    significa- 
tions— Arms   emhost,    arms    of 


emiiossed  work,  Emhost  icith 
gold,  raised  as  in  relievo.  Em- 
host tvith  pearles,  raised  or  over- 
laid. In  case  embost,  hid,  con- 
cealed. The  salvage  beast  em- 
bost in  weary  chace,  meaning 
hard  run  and  wearied  out.  To 
emhosse  his  speare  in  his  bodij,  i.  e. 
to  lodge,  to  inclose.  But  the 
most  difficult   place    seems  in 

B.  iii.  C.  1.  St.  64.  Embosse 
themselves  in  so  glorious  spoile, 
probably  from  the  Italian  Im- 
boscarsi,  i.  e.  by  ambuscade  to 
avail  themselves  of  so  glorious 
a  spoil, —  Upton. 

Emhowed,  iuibewed,   arched;  co- 
vered archwise 
Emhoyled,  emboyling  wrath,  B.  ii. 

C.  5.  St.  18.  the  same  as  Boyled, 
Boiiling 

Embrave,  adorn,    make  brave  or 

fine ;  to  dress 
Erne,  an  uncle    by  the  mother's 

side 
Emparlance,  a  law  term,  used  in 
petitioning  the  court  for  respite 
Empeach,  to  hinder 
Emperill,  quartos  ;  folios  Imperill, 

endanger 
Emperisht,  perished,  gone  to  ruin 
Empight,  placed,  fixed 
Emprize,  enterprize,  undertaking 
Enaunter,  lest  tliat 
Enchased,  engraven,  adorned 
Encheuson,      occasion,     accident, 
cause  or  reason  wherefore  any 
thing  is  done 
Encomberment,  molestation 
Endosse,  to  write  on  the  back,  to 

engrave 
Endurd,  hardened 
Enduren,  endure, continue 
Enf  cloned,  hurried   on   by  wicked 
and  felonious  intents;  become 
fierce 
Enfouldred  smoke,    smoke   mixed 

with  flame 
Englut,  satiate,  glut 
Engore,   to    pierce,  to  prick ;   to 

make  bloody  or  gory 
Engorged  yre,  anger  rising  to  the 
very    gorge   or    throat ;    anger 
which  cannot  be  suppressed 
Eiigrajf'ed,  ingrafted,  implanted 
Engroste,  made  thick 
Ehhaunst,  raised,  lifted  up 
Enrace,  Enroot,  implant 
Euriven,  torn  asunder 
Enseams,  i.  e,  fattens 
Ensew,  follow.     Enswrfe,  followed 
Ensnarle,  insnare,    intangle  as    a 

skein  of  silk 
Enluyle,  engraving 
Entayled  with  anticks,  engraven  or 

carved  with  images 
Enierdeale,    meditation,  negocia- 

tion 
Enterprize,  sometimes  signifies  to 
give  reception  to  one 


GLOSSARY. 


Enteriake,  to  entertain 
Enti~elu,  or  enti/relii,  earnestly 
Entrailed,     intermingled,     inter- 
laced, interwoven 
inure,  accustom  to,  make  use  of, 

practise 
£7iwed.  effected,  committed 
£nvy,  to  vie  with,  emulate,  refuse 

to  give 
H/rattt  Knights,  who  travel  about 

the  world  seeking  adventure 
Etcheiced,  avoided.     Eschew,  avoid 
E<sloiine,  withdraw  to  a  distance ; 

separate 
Espial,  sight,  spying 
Essoiiiie,  excuse  for  not  appearing 
Evengely,  gospel 
Ewftes,     efts,    newts,    or    evets. 

Upton.     Lizards.  Hughes 
Ewghen  bow,  a  bow  of  yew 
Exanimate,  lifeless,  dead 
Excheat,  accident,  or  a  property 

fallen  to  any  one  in  any  thing 
Expire  or  Eipyre,  to  bring  forth, 

to  breathe  forth 
Eiprest,   pressed    out,    squeezed 

out 
Exterpie,  to  extirpate,  to  root  out 
Eitreat,  extraction,  drawing  out 
Eyas  Hawhe,  a  term  in  falconry, 

signifying  a  young  hawk  newly 

fledged,  and  fit  for  flight 
Eyne,  Ene,   eyes 


Fade,  to  vanish,  to  perish,  to  go 
.•away 

Faine,  doestfaine,  are  desirous 

Falsed,  falsified,  deceived 

Fiire,  to  go.     Faring,  going  on 

Fatal  read,  prophetical  advice. 
Fatal  errour,  a  wandering  voy- 
age ordered  by  the  Fates 

Fay,  faith,  truth ;  sometimes  it 
signifies  a  fairy 

Faytor,  doer.  False  faytor,  a 
deceiver 

Fealty,  fealty  or  homage 

Fearen,  to  frighten 

Feculent,  foul,  full  of  dregs 

Fell,  fierce,  cruel ;  also  gall. 
Felly,  fiercely,  cruelly 

Feilonest,  most  fierce 

Feminitee,  womanhood,  state  and 
dignity  of  a  woman 

Fere,  a  companion.  Ferres,  com- 
panions 

Ferme,  as  fleshly  ferme,  fleshly 
prison 

Fest,  feast,  for  the  rhyme 

Fet,  Felt,  fetch 

Feutred  his  spears,  to  set  his  spear 
in  Iiis  rest 

Field,  is  often  used  for  fight,  com- 
bat, battle 

Fiaunt,  warrant 

Fine,  end 

tirmes  his  eye,  keeps  his  eye  steady 
ai;d  firm 


Flatting,  flat 

Flight,  arrow 

Flit,  Fleet,  swift.  Upton.  To 
fluctuate,  to  be  in  motion. 
Hnghes 

Flourets,  blossoms, or  little  flowers 

Foemen,  foes 

Foile.  leaf.  Golden  foile,  leaf 
gold 

Foind,  pushed 

Folke-mnt,  a  meeting  or  assembly 
of  folic  or  people 

Foltring-tongue,  faltering,  falling, 
or  tripping 

Eon,  fool.     Fond,  foolish 

Fond,  did  find,  for  the  rhyme 

Fane,  foes 

Forbii,  near  to 

Fordno,  undo,  destroy ,  ruin 

Forehrnt,  seized,  caught  hold  of 

Fnrelent,  lent  beforehand 

Foresail,  renounce,  Upton.  Fore- 
said, forbid.     Hughes 

Forestall,  to  interrupt 

Forethink,  to  repine  or  be  con- 
cerned at  any  thing 

Forewent,  forsook,  went  out  of 
their  way 

Forgone,  lost,  neglected,  forsaken 

Forlore,  Forlorm,  lost,  forsaken, 
wretched 

Forpined,  much  pined,  consumed 

Forraij,  to  ravage,  spoil 

Forsliickt,  delayed 

Forslow,  delay 

Forswat,  exhausted  with  sweat 

Forswonk,  wearied,  over-laboured 

Forthy,  therefore,  wherefore,  why 

Fortilage,  sort 

Forworn,  much  worn 

Foiter,  for  forester 

Fouldring,  thundering,  blasting 
with  lightniug 

Foysen,  plenty 

Franchise,  to  free  or  set  at  liberty 

Frannon,  one  of  too  free  or  loose 
behaviour 

Frankelin,  a  freeman  or  a  gentle- 
man 

Fi-ay,  to  frighten 

Freakes,  wliimseys,  mad  actions 

Frenne,  stranger 

Frett,  to  eat,  consume.  It  is  used 
in  another  sense  ;  to  frett,  to 
adorn ;  fretted,  adorned 

Freze,  a  warm  kind  of  woollen 
clothing 

Frory,  froze,  frozen 

Frounce,  curl,  crisp 

Frowy.  frowzy,  mossy,  musty 

Fry  of  children,  fry,  spawn 

Furniment,  furnishing,  furniture. 


Gage,  pledge,  pawn,  security 

Galage,  a  wooden  shoe 

Game,  'iwiit  earnest  and  game,  he- 

twixt  earnest  and  jest 
Can,  for  begau 


Garres,  causes ;  as,  garres  thee 
gieet 

Gate,  a  way 

Gazement,  gazing 

Geare,  stufl",  attire,  furniture, 
equipage,  dress 

Geason,  uncommon,  perplexing 

Gelt,  a  gelding.  Upton.  Gelt 
gold.  Hughes 

Gentlesse,  the  behaviour  of  agen-i 
tlenian 

German,  brother,  or  near  kins- 
man 

Gerne,  yawn 

Gests,  deeds,  actions,  exploits, 
feats 

GiamheauT,  boots,  greaves,  ar- 
mour, for  the  legs 

Gibe  and  geare,  joke  and  jeer 

Gin,  begin.  Gin,  engine,  con- 
trivance 

G(ws«s,justs  or  tournaments  ;  more 
particularly  single  combat  on 
horseback  with  spears  and 
swords 

Glade,  a  passage  ;  generally  for  a 
passage  cut  through  a  wood 

Glave,  a  sword 

Glee,  mirth 

Glen,  a  valley 

Glib,  a  curled  bush  of  hair  hang- 
ing down  over  the  eyes 

Gliiterand,  glittering 

Glode,  did  glide,  glance, or  swiftly 
pass 

Gloziiig  speeches,  flattering,  de- 
ceitful 

Gnarre,  to  snarl  or  bark 

Gondelay,  properly  a  Venetian 
wherry 

Goodlyhead,  godliness 

Gore,  pierce 

Gorge,  throat 

Goro-fJ,armour  defending  the  throat 

Grange,  a  granary,  barn,  farm 

Grayle,  some  particles  or  gravel. 
Also  used  in  B.  ii.  C.  10.  St. 
53,  for  the  sacred  dish  in  the 
last  supper  of  our  Saviour 

Greaie,  for  grove 

Gree,  liking,  satisfaction,  pleasure 

Greet,  to  exclaim,  cry  out,  com- 
plain 

Gride,  Gryde,  to  strike,  wound, 
pierce,  or  cut  through 

Griefful,  full  of  grief 

Griple,  one  that  snatches  greedily, 
a  griping  miser 

Groom,  shepherd,  herdsman 

Groynd,  grunted 

Guarish,  to  garnish,  to  dress  out 
gorgeously 

Gueld,  a  guildhall 

Guerdon,  reward,  recompense 
prize 

G idlers,  cheats 

Guise,  Guize,  way,  fashion,  man- 
ner, Upton.  Form,  habit,  con 
dition,  Hughes 

Gyre,  circling,  turning  round 


GLOSSARY. 


H. 

Kaherjeon,  armour    covering  the 

neck   and  breast.   Upton.     Ar- 

incnir    covering  the   head   and 

shoulders.  Hughes 
HahilimenXs,  apparel,  clothing 
Hahle,  tit,  ready,  able,  apt,  nimble 
Harqueton,  a  piece  of  armour 
Hdfendeale,  in  partition 
Halidnm,    Holy   Dame ;   an   oath 

by  the  Virgin  Mary 
Han,  f jr  have 
Harbroiigh,  harbour 
Hu'du,  brave,  bold.      Hardiment, 

courage,  boldness 
Hurd^hood,    Hardyhead,    a  brave 

state  of  mind 
Harrnw,  to  lay  waste,  to  destroy 
Harniw !  an   interjection  and  ex- 
clamation, showing  distress 
Hash,  a  wicker  basket  to  carry  fish 
Hiuiberg,  Hauherque.      Vide  Ha- 

herjenn 
Haught  corage,  high  mind 
Haiiht,  embraced 
Heast,  Hest,  or  Behest,  command, 

precept 
Heben  bow,  a  bow  made  of  ebony 
Hedeguies,    a    sort     of    country 

dances 
Hem,  them 

Heiid,  to  take  hold  of 
Hent,  seized 
Herhurs,  herbs,  plants 
Herried,    Heried,    to    praise,    to 

celebrate 
Hersnl,  rehearsal 
Hidder  and  shidder,  he  and  she 
Hie,  to  go,  to  hasten 
Hide,  hastened 
Hight,  named,  called 
Hild,  covered 

Hilding,  a  term  of  reproach 
Hold,  B.  ii.  C.  2.  St.  44.  the  hold 

of  the  castle  is  put  for  the  castle 

itself 
Hcle,   so  spelled    in   the  1st  and 

2d  quartos,  in  the  folios  v.hole, 

B.  iii    C.  12.  St.  38. 
H(Xjd,  condition,  state.  Frequently 

used  in  compounds,  as  knight- 
hood,  priesthood,  widowhood, 

6cc. 
hore,  hoar,  hoary,  Upton.  ^Vliite  ; 

sometimes  it  signifies  squalid, 

filthy,  rough.     Hughes 
Hustru,  an  inn 
Hot  .Hole,  ir  ova.  Hight,  was  named, 

called 
Honslingjire,  sacramental  fire 
Hove,  for  heave 
llnviiiic,  hovering,  floating 
Hiimhlesse,  humility 
HurlcnJ'orlh,  rush  forth 
Hurtle  to  rush  with  violence 
llnriUng,  rushing,  thrusting 
Utiiwn'iit  lUimen,  the  nuptial  song 

at  weddings,  invocating  the  god 

HymenKUS 


I. 

Javel,  seems  to  signify  a  slander- 
ing fellow 

Idlesse,  idleness 

lesses,  straps  of  leather  fastened 
on  the  hawk's  legs  when  held 
in  the  fist 

Impacable,  so  the  quartos  and 
folios  ;  but  Hughes,  implacable 

Iinpe,  child  or  offspring 

Impeach,  sometimes  used  by  Spen- 
ser in  the  sense  of  the  French 
word  empecher,  to  hinder 

Importable,  not  to  be  borne 

In,  Inn,  Line,  an  inn,  a  chamber, 
a  house 

J«ciH(/»ient,immediately,mstantly, 
forthwith 

Indigne,  unworthy 

Infant,  the  Prince,  B.  ii.  C.  8.  St. 
56.  &c. 

Inferd,  brought  on 

Infest,  deadly 

Ingate,  entrance 

Itigowes,  ingots 

Intendement,  attention,  under- 
standing, thought 

Interesse,  interest 

Intreat,  speak  of,  treat  of 

Intuse,  contusion,  bruise 

loUyiiead,  a  state  of  jollity 

louisance,  loyaunce,  rejoicing,  di- 
version 

Ire,  Yre,  wrath,  anger 


Keep,  care,  heed,  custody,  charge 

Keeping,  guard 

Keight,  caught 

Ken,  Kenn,  to  know,    to  spy,   to 

discover 
Kend,  Kent,  knew,  kenned 
Kenis,  countrymen  or  boors 
KcMtrs,    Keasars,   Emj)eror3,   Ca;- 

sars.  Czars 
Kest,  cast 
heatrel,    a    sort   of  hawk    of  the 

baser  breed 
Kidst,  dost  know 
Kight,  a  kite 
Kilt,  for  killed 
hirtle,  a  woman's  gown 
hond,  kend,  knew 
Kynd,  nature.     Kyndle,  natural 
Kyuded,  begotten 
Kyne,  cows  or  lierds 

L. 

Lad,  led,  did  lead 

/.((/(/,  taint 

Lare,  Loire,  lair  of  a  deer 

Latched,  caught 

Laii,    a     song.       Layes,     songs, 

poems 
Imij,  the  earili  or  ground 
Laystall,  a  place  to  lay  dung  or 

rubbish 
Lazars,  leprous  persons 


Leach,  surgeon  or  phj'sician 
Leare,     Leares,    Leres,    doctrine, 

learning,  sc'ence 
Leasing,  lying 
Leavd,  levied,  raised 
Ledden,  language,  dialect 
Leef,   or   Lief,   willing.    As  hef, 

more  willing 
Leese,  lost 

Legierdemayne,  sleight  of  hand 
Leman,    sweetheart,     concubine, 

mistress 
Lenger,  longer 
L'Eni'oy,   the    epilogue    after    a 

copy  of  verses 
Lest,  listen 
Lever,  rather 
Leven,  lightning 
Levin-brond,  thunderbolt 
Lewdly,  ignorantly 
Libbard,  leopard 
Lich,  like 
Liefe,  dear.    Liefer,  Lever,  dearer. 

Liefest,  dearest 
Liege-lord,  sovereign  lord.    Liege- 
man, who   owes   allegiance   to 

the  liege-lord 
7.;^,  or  Liggen,  to  lie 
Lignage,  Imeage,  or  descent 
Killed  out  his  tongue,  for  lolled  out, 

&c. 
Lime-hound,  a  blood-hound 
Limiter,  one  that  goes  about  sel- 
ling indulgences 
Liu,  to  lean,  give  war.  Sometimes 

to  cease  or  give  over 
Lincolne-greene,  a  species  of  cloth 

manufactured  at  Lincoln 
Lists,    ground    inclosed   for   tilts 

or  tournaments 
Lite,  aliglit,  get  off  horse 
Lived  mortally,  i.  e.  lived  among 

mortals 
LiveUul,  livelihood,  maintenance 
Lnelyhed,  liveliness,  life,  spirit 
Livery  and  seisin,  law  phrases 
Lone,  a  thing  lent,  a  loan 
Lo}ig,  belong 

Loord,  as  lazy  Loord,  idle  fellow 
Lordings,  sirs,  masters.     A  dim. 

of  lord 
Lore,  learning,  instruction 
Lore,  for  Lorn,  left,  lost 
Lorel,  Losel,  a  liar,  cheat,  a  loose 

fellow 
Lover,  or    7  cover,   a   chimney  or 

o]ii-ning  in  the  roof  of  a  cottage 
Lout,  to  bow  servilel)',  to  crouch 
Lugs,  perches 
Lusk,  Lushish,  Lushishness,  a  lazy 

disposition 
7  ustlesse,  listlessly 
Lustijhed,  lustiness,  vigour 
Lustksse,  weak,  not  lusty 
Lvte,  light  on,  settle,  fall  on 
Lifthe,  soft 

M. 

Mage,  magician,  enchanter 
Magnes  stone,  the  load-ston« 


GLOSSARY. 


Mahoune,  Mahomet.  By  Maliounc, 
■d  Suraceu  oath 

Make,  a  mate,  ccnsort.  To  make 
(verb),  to  compose  verses, 

Malejices,  evil  deeds 

Miilicing,  bearing  of  malice 

Malipne,  maliciously,  abuse 

Malmleitt,  ill  will,  spite 

Maud,  manned,  furnished,  filled 

Manner,  behaviour,  carriage 

Mautletk,  displayeth  his  wings.  A 
term  in  falconry 

Many,  company,  B.  iii.  C.  9.  St. 
11.  &c. 

Marge,  margin,  brim 

Mark  white,  the  white  mark 

Martelled,  hammered,  beat 

Mas,  used  for  divine  service 

Mated,  conquered,  subdued 

Maugre,  in  spite  of,  against  one's 
will,  notv/idistanding 

Mayle,  a  coat  of  mail 

Mazed,  stunned 

Mazer  boivl,  properly  a  bowl  of 
maple 

Meane,  means,  conditions,  occa- 
sion 

Meare,  a  meer,  limit,  or  boundary 

Medle,  to  mingle 

Meed,  reward,  prize 

Mell,  to  intermeddle 

Mene,  did  mean,  intended 

Meat,  mingled 

Merciable,  merciful 

Mtrcifyde,  pitied 

Meriinake,  merriment 

Mesprise,  neglect,  contempt,  scorn 

Met,  meet 

Mew,  a  place  to  mew  hawks ;  any 
place  shut  up 

Mickle,  much 

Mieie,  for  move 

Mincing  minion,  finical  aflfected 
darling 

Minime,  a  minim  in  music 

Minimenls,  toys,  trifles 

Minished,  for  diminished 

Mirk,  dark,  obscure 

Mirksome  air,  obscure,  foul 

Miscreated,  created  amiss,  ill  be- 
gotten 

Miscreant,  originally  signifies  in- 
fidel, or  one  of  a  wrong  belief 

Missdone,  for  misdo,  i.  e.  to  do 
amiss 

Misfare,  misfortune 

Misleeke,  dislike 

Mister,  manner,  sort,  art,  mysterj' 

Misterelh  not,  needs  not 

Mistraiined,  wrongly  trained,  in- 
structed amiss ;  or  misled, 
drart-a  aside 

Misween.  to  misjudge,  interpret 
wrongly 

MisweM,  gone  astray 

Mo,  Moe,  more 

Mochel,  much 

Moldwarps,  moles 

Monte,  a  stupid  fellow 

Muitastere,  a  monastery 


Mone,  sorrow 

Morion,  head-piece,  helmet 

Mote,  must,  might 

Mott,  did  mete  or  measure 

Moulds,  grows  mouldy 

Mountenaunce,  the  amount  of  any 
thing,  quantity,  distance 

Mowes,  making  of  mouths 

Muchel,  much 

Munificence,  subsidies,  aid,  bene- 
volence 

Mured,  inclosed 

Muzd,  mused 

N. 

Nar,  near,  or  nearer 

Nas,  lias  not 

Nuthless,  Natheless,  not  the  less, 
nevertheless 

Nnthemore,  Nathemoe,  never  the 
more 

Ne,  neither,  not 

Needments,  necessaries 

Kempt,  named 

Nett,  neat,  clean 

Newell,  novelty 

Neicjanglenesse,  a  love  of  novelty 
and  changes 

A';7/,  will  not.     Cont.  for  ne  will 

Nimbtesse,  nimbleness 

Noblesse,  nobility 

A^once,  Jor  the  nonce,  for  the  oc- 
casion 

Not,  Note,  know  not,  Cont.  for 
ne  wot 

Nould,  would  not 

Noule,  the  crown  of  the  head 

Nouriture,  nurture,  education 

Noursle,  to  nurse 

Noyance,  harm 

Noyd,  annoyed  or  hurt 

Nciiaus,  hurtful  or  baleful 


0. 


Ohsequy,  funeral  rites 

Offal,  refuse,  dross 

Ordele,  a  trial  by  fire,  water,  or 
combat 

Overcame,  came  over  it 

Orercraiv,  to  crow  over,  to  insult 

Oierhent,  overtook 

Orergrast,  overgrown  with  grass 

(herranght,  reaching  over 

Overred,  did  read  it  over 

Orerwent,  overwhelmed 

Ocerweening,  self-conceited,  opi- 
nionated. 

Ought,  owned^ 

Ought  the  more,  the  more  at  all. 

Out-well,  flow  out,  yield  out,  dis- 
charge. 

Out  of  hand,  forthwith. 

Out-wiu,  get  out,  win  the  way  out 

Owches,  bosses,  or  buttons  of  gold 

P. 

Pace,  go. 

Painim,  pagan,  infidel 


Paire,  impair,  diminish. 

Palfrey,  a  horse  ;  most  commonly 
a  lady's  pad. 

Pall,  a  robe. 

Paled  part  per  part,  a  phrase  in  he- 
raldry. 

Palmer,  a  pilgrim. 

Panachea,  an  universal  medicine. 

Pannikell,  the  skull,  the  crown  of 
the  head. 

Paragon,  an  example,  pattern  ; 
companion,  or  fellow 

Paramour,  a  lover 

Paramunt,  peradventure,  by 
chance. 

Parbieake,  vomit. 

Parture,  departure. 

Pas,  go.     Also  surpass,  exceed 

Pase,  B.  iii.  C.  1.  St.  19.  signifies 
here,  country,  land,  region 

Pavone,  peacock 

Paunce,  a  pancy,  or  violet 

Payne,  pains,  endeavour 

Peark,  brisk 

Peece,  a  fort,  a  strong  place,  cita- 
del, B.  i.  C.  10.  St.  59.  &c. 

Peise,  poise.     Paysd,  poised 

Perdie,  Yr.par  Dieu,  an  old  oath 

Pere,  companion.  Peres,  com- 
jianions,  equals 

Peregal,  equal 

Perjorce,  by  force 

Periing,  purling,  trickling  down 

Peiious,  perilous,  dangerous 

Persaunt,  piercing 

Persue,  pursuing,  pursuit,  oi 
chace 

Plieer,  companion 

Physonomii,  physiognomy 

Picturals,  paintings 

Pight,  placed,  pitched,  fixed 

Pill,  to  rob,  to  pillage 

Pine,  to  pine,  to  waste  away 

Pionings,  works  of  pioneers 

Plaine,  to  complain 

Plaint,  complaint 

Pleasaunce,  [)leasure 

Plesh,  for  the  rhyme,  a  plash 

Plight,  circumstance,  condition 

Point,  armed  completely,  Hughty. 
Car'd  not  for  God  or  mana  point, 
not  at  all,  not  a  tittle,  Upton. 
Armed  at  all  points,  ibid 

Poize,  weight 

Polaxe,  or  battle-axe 

Pols  and  pils,  plunders  and  pil- 
lages 

Port,  behaviour,  carriage 

Portaunce,  comportment,  carriage 

Portcullis,  a  falling  gate  ;  a  gate 
to  let  down  or  draw  uji  at 
pleasure 

Porteise,  a  brevisry,  or  prayer- 
book 

Pouldred,  reduced  to  powder 

Pousse,  pease 

Poynant,  poignant,  sharp,  pier- 
cing 

Practicke  paine,  the  cunning  prac 
tice,  plot,  and. endeavour 


GLOSSARY. 


Prank,  Some  prank  their  rujflesy 
i.  e.  exhibit  forth,  and  proudly 
show.  Prankt  in  reason's  garb, 
pompously  set  forth,  arrogantly 
tricked  out 
Preiice,  press,  throng-,  crowd 
Prest,    prepared,    ready  at   hand. 

Sometimes  for  pressed 
Pretended,  shown  forth,  held  out 
Prick,  to  prick  as  with  spurs 
Prickinn;  on  the  pluine,  riding  on 

the  plain 
Prifje,  proof 
Price,  prove 
Prise,  scuffle,  fight 
Pniciird,  solicited,  entrep*-' 
Propense,   weigh,    consider,    pre- 
meditate 
Protease,  extension,  drawing  out 
Prow,    brave  ;     Prower,    braver ; 

Prowest,  bravest 
Ptiissaunce,  valour,  power,  might. 

Puissant,  powerful,  mighty 
Purjied,  flourished  with  a  needle, 
Hughes.     Embroidered    or  de- 
corated   as    with    embroidery, 
Upton 
Purpose,  discourse,  talk,  words 
Purvay,  provide 
Puttockes,    bitterns,     kites.      So 

Gloss,  to  Chaucer 
Pyned  ghost.     Vide  Pine 
Pyonings.     Vide  Pionings 

Q. 

Quadrate,  a  square 

Quaid,  subdued.  Perhaps  instead 

of  qualed  or  quelled 
Quaile,  to  subdue,  to  quell,  Upton. 

Quaile,  to  hinguish,  Hughes 
Quaint,  nice,  curious 
Quarle,  B.  ii.  C.  11.  St.  33.  con- 
tracted   from    Quarrel,    shaft, 

arrow 
Quarrey,  prey 
Quart,  the  western  division  ;  the 

fourth  part 
Quayd.   Vide  Quaid 
Queem,  or  Queam,  please 
Queint,  quenched 
Queiut    elect,    quaintly    or    oddly 

chosen 
Quell,  sometimes  used  for  to  die 
Quest,  adveniure,  exploit 
Qtiich,  to  quicken,  to  stir 
Qniglit,  to  deliver,  to  free 
Quip,  taunt,  flout 
Quite,  to  requite 
Quited,  reciuited,  returned 
Quook,  did  quake,  did  shake,  did 

tremble. 

R. 

Puce      Vide  Past 

}'ad,  for  did  read  ;  or  guessed 

liujt,  ii?/t,  bereft,  bereaved,  Upton. 

iieni,  tore,  Hughes 
Raid.      Vide  Ray 


Baile,  adowne  their  sides  did  raile, 

i.  e.  flow  or  run  along 
Paine,   region.      Payne,    rule    or 

kingdom 
Ramp,  to  paw,  or  fly  out,  like  a 

mad  horse 
Rank,  in  order 

Runsakt,   plundered,  trifled,  vio- 
lated 
Rapt,  in  rapture 
Rash,   mailes  did  rash,  did  break, 

did  shiver  in  pieces 
Rast,  Razed,  erased,  efiFaced 
Rathe,  early 

Rauglu,  reached,  did  reach 
navtn,  rapine,  spoil,  ravening 
Ray,  to  discolour,  beray 
Ray,    for  Aray,    ornament,    fur- 
niture.     Also    for   in    ray,   in 
array,  in  order  and  rank 
Read,  Reed,  to  advise,  warn,  pro- 
nounce,     declare,      interpret, 
guess,  divine.     Likewise  coun- 
sel, advice,  prophecy 
Reave,  to  bereave,  or  take  away 

violently 
Re(cdiJ'yde,  rebuild 
Rebut,  rebound,  recoil,  repel 
Reck,  care,  reckon,  account 
ReeUiyme,  call  back 
Recoure,  recover 
Recute.  Recuile,  to  recoil,  go  back, 

or  give  way 
Recreant,  out  of  hope,  untrusty, 

cowardly 
Redoubted,  reverenced,  honoured, 

feared 
Redounding  tears,  abounding  and 

flowing  over 
Regiment,  rule,  government 
Relate,  bring  back 
Relent  his  pace,  to  slacken,  to  stay 
Reliven,  to  live  again 
Remerded,  thanked 
Rencounter,   accidental   fight,    or 

adventure 
Penforst,  reinforced 
Renjierst,  reinfierced,  again  made 

fierce  and  bold 
Renns,  for  runs 
Renverst,    turned    upside   down, 

overturned 
Replei'ie,  to  redeem,  to  recover  by 

a  replevy 
Reprieje,  reproof 
Reprize,  to  make  reprisals 
Reseized,  reinstated,  in  possession 

again 
Resiant,  lodged,  placed,  resident 
Retrale,     Retraitt,    picture,     por- 
trait ;    air  of  the   face.      Also 
retreat,  fall  back,  give  ground 
Retyrd,  drawn  out 
Reverse,  recal,  return 
Reverse,   dress    again,    to    clothe 

again 
Rew,  to  rue,  pity.     Pew,  a  row. 

In  a  Rew,  in  a  row 
Rihauld,  a  debauched  fellow 
Rije,  frequent ;  fully,  abundantly 


Rift,  gap,  cleft,  chink,  or  crack 

Rive,  to  cleave  asunder.  Riven 
rent,  split,  torn  asunder 

Rode,  inroad 

Ronis,  young  bullocks 

Roode,  a  cross 

Rosiere,  a  rose-tree 

Rote,  harp,  or  crowd 

Rove,  didit  rove,  i.  e.  didst  sboot 
thy  roving  arrows 

Roundell,  a  round  bubble 

Royne,  to  bite  or  gnaw 

Rue.     Vide  Reiv 

Ruffs,  ornaments  for  the  neck,  of 
plain  or  rujled  muslin  or  cam- 
bric 

Ruinate,  brought  to  ruin,  over- 
thrown 

Ruing,  pitying.  Z?«/uWi/,  pitifully 

Ruth,  pity 

Ryhauld.     Vide  Ribauld 

Ryfe.     Vide  Rife 

Ryved.     Vide  Rive 


Sad,  grave 

Safe  her,  her  excepted 

Saleived,  saluted 

Saliaunce,  sally,  or  assault 

Salve  his  hurts,  to  cure,  to  remedy 

Salved,  saluted 

Sam,  same  ;  sometimes  it  signifies 
together 

Samite,  satin 

Su!j,  a  thin  sort  of  silk  stuff,  A 
sword  of  better  say,  of  better 
proof,  assaj' 

Scarmoges,  skirmishings 

Scath,  harm,  mischief 

Scatterlings,  scattered  i-overs  or 
ravagers 

Scerne,  discern 

Sclave,  slave 

Sclaunders,  slanders 

Scord,  marked,  engraved 

Scoi'e,  reckoning 

Scorss,  exchange 

Serine,  Scvyne,  chest,  coffer 

Scruze,  squeeze  out,  press  out 

Scryde,  descried 

Sdaine,  disdain.  Sdeigned,  dis- 
dained 

Scare,  dry,  consumed,  burning, 
parching 

See,  seat,  habitation 

Seely,  silly 

Selcouth,  uncommon 

Sele,  a  seal-fish 

Select  shapes,  chosen,  elegant 

Sell,  saddle 

Semblaunt,  show,  pretence,  ap- 
pearance 

Seminary,  a  nursery 

Seneschell,  a  president,  governor, 
or  steward 

Sens,  used  for  since 

Sent,  the  scent,  the  smelling  out 

Sew,  iollow.  Sewing,  following 
Sewed,  followed 


GLOSSARY. 


Shallop,  a  boat 

Shanwies,  musical  instruments, 
Psalm  xcviii.  7.  Shaum,  is 
thought  to  signify  a  hautboy 

Sheene,li.ii.  C.'l.  St.  10. 

Shend,  to  disgrace,  to  blame,  to 
spoil 

Shere,  pure,  clear 

Shrieve,  to,  to  act  the  part  of  a  con- 
fessor. Shrijt,  or  Shriwing,  con- 
fession 

Shright,  shrieked.  Shrightes, 
shriekings 

Shrill,  to  sound  shrilly 

Shrowd  U\  to  shelter.  Shrouded  in 
sleep,  covered,  sheltered 

Shyne,  shining,  brightness 

Sib,  related,  of  kin. 

Sich,  for  such 

Siege,  seat,  bench,  throne 

Sient,  a  grafF,  sprig,  or  young 
shoot 

Sight,  sighed 

Sike,  such 

Siker,  sure,  surely 

Sikerness,  sureness,  safety 

Simples,  simplicity 

Sin,  used  for  since 

Singulfes,  Siiigults,  sighs,  sob- 
bings 

Sit,  sits  not,  suits  not.  Ill  it  sits,  it 
ill  agrees,  ill  becomes 

Sith,  since  that 

Sithes,  times 

Sithens,  since  that  time 

Slug,  to  grovf  sluggish 

Smouldry,  hot,  sweltering 

Snar,  to  snarl 

Snarled  haire,  i.  e.  entangled,  as  a 
skein  of  silk 

Sneb,  to  snub  or  check 

Sniibbes,  knobs  or  knots  in  wood 

Sods,  turfs,  clods  of  earth 

Sold,  salary,  hire ;  a  soldier's  pay 

Somme,  the  sum,  substance 

Soote,  sweet,  or  sweetly 

Soothlich,  soothly,  true 

Sort,  company.  In  sort,  in  such 
sort  or  manner 

Soucing,  plunging,  falling 

Souldan,  Soudan,  Suldan,  a  king, 
tyrant,  sovereign 

Snuvenaunce,  remembrance,  recol- 
lection 

Soundes,  inlets  of  the  sea  between 
headlands 

Sciciie,  sound.  With  shrieking 
smvne,  B.  iii.  C.  4.  St.  30. 

S'-yle,  the  prey,  the  soiled  beast 

Space,  walk  about,  range  about 

Spalles,  shoulders 

Sperre  the  gate,  bar  or  shut  the 
gate 

Sjjersed  air,  for  dispersed  air 

Spill,  to  spoil,  to  destroy 

Sj<ilt,  shed,  scattered  over 

Spire,  to  breathe 

Spreiit,  sprinkled 

Spri7igal,  a  youth,  a  stripliug 

Spyali,  espials,  spies 


Spifre,  it  doth  spire  forth,  or  grow 

up  to  the  fairest  flower 
Stadle,  staff 

Stales,  incitements,  devices,  tricks 

Stank,  weary  or  faint 

Starke,  stiff  with  cold 

Star-read,  doctrine   of  the   stars 
astronomy 

Steane,  for  stone 

Stcd,    place,  seat,   station,    situa- 
tion 

Steeme,  smoke,     Steemed,  had  ex- 
haled. 

Steemed,  esteemed 

Stent,  stint,  stay,  stop 

Stept,  steeped,  soaked,  wetted 

Sterne,  tail 

Sterve,  to  perish,  to  die 

Steven,  sound,  noise 

Stire,  stir  or  move 

Stole,  a  garment,  a  matron's  robe 

Stand,  stand,  station 

Stonied,  astonished,  or  stunned 

Stoond.     Vide  Stonied 

Stound,  Stoiuytd,   space,    moment, 
season,  hour,  time 

Stoup,  in  falconry,  when  the  hawk 
on  wing  strikes  at  the  fowl 

Stour,  Stowre,   fight,  stir,  trouble, 
misfortune,  fit 

Straine,  Strene,  race,  descent,  fa- 
mily, origin 

Strayt.  B.  I'i.  C.  7.  St.  40 

Sf^esse,  distress 

Stue,  to  ascend,  to  mount  up 

Subierst,  subverted,  overthrown 

Successe,  succession 

Suffused  eyes,  bedewed,  suffused 
with  tears 

Suppressing,  keeping  under 

Supprest,  ravislied 

Surbet,  vrearied 

Surcease,  stop 

Surquedry,  pride,  presumption 

Safe,  suit,  petition,  request 

Sivart,  swarthy,  black 

Swariing,  swerving,  giving  way, 
going  from 

5a'au,  management,  direction,  rule, 
motion 

Sweat/i-fiaJitfs,  swathe  or  swaddling- 
bands 

Swelt,  burnt,  suffocated  with  heat, 
fainted 

Swened,  moved,  wandered  out  of 
his  place 

Siriiiek,  labour 

Siivund,  a  swoon  or  fainting  fit 


Targe,  a  buckler  or  shield 

Tasiel,  Tossel,  a  twisted  or  bushy 
ornament  of  silk,  gold,  or  silver. 
Tassel  gent,  a  gentle,  tame  male 
hawk. 

Teade,  a  torch 

Teene,  Tine,  Tyne,  trouble,  mis- 
chief, injury 

Tenor,  the  middle  part  next  the  base 


Thee,  thrive,  jirosper.     Well  mots 

ye  thee,  B.  ii.  C.  1.  St.  33. 
Thewes,     mannes,   qualifications, 

customs 
Thilk,  this,  that 
Tho,  then 
Thralled,  enslaved 
Thralls,  slaves 
Thrill,  to  pierce  through 
Throw  that  last  bitter  throw,    pain, 
pangs.       .So      mighty      throices, 
strokes, blows.  Tosleep  a  throwe, 
a  small  while  or  space 

Thrust,  Thirstie,  thirst 

Tickle,  slippery,  unstable,  ticklish 

Tirfe,  awhile,  time  season,  an  hour 

Tight,  tide 

Timl,  kindled,  excited 

Tire,  rank,  row,  as  a  tire  of  ord- 
nance 

T(vt,  wrong,  injury 

Tottif,  dizzy,  tottering 

Touzd,  tugged  and  hauled  about 

Tract  by  tract,  by  tracing,  by  tract 
and  footing 

Trade,  tread,  trace,  or  footstep. 
Do  Trade,  do  walk 

Train,  Trayn,  the  train  or  tail. 
Likewise  used  for  treachery, 
deceit 

Tramels,  nets 

Translated,  turned  them  to 

Trayismew,  to  transform,  transmute 

Transverse,  awry,  out  of  order 

Trast,  followed  as  by  tract  or 
footing 

Traveile,  labour 

Treachour.     Treachetour,  traitor 

Treague,  a  truce,  cessation  of  arms ; 
agreement 

Treen,  of  a  tree,  wooden 

Trenchand,  Trenchant,  cutting' 
sharp 

Troad,  path,  footing 

Trow,  believe,  imagine,  conceive 

Truss,  to,  a  term  in  falconry,  when 
the  hawk  raises  his  prey  alott, 
and  then  descends  with  it  to 
the  ground 

Turnament,  Tiirneyment,  Turney, 
a  sort  of  single  combat  on  horse- 
back, commonly  with  lances 

Turribant,  a  turban 

Tway,  two  ;  in  Tuay,  in  tvro.  His 
Twaine,  his  couple 

Tweght,  twit,  upbraid 

Twitin,  to  blame,  to  upbraid 

Tuyfold,  twofold. 

V.  u 

Vaded,  gone 

Valaw,  value,  worth,  vaio'ir 

Vantage,  profit 

Vauncing,  advancing 

Vaunt,  to  boast 

Vellenege,     rather    viUinege,     the 

meanest  and  lowest  of  tenure 
Venerq,  hunting  of  wild   beasts 

C.  1.  C.  6.  St.  22. 


GLOSSA.-^- 


Veiiger,  revenger 

Ventayle,  the  fore  part  of  the  liel- 

met,  to  give  vent  or  air  to  the 

face  by  lifting  up 
Venteth  into   the   wind,  snuffs  the 

wind 
Vere  the  maine  shete,  turn,  shift 
Vetchu    bed,    (shep.    Cal.)  bed  of 

pease  straw 
Vilde,  vile 

Virelui/s,  a  kind  of  songs 
Visiwmie,    physiognomy,    visage, 

a.s])ect 
Umhriere,  the  visor  of  the  helmet 
Uncouth,  unusual,  strange,  harsh  ; 

odd,  deformed 
Umlerfong,  attempt  by  unfair  and 

indirect  means 
Undertime,  the  afternoon,  towards 

the  evening,  B.  iii.  C.7.  St.  13. 
Uudight,   not   dight,   disordered ; 

loo.sened,  untied 
Unneath,   difficult,   scarcely,  with 

difficulty.      Son^etimes    it   sig- 
nifies almost 
Uiihele,  to  discover,  to  bewray 
Unherst,  took  tliem  from  the  hearse 

or  temporary  monument  where 

thev  were  usually  hanged,  B.  v. 

C.  3.  St.  37. 
Unkempt,  unadorned,  or   void  of 

grace  or  elegance 
Unkend,  not  known 
Unlich,  unlike 

Unpenaide,  unprovided,  not  fur- 
nished 
Unrest,  disquiet,  uneasiness 
Unsoot,  unsweet 
Unwares,     unexpectedly,     incau. 

tiously,  unwarily 
Unweeting,  unknowing,  unawares, 

ignorant 
Unwist,  not  thought  of,  unknown. 
Upbrast,  burst  open 
Upbrayes,  upbraidings,  reproaches 
Upweaked,  unrevenged. 

W. 

Wage,  a  pledge  ;  likewise  reward, 

wages 
Waif't,  a  stray 
War,  worse 

War-hable,  able  or  powerful  in  war 
IFare,  wary,  cautious.     Ware,  did 

wear 
Wareless,  stupified 
War-old,  old  in  war  or  strife 
Warray,   to   make   war  uj)on,  to 

liarrass  with  war 
Warrionrefse,    a    woman-warrior, 

an  Amazon 
Watchet,  ir.ile  blue 
Wanes,  waves,  Upton-      Wawes, 


waves,  perhaps  for  woes, 
Hitglies 

Way,  weigh,  value,  esteem 

Wayment,  to  bewail,  lament 

Waijne,  Waine,  chariot 

Weal-awaii,  Wele-away,  alas! 

Ween,  Weenen,  imagine,  judge 

Weet,  to  know.      Weeten, to  wit 

Weetless,  unknovvning 

Wefte,  wafted.  Wefte,  waved, 
avoided,  put  off 

Weft  (noun),  a  stray;  whatever 
wanders  and  is  lost 

Well,  did  well,  spring,  flow.  To 
Weld,  to  move,  to  wield,  to  go- 
vern 

Welc,  weal,  welfare 

Welke,  to  set,  decrease,  wither ; 
to  grow  faint 

Welkin,  the  sky,  fiimament 

Welter,  to  wallow 

Wend,  to  go.      Wend,  for 

Weened,  imagine 

Went,  way,  journey,  Upton.  Go- 
ing, course,  Hughes 

West,  to,  to  set  in  the  west 

Wex,  to  increase,  to  grow 

Whally,  full  of  whales 

Whatso,  whatsoever 

Whenso,  whensoever 

Whilome,  Why  tome,  for  merly,  some 
while  ago. 

Whist,  Imshed,  silenced 

Whit,  a  little  part 

Whot,  hot 

Whyleare,  erewhile,  sometime  be- 
fore 

Wicked  herbes,  noxious,  poisonous 

Wield,  Weld,  manage,  handle,  go- 
vern, direct,  turn,  sway,  &c. 

Wight,  creature,  person 

Wightlii,  quickly 

Wimble,  shifting  to  and  fro 

Wimpled,  folded  over  like  a  veil 

Wise,  guise,  appearance 

To  Wis,  to  know.  Wist,  thought, 
knew 

Tr/t<?,  blame,  reproach 

Withhault,  withholden,  withdrew 

Woe  begonne,  far  gone  in  woe, 
overwhelmed 

Wonne,  is  used  in  two  senses ;  in 
the  first,  for  to  overcome,  gain 
the  victory,  from  to  win.  In 
the  second  place,  for  to  dwell, 
to  inhabit,  i'rom  the  German 
uomen. 

Won,  to  use,  to  be  wont 

Wont,  custom,  manner 

Woo,  to  court,  or  win  by  courting 

Wood,  mad.      Woodness,  madness 

Wot,  to  know.     JVotest,  knowest 

Wowed,  wooed,  for  the  rhvme 


Woicd,  waxed 

]Vrast,  wrest,  for  the  rhyme 
Wreake,  to  revenge.     IVroke,  re- 
venged 
Wreakful,  revengeful 
Wrest,  wrist 
Wrizled,  wrinkled 
WrokeH,  wreaked,  revenged 
Whyle,  beguile 
Whyie.     A'ide  Wite. 


Ybet,  beaten 

Ybent,  bent,  inclined,  addicted 

Yblent,  blinded,  or  confounded 

Ybrent,  burnt 

Yclad,  clad,  clothed 

Ycleped,  called,  named 

Ydlesse,  idleness 

Ydrad,  Ydred,  dreaded,  feared 

Yearne,  earn,  get,  procure 

Yede,  Yeed,  Yeade,  to  go 

Yeoman,  some  imes  signifies  ser- 
vant 

Yei-ks,  yerks,  jerks,  lashes 

Yeven,  given 

Yfere,  in  company,  together 

Yj'ostered,  fostered,  nourished, 
brought  up 

Yfraught,  freighted,  loaden 

Yjretted,  the  same  as  fretted 

Ygoe,  gone 

Yit,  yet ;  for  the  rhyme 

Ylike,  alike 

Ymagery,  images,  figures 

Ymolt,  molten,  melten 

Ympe,  Impe,  offspring 

Ympt,  grafted  on,  fixed  on  as  a 
graff 

Yod,  Vide  Yeed 

Yold,  yielded 

Yond,  beyond 

Yore,  of  yore,  anciently,   formerly 

Youngth,  youth 

Younker,  a  lusty  young  man 

Ypiiid     Vide  Apaid 

Ypent,  pent  up,  or  folded  like 
sheep 

Ypight,  placed 

Ypt((ste,  jjiaced 

Yplight,  plighted 

Yrupt,  wrapt  in  ecstacy 

Yre,  ire,  anger 

Yrent,  rent 

Y rived,  rived,  riven 

Yroke,  Ywreaken,Ywrohen,  wreak' 
ed,  revenged 

Ysame,  collected  together 

Yshend,  to  spoil,  to  disgrace 

Yivis,  Iwis,  truly,  indeed ;  to  my 
own  knowledge.  Sometimes 
used  expletively,  sometimes 
ironically. 


3i^ 


^'Jcilif.  JL. 


/^ 


(/ 


/ 


IIIIMlllliniiri  ''^°'°^^^  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

A  A         001  403  089  4 


-  "ooR  00893  3788 


